About Tonight: A blog

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Coming Apart at the Seams

There are days, days like today, where some moments I feel like the Grinch whose, “small heart grew three sizes that day.” Then a whipsaw runs through my heart and tears it into pieces… which once again grow. As those pieces grow, I feel like I’m coming apart at the seams and I don’t know how I can possibly contain both the love and heartache that I feel. I want to somehow hold onto my Self, to be sheltered and safe. But I refuse to hold back my own growth. I want to be a better man, for me, for my son, but also because I am in love. I haven’t told her yet, I hesitated. I’m afraid. While I understand that fear can rip things apart, it’s tough to get those old wounds out of the way. I wish I could go back in time and meet this woman as the fresh-faced young man I was. I can’t, and that’s ok. Who I am now is a summary of those experiences. It’s made me who and what I am, hurts, joys, warts and all. So I hesitated, the moment was lost. Now I wait for the “right” time. When is that? Who the fuck knows? I don’t want it to be cheap and I don’t want it to be forced. That last one should be easy, there are so moments during a conversation with her that I feel love. She’s beautiful, inside and out. I know she’s not perfect, and she’s made it clear she’s difficult. Fact is, I haven’t really seen that side of her yet. I’m sure it’s true, shit who isn’t difficult from time to time? But the truth is, it’s been easy. At least easy with her.

I find I have to remind myself to get out of the way, to let it be easy and don’t complicate things. To know when I need to speak my truth, yet be aware when silence is best. Why is that so hard? As I’ve gotten older I’ve found it easier to find that line and I’m grateful to be able to see that growth in me. In the past, I’ve more often been in trouble for the things I don’t say, than the things I do say. That sometimes feels like a character flaw, but is it? Or is it simply my nature, to be more reserved? Let’s call it two sides of the same coin. That I’m naturally more reserved, but can quickly move into being shut down. My own version of “out of control” looks very controlled. It has taken me a lot to get to the point where I don’t shut down when things get tough/stressful in a relationship. I think that shutting down may be part of being an introvert. I need time to process and work things through on my own, without being bothered. I feel like the need I have to process things is accepted in this relationship, instead of just tolerated. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s a big one. Which is another reason for the love I feel.

The other side of what I currently feel comes from having made the decision to find my dog a new home. It feels horrible, like I’ve failed him, like I’m a failure. Part of the feeling comes from a belief I held that there was no good reason to give an animal up, that once you welcomed them into your home they were your responsibility, your family. I guess the truth is I’ve judged people  who gave up their animals. And once I found myself in the position where I had to make the choice to find a new home for my dog, I began to judge myself. I still do think there are good reasons and bad reasons to give up an animal, but the truth is, you can’t judge a decision until you’ve been in the situation yourself. And never say never. Never is an absolute, like always. It’s funny that I see couples talk that way to each other, usually in frustration, “You never take out the trash,” or “You always nag me.” Those examples of not using never and always I can see, I can understand. It would appear there are other areas in life where you shouldn’t use never or always. At least, that’s what I’m learning.

While I don’t like to admit it, there is a part of me that has judged others. The funny thing about judgment is that if you judge others, you most likely also judge yourself. We are our own worst critics, right? But that’s a hard way to live, believe me. I’ve had a lot of practice in not judging, and I’ve gotten a lot better over the years. It’s hard not to judge. We see other people who are better looking, have better grades in school, make more money or have the “perfect” family. So we compare, and sometimes we judge. There is a difference, you know. You’re comparing if you can sit back and not be emotionally involved. It’s simply looking at facts. But when you tie emotion or worth to that comparison, it becomes judgment.

I’m not sure where judgment comes from, whether it’s inherent within us, part of our culture, or simply handed down from our parents. I do know that I see it a lot. I see it in our tabloids, I see it in our cultural race and gender arguments. I see it when someone types FOMO (fear of missing out). I don’t like it when I see it in myself, but I’ve always judged myself pretty harshly : ) What I do know is that I can work to make the world a better place simply by not judging myself. If I can accept myself as I am, I’ll be better able to accept others as they are.

