Reflections

"Reflections at Timmys" edited, written 29 March 2014

So now I am near the end of  the first leg of that journey begun so many long months ago. How much has happened since then? How much will happen now? It's not just my education I've been working on.

That, in fact, is the only thing over which I truly feel control. That, and my career, which is directly dependent on my education to a large extent. I know I will finish whatever degree(s) I set out for. I know I will push forward in my profession(s) to eventually get what I think I deserve. It will only be a matter of time and perseverance, and human limitations aside, I have those things in abundance.

The real question is what I am doing with my life--my marriage and my family life. I have allowed these things to become my life. That's how it's supposed to work, right? I chose a life partner; we made a family; that's supposed to be the end of it. But of course it isn't the end of anything.

I had hoped it would at least become a beginning. Indeed, it has, but I am not satisfied with the progress of this life. The early denial of affection in marriage resulted in my bad choices to seek it elsewhere. That destroyed trust never came back on either side, and has crept into every other aspect of the relationship, slowly poisoning not only both of us, but our children.

I know I know the right thing, for now, is to be alone, and heal. I need to rediscover myself, redefine who I am, what kind of man I want to be and what that will take. I can not do this without hurting people I dearly love. TV common sense tells me if they love me, they will also want the best for me, but deep in my broken core, I am too afraid their pain will overcome their love, for they are broken too. And so I am once again paralyzed.

I am not impressed with the man I am. I have lied and been unfaithful. If I am completely truthful, I stand to lose the privilege of watching my children grow up the way I really want to--the way they really need me. I am only now starting to see see the effect my brokenness has had on them; what if, in an effort to heal myself, I inflict on them even more damage? Which decision makes me least selfish: new honesty or continued deceit?

And so I float in this Purgatory, on the edge of a blade, never knowing which side to lean toward, never sure where lies Paradise or Inferno. It is a painful reality to wake up to each morning, to retire to each night. Every smile of my children almost hurts me: they believe in the reality I show them, they rely on it. It breaks my heart to know that reality is laced not with a history of fierce protection and providence, but of desperation and deceit. It tears me to fucking pieces.

And so I am no further forward than I was 20 years ago, except that now I carry the baggage and guilt of the last 20 years on my shoulders. I know I am wiser, but I must dig out that wisdom and sort it from the bitterness I still surely feel. And then apply it to some as yet unmade plan.

Reboot

(Written 17 October 2011. Notes to myself from the trenches. Time to publish.)

Now you're being punished. Now you have to finally be a good man.

What makes a good man:

A married man honors his vows.

A father protects and provides for his children.

But before and after than,
 - a good man is strong enough to protect the weak
 - a good man develops himself equally for its own sake and also to provide for the people he loves

What are a man's responsibilities to himself alone?

Be honest with yourself. Speak your mind and ask for what you want. Expect what is reasonable. Express opinions and make a difference. If ashamed of something, decide why, and either abandon that behaviour or embrace it.

Be tactfully honest with others. Be the guy everyone can count on for the truth, and from whom it will come gently, even if it's harsh.

Do not remain in a situation that is unhealthy. Determine what needs to be done and see to it, or speak out as to why it's unhealthy and make an exit.

A good man makes mistakes and then admits them. A good man does not hold others' mistakes against them.

Steps:
 - find and attend a 12 step group at least once a month.
 - speak to Rev. Kxxxxxn regularly
 - journal and write at least every other day
 - run, walk, or bike 30 minutes a day
 - focus on Nxxxxx and the marriage. Spend some time with her every day. Journal it.
 - try to stay positive. HALT when necessary. Do not dwell on the negative, but do not forget it. Laugh every day.
 - get more, closer male friends
 - share writing with Nancy to better expose the other side

Development:

MENTAL: Stay in school. Get good at your job. Read and act and think critically to stay mentally fit.
SPIRITUAL: Find God. Again.
PHYSICAL: Become strong. Use physical development as an outlet to frustration, and as a medium to concentration. Try to get off the hypertension meds.
EMOTIONAL: Solidify. Pay the bills, mind the business. Stay on top of your depression. Then reevaluate.

Because THIS, the guilt, and humility, is only temporary, but these are the only feelings that hard-focus on what is wrong, and what needs to be done.

But I am already a good man. But I am a flawed man. Who isn't flawed? Nobody, but few are flawed in the ways you've become, and these ways hurt those around you. That is unacceptable. But my flaws don't negate the ways in which I've stayed a good man? No, they will be your anchors, and your refuge when necessary. These are the places you will go when in doubt. When in doubt.

Christmas Tree 2014

(Written 8 December 2014. Time to publish.)

7 Dec 2014: "I had a really nice time picking out a tree with you today. We are a really good couple. Please don't throw everything away. I love you and want to have our marriage work."

Well, I love you too, and would prefer if our marriage worked as well. Unfortunately, it doesn't. You'll accuse me of looking to the past for justification, and rightly so. But in addition to being aware of our struggles six months ago or six years ago, I am also thinking of the past week, the past month, or sometimes even yesterday. What's taken me so long to reach this conclusion is the realization that all that arguing, all that conflict, is connected, and evidence that our marriage is broken, and every effort we've made to repair it has failed.