When I started writing this, I’ll be honest and say I had no idea where it was going to go. I just knew I had these emotions within me, that I had something to say. It’s amazing to me how somethings come together, for it seems to me that with less judgment, there is room for more peace and love in my life. I’ll take it.

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Coming Alive

image imageI’m leaning against the windows in terminal C at the Phoenix airport. The morning sun is pouring in and I can feel it’s warmth against my skin. It’s a little too warm, I begin to sweat. I don’t care. After a cold Chicago winter I feel like I need the sun. I feel it push past the physical boundaries of my body. That spark within me, the one that has been dimmed for far too long, begins to flare up. My soul begins to come alive.

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First School Play

My son’s first play turned out to be harder than I thought it would be. As a matter of fact, I didn’t expect it to be hard at all, but it was emotional. To be there, so close, but still separated. My ex doesn’t want me around, she barely speaks to me unless necessary. So I’m sitting two rows back from my son as he plays with my ex, her mom, her brother and some other of her friends before the show. I’m alone and it’s painful to be near him, but not actually with him. But I’m here and willing to go through that pain because it’s not about me, it’s about him. My wonderful son. He’s awesome and adorable. I guess like anyone would describe their kids, but he’s mine so he’s special to me. I sit here with tears in my eyes. I can finally see why some divorced men would avoid this, it feels like failure. Like I’m failing to raise my son. I’m trying, but right now, in this moment, this is as far as I can get. I suppose I could force myself into the situation, but is it worth the hell I’ll get from my ex? I don’t know, because it will be hell. So I endure. I feel like there’s a bubble in my chest that’s about to burst, and if it does, the tears will flow. So I hold it together.

I watch my son jump into his mom’s lap and she gives him a raspberry on his cheek. He loves her and I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to take that relationship away from him, it’s important. At the same time I feel like part of that is being taken away from me.

Pain turns to anger. I feel like I’m being pushed to the sidelines of my son’s life. Is this what it’s going to be like as my son grows up? Always watching from the outside because his mom doesn’t want me near? I breathe through the anger. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m there for him when he needs me. I’m here, I’ve let him know. His need of emotional support is more important than my desire to not feel emotional pain. I’ve learned how to manage my emotions as an adult. Now is the time to help him, to be there for him. To the best of my ability I will ALWAYS be there for him. I can’t hold onto the anger. I won’t. It’s toxic. I have more important things/places to put my energy. Holding onto anger is toxic for me and I won’t live there. I will choose love. I will love my son, I will love my friends and family. To the best of my ability, I will even try to love my ex. That’s a tough one, but I’ll try. I’ll try because it’s not about me, it’s about a small child I chose to help bring into this world. My child. My son. I’ll do it because he’s worth it, and love is the answer.

My son’s part of the play ends. I’m so proud of him. He was singing so loud I could hear him over the other kids. I don’t know if I’m supposed to or not, but I’m proud of him all the same. I watch as my son runs back to his mom and gives her a hug. Then something amazing happens.

My son looks to the back and says, “Daddy? Dad? Where’s my dad?” I raise my voice over the crowd and say, “Right here, buddy!” He sees me and his face lights up. He runs the two rows back and gives me a big hug. I hug back and tell him he did a great job, that he should be proud of himself. He jumps into my lap, his back snuggled against my chest. I wrap my arms around him, letting my cheek rest softly against the top of his head and we watch some more of the play. This is why I come and sit through my own discomfort. If I weren’t able to shift through my own emotions, to deal with them in a healthy manner, I would have missed out on this moment.

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Fall Love

There is something magical about fall. I know it, I feel it. But what is it? It feels like a time for renewal and growth, but everything around is dying. It’s a beautiful time of year, the trees are wreathed in flame; oranges, yellows and reds. As I think about this, I’m walking through a park. The grass is still green, there are leaves crunching under foot. I find a spot on a bench that’s bathed in sunlight. I can feel it warm me as the crisp, cool breeze caresses my skin, and I ask myself again, why is fall so special? Is it simply that school starts in the fall, and the excitement of a new school year has stuck with me? That could be, since I loved school, especially when I was a little kid. Is it the last hurrah before winter sets in and you know you’ll be stuck inside for the next few months? Or because it’s the time of year when I can wear either jeans or shorts, and I love that possibility. And sweatshirts and hoodies are awesome.

Spring is supposed to be the Earth’s natural marker for renewal and hope, and yet I have that feeling during the fall. My temperament can be on the depressive side, so maybe that’s why, because the reminder of death makes me feel alive. Or is it Halloween? It has always been my favorite holiday. So much fun can be had pretending you are someone else. Too many people forget to pretend when they “grow up” and they miss out on the magic of play.

And the smells of fall!! How to describe it? It’s mostly dead leaves, decaying on the ground, why would that smell amazing? Earthy and woody at the same time. It’s a time to smell the smoke from bonfires in the neighborhood. To warm your hands around a mug of hot apple cider or mulled wine and let the scent of cinnamon and other spices tickle your nose.

I’m an analyzer, it’s what I do. I like to think about things and wonder “why.” It’s part of who I am. And while all these things are fun to think about, what matters is that I take the time to enjoy them. To sit down in a patch of sunlight, listen to the leaves rustle at my feet while the scents of fall play on the breeze around me. It’s important to be present in life, to take time to enjoy it. So the “why” isn’t always important. Sometimes you have to “be” and enjoy that which you love.

That and get scared out of your mind when a squirrel runs between your feet from under the bench you’re sitting on because you’ve been still so long he thinks you’re just part of the scenery. True story.

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Being Creative – 500 Words a Day – Day 30

Here we are, day 30. I commented on someone else’s post, today telling them they ARE a writer. Some how, today, I don’t “feel” like a writer. I’ve written stuff for 30 days, but I don’t feel like I’m a writer. Why is that? It’s weird, because I had a discussion with this young guy about 9 months ago, and I’ve brought it it with several people since then. I actually think I wrote about this already during this past 30 days. Ultimately, the idea is that we are what we think we are, tell ourselves we are, and say what we are. Or aren’t. So even though there are times when I don’t think I’m a writer, I still am. I write, I create. That’s another thing I always told myself, that I’m not creative. Bullshit! At least that’s what I’ve found. The more I have accepted that I am creative, the more creative I’ve found myself being, and wanting to be. How weird lol.

So I create. I write. I take photographs. Maybe someday I’ll get into ceramics again. Funny story, there. In high school I took a ceramics class and I loved it. I loved it so much I took the advanced class the next time it came around, that way I got to use the wheel. As I said, I loved it. Can I say that enough? Funny thing, I still didn’t feel like I was creative. But there was so much I loved about putting the time and effort into creating a ceramic piece, getting the clay, using the wheel, finding the right color glaze, often combining them to make different designs or colors. I think maybe why I never felt like a creative type, even then, was that I never felt I could create something good. I didn’t believe in myself. I’m mean my mom liked what I made, but she’s my mom. She HAS to like what I make, right? Then my teacher liked one pot I made. He told me he wanted me to enter it into the art contest where they would display different types of art and kids would vote on it. I said no way, I wasn’t entering some stupid art contest. I may have told him something to the effect that it wasn’t any good anyway. He told it was and that I should enter it. I said no way again. He said I could either enter the contest or I could fail the class. Um, OK. Guess I’m entering the art contest. I didn’t win. I wasn’t surprised. But I was surprised that I got 4th out of all the other art projects. The cynical part of me wants to say, there must have been only four entries. Realistically, I know there were more than that. How many? I’m not sure. But I know there were more than four. Thinking back, I’m pretty proud of that pot, I mean, it was a cool pot. I wonder if my mom still has it?

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Sick – 500 Words a Day – Day 29

Wow, is it really day 29? Only one more day to go. I wanted to skip today because I’ve been at home sick. On the other hand, I slept all day and find myself somewhat awake, so after spending 20 minutes on FB, I decided that I had to write today. It’s a weird feeling because I really don’t want to be doing this, but it seems more like habit than anything else at this point. Not that it’s a bad thing, just unusual. I really do feel like crap. Time for more EmergenC and zinc. Those are my go to’s when I feel bad. It usually gets me pst any feelings of sick in a day or so but right now, after a day in bed, I feel worse. I don’t get sick that often, my feeling is that in general I take care of myself, eating fairly well, with some slips, and working out regularly. I’ve noticed in the past that my depression creeps up when I get sick, or at least the feelings of sadness can creep up. I don’t feel that this time, but it’s happened enough in the past that I’ve wondered if some of my “sicknesses” have had a spiritual aspect to them. When I say that I mean if I’m depressed, am I more prone to being sick? Or do I simply not have the will to fight through being sick? I don’t really know about that, just thoughts that have crossed my mind. And I’ve noticed the pattern in others, too. Friends who seem to struggle with depression and isolating seem to get sick more frequently than those who don’t. Or maybe they just don’t want to be around me and tell me they are sick to get out of hanging out? Could be lol.

I do know that today I’m sick. And I can tell because I really wanted to do some acro at the beach tonight, followed by listening in on the Mumford and Sons concert at Montrose Beach. Instead, I’m laying in bed, sometimes freezing, sometimes sweating and typing this out. I’m definitely sick. And thirsty. I’ll be right back…

OK, one problem solved. But now I have not one, but two 65+ lb dogs on my bed vying for attention. It’s hard enough to type when one dog keeps dropping a rope in your lap to throw for them, but it’s almost impossible when another one has their head in your lap, too. I happen to love dogs, and it’s rare that Sarah, the other dog, comes up to visit. 417 words.

I’ve considered doing the prompt that was suggested back on day 13 or something. It was what would someone see if they looked through your window for 24 hours, but I’m still not sure. My rebel side says hell no, but it would be kind of fun, too. One more day to chime in, so I guess we’ll see if I’m up to it tomorrow. Hoping I won’t be sick, but right now laying in bed and sleeping sounds great. And I want to get over this sick thing ASAP, it’s my birthday Saturday 🙂

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Mish Mash – 500 Words a Day – Day 28

I’ve been looking for a supervisor so I can start in private practice for the past few months. It’s felt kinda slow going but I know that’s mainly me. I feel with all that’s going on in my life that I’ll have to forgive myself for it taking a little while longer than I’d like. I know it’s OK, and to not forgive myself will only lead to shaming myself, which I do not need. I also believe that things work out in their own time. We set things up and move in the direction we want, but if something is going to happen, then waiting for it to be right is better than jumping in and trying to force it.

Crap, I seem to be getting cold or virus or something. I literally haven’t finished a sentence without sneezing. Ugh. And I’m taking this side track to just jump around in my writing. I kinda felt I’d gone as far as I’d wanted to with that last bit and I’m not really feeling very philosophical at the moment.

Only two posts to go after this one. Seems weird. When you do something new, the first 30 days are always the hardest, and that 30 days seems to take forever. Then, if you keep up with it, it just gets easier. That’s not to say that I’m going to keep this up. I really have no idea if that’s true or not, we’ll just have to see how things play out.

God, why is it that every time I check how many words I’ve written it’s always 240-ish? It seems like it’d be so much more but never is. Then I keep on writing, hit my stride and blast past 500.

I bought a couple lottery tickets today. I keep on thinking to myself that I never win anything, and I rarely do. Then there are other people out there who think, “I always win stuff.” And they do. So I decided to change how I think. I’m going to start to think, say act, believe that I am lucky and that I do win things. We’ll see how that goes, cause soon I’m going to win the damn lottery, pay off all my debt and have a nice sum left over to buy a timber loft here in Chicago. There, it’s been said and will soon be published.

So, if I am sick tomorrow, the question is do I go into work? I want to say “yes” but that’s really hard to answer. One reason is that I do work with a lot of other people. Another is that a part of my job is to sit and talk to people. I wouldn’t want either group to come in and get me sick, and I don’t like the idea of being the person who gets them sick either. Already used the Zicam, love that stuff, and guess I’ll see how I am in the morning. Right now would just love a day to sit inside, rest and recover. So, I think I’ll either get better after sleeping or worse. Let’s go with better, positive thinking, right?

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Self Acceptance – 500 Words a Day – Day 27

Confession, I have a poor body image. For most of my life I’ve hated one thing or another about my body, seemingly always wishing something was different. When I was a kid in junior high, I always thought I was too tall. I sprouted early and was 5’11” in 7th grade. At the time, all I wanted to do was blend in and not be noticed. I can probably blame some of that on my introvertedness, but it was still there. By the time I was in high school, I felt I was too skinny and that my arms were too thin. In some ways I was ok with that, but it did bother me. When I went to college I started drinking more and put on the freshman 15 and sophomore 30. At that point, I started to feel like I was over weight. I began to work out and restricted my food intake. I went from a fairly healthy 180 lbs to 165 lbs, sometimes working out for 3 hours a day. A quick note on the weight, I’m also just shy of 6’2″. And even as I’m writing this, I don’t think any of the weights matter, what really matters is how I felt about it. Throughout my life I’ve battled with things I don’t like about myself, mainly weight, but I was also self conscious about other things. Can you be self conscious about being self conscious? I think so lol. For a time I had a mentor in my life and he had me stand naked in front of the mirror and just look at myself. It was a weird experience. I noticed now much I tended to focus on the extra weight around my stomach, and how much I hated it. I focused so much on it that I never really noticed other things about myself, until that day. As I stood there in front of the mirror I noticed something that amazed me. My eyes are hazel. Or more distinctly, my eyes are both green and brown. Depending on the day and my surroundings one or the other is more obvious. I was in my mid-30’s and had never noticed that before. My drivers license even said brown. When I got it at 16 the woman asked my the color of my eyes and I told her brown. She started to say they were more of a… I cut her off and told her to put brown. Apparently I was enough of a dick that she didn’t argue and just put brown. So there I am, 30 something, standing naked in front of the mirror and I realize my eyes are hazel. That was a pretty amazing moment. Today, I really like my eye color. I’ve heard it can change as you get older, but I hope it doesn’t.

I’d like to say as I looked in the mirror that day that I accepted everything about myself that I previously hated, but that wouldn’t be true. I still work on accepting things. The current thing I’m working on is my hair. I’ve always hated it, in case you haven’t caught on to the theme. It seemed too curly, and would never do anything I wanted it to. Many women have told me they would love to have my hair, but I’m a guy, and I think it just looks bad when it’s longer than finger length. And that’s how long it’s been for close to 20 years. Until now. Right now my hair is the longest it’s been since I was in college. And I’m growing it longer. I hope it looks OK, but in the end it really doesn’t matter. The idea is to accept it and just go with the flow. I think the confidence to accept it, and rock it, will make all the difference in whether it looks good or not. At least that’s the theory.

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Little Moments – 500 Words a Day – Day 26

My son tagged me in the nuts with a boomerang today. Now that I have your attention, I really have nothing else to say. Well, that’s not really true. I’ve been thinking about how much our life is made up of these little moments. We do remember the big things, like graduation, marriage, deaths, births and all that other crap. But really, what is life made of? It’s the small moments in between that are the bulk of our lives, and those are the ones that really matter. At least in my mind. Will my son remember if I’m at his kindergarten graduation? Maybe, maybe not. High school graduation? Much more likely. But is that as important as today, the day he tagged my in the nuts? In a way “yes” and in a way “no.” He may not remember today, since it will blend in with all the rest of the days and, quite frankly, it wasn’t caught on camera. I mean, if it had been, Americas Funniest Videos here we come. But it wasn’t, and I still feel like it was a great day. Funny isn’t it? In Jr High or High School I definitely would not have considered a day that I was tagged in the nuts as being one of the best days. But as an adult, with a son, it was good. I’ll also let you know that it wasn’t that bad of a tag, just good enough to get a laugh. You know what I mean, at least you guys do. I’m not sure if that’s something that a woman can really understand. I sometimes have trouble thinking about the time I get to spend with my son. I calculated it once and realized I get about 15% of time with my son, which means that when I am with him, it’s precious time spent. I’ve already turned down jobs that I could take because they wanted me to work on Sundays, meaning I’d get to spend less time with him. I’m not OK with that. Not too sure where this is going, but I do know that I treasure all the time I get with my son. Sometimes I feel more connected, sometimes less. Sometimes we do more stuff outside,  and sometimes we just hang around inside playing video games. In the end I know it’s really about spending time with him, and not just bull shit time. Back to little moments. How do you carve out little moments to spend with the people you love? Life can move by so fast that it can be hard to do so. Or you can mix up doing things together with actually spending quality time together. I remember a long time ago how a therapist pointed out that going to the gym with my significant other wasn’t necessarily spending quality time. In this case it was really more about checking stuff off our to do list. That’s not quality time and doesn’t add to the relationship. Then again, it’s really about the intent behind it. That’s what it boils down to. What is your intent in life?

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Life Today – 500 Words a Day – Day 25

Hmmm, what to write today? I kinda feel like I’ve already opened with that line, but oh well. Had a good day with my son today, got a few minutes of acro in. All in all a good day. Oh, and saw a pretty cool thundershower roll by. I absolutely love thunderstorms, I’m not sure why. Maybe because I grew up in the midwest. Maybe because I just find them to be a beautiful display of mother nature. I do know that for the 11 years I spent in Sand Diego, thunderstorms were one of the things I missed the most. I mean San Diego does get rain, if not a lot, but they don’t get a lot of thunderstorms. I think I heard thunder about once a year while I was out there and I can only think of twice where the thunder was right over head. Also, last week I was sitting out on a rooftop in downtown Chicago and watched another storm roll in. You could watch the lightning getting closer and closer, as the rain slowly started to fall. It was definitely cool to kick back, drink a beer and just watch mother nature do her thing. I think I connected with nature in a totally different way when I lived in San Diego. There are so many things that I miss about it, but there are also so many things about Chicago that I missed when I lived out there. It feels like I have two homes, and maybe it always will. I know there’s also a part of me that doesn’t want a home, that would like to roam from place to place, see the world, to be free. Admittedly, in the past I’d have to say a big part of that desire came from escapism, but now…not so much. Now, I just think of the experiences to be had, the people to meet, the places to see. And some solitude as I move in between places. Is that still escapism? I don’t think so. And looking at it right now, maybe it wasn’t so much back then either. Maybe it was just what my soul cried out for and since I didn’t honor that part, I judged it for something that it wasn’t. I remember going to a Grateful Dead show one year, and I loved it. I already loved the music and the shows, but something really struck me that year. The way the Dead heads appeared to be like family to one another. The freedom it seemed like they had. The love and peace that I felt. I decided then that I wanted to follow them, that’s what I wanted to do with my life. For a few reasons, that never materialized, it just wasn’t my path. I think it’s very fitting that they are playing again this year, in a year where I feel like I’ve begun to get some of that peace and connection to nature back, some of what I felt all those years ago. Now, in no way do I want to follow them again, even if I could. There are too many other things I want to do in life that are important to me, not to mention my son. But it is food for thought.