Our experience yesterday picking out a Christmas tree does not represent a potential for resolution of all those years of conflict. It does not show a glimmer of hope beneath years of dysfunction. It holds no answers to our inability to see eye to eye on financial issues, or form a sexual bond. However, I won't deny it was a positive experience. It does (to me) represent the very best we can be: friends and coparents. No part of the Christmas tree experience crossed a line of conflict or touched a point of sensitivity. It did not require an intimacy we've never had, or a major decision regarding our children or money. In this way, I definitely agree with you: I also had a really nice time picking out a tree with you today.

As for "throw[ing] everything away," I am certainly not doing that. I am choosing to live without you, my spouse, and our marriage, true. But I am taking every day of our twenty years with me. I will not discard it. I will remain the father of our children and your partner in raising them. I will, if you're willing, remain your friend, and do things for/with you that friends do together. Maybe we can, after all, enjoy a concert together, but won't it be a relief when it's time to go home and I'm horny and excitable from the show and all you want to do is go to bed? Won't it be freeing to drop all the baggage built up for so long and actually enjoy each other's company without the expectations that have soured our relationship for so long?

That's really what I'm looking forward to most with you: the ability to just be in each other's presence and emotional space without all the defensiveness, the guarding of information for fear of criticism, the sensitivity to the past, and the disapproval. This mistrust has killed our marriage.

So that brings me to question your first statement: we are a really good couple. Why? Because I disagree: We don't touch each other; even before I moved out of our bedroom, while I was still trying to make things work, you didn't lay a hand on me unless we were in public. We argue in the open because it's the most civil arena; arguing in private always breaks down to hurt feelings and accusations. We have little in common when it comes to how we spend our leisure time, what sparks our brains, and how we respond to emotional stimuli. These are just the public aspects of our couplehood. I don't think it necessary to get into detail about differences in our sexual appetites and interests, but this has been the single most challenging part of our marriage, and ultimately what I'm looking forward to changing the most.

Truth

(Written 12/7/14. It's time to publish.)

So here's the long and the short of it: I'm ending my marriage.

The reasons are myriad, convoluted. Here are some of them:

- Sex/Intimacy
- Inability to resolve conflict
- Differences in parenting priorities
- Differences in financial priorities
- Failure to resolve differences after 3+ years of therapy

None of this means I don't love my wife. It's just not that simple. In fact, part of the reason I need to divorce her is because I love her. I need out of the marriage because I can't love her the way she deserves to be loved; I can't give her the love she's earned after a marriage of twenty years. I feel this is two-sided: I no longer think she's capable of giving me the love I deserve or have earned after everything we've been through. For my own part, I have recognized this latter fact over and over again for years, and it's slowly broken my heart. Or perhaps hardened it, but at this point there is no hope for my situation either way.

None of it, in fact, is simple. We have three kids together. I can't imagine a life without seeing them every day, hugging them before bed every night, hearing about their days at school every time we sit down for dinner. Also, I provide the main income for the household and my wife can't make a living on her own salary. I am unsure about the ability for either of us to support a home and shared custody on what I make after it's split between us. Even our dogs complicate this mess. Frankly, this whole thing scares the shit out of me.

Birthday Dinner

Tonight I hosted a dinner in honor of what would have been my dad's 69th birthday. My household family was there, of course, as well as my mom, sister, and father-in-law. The way I wrote it in the 55 is pretty spot-on; I do like things to be just so, especially since my dad can't actually be here, and though all intention that falls short of execution will go completely unnoticed by the living attendees, it will not go unexcused by myself.

Of course I know my dad was here today. It didn't take much more than my almost involuntary reaction to the Lions' awful performance today against the Tampa Bay Buccaneers for me to realize that. And I've been on an emotional edge today for other reasons. So needless to say the dinner tonight was pulled off almost exactly as if my dad was trying to hide his smoking in my basement (which is to say, with much tenuousness and crabbiness on my part).

I do miss my dad. Terribly. I miss his sense of humor and his laugh, and his seriousness. I miss the things he was passionate about that almost always surprised me (except football and politics). I even miss his short temper and often too-quick reactions to things that weren't really that big a deal. It's a convenient side effect of his passing that I no longer have to deal with some things, but I miss them nonetheless.

I wanted to make a grand toast tonight at my dinner table, but I decided it'd taken so damned long to get everyone around the table in the first place, and on top of that the steaks were getting cold, that I just plunged into the dinner. There was still a toast, but no speech. So here is the meager edited version of what might have been a spectacular (though likely very long-winded) impromptu oration.

I've had this journal with me for months, carrying it to and from work and school every single day. I have it with me more often then I have my cell phone. I've written in it sporadically over the years and never really gone back to see what's in there. Tonight, for a completely unrelated reason than today's tangent, I pulled it out and opened it to the first page, dated 8 December 1997. It reads:

"Well, today we found out for sure that N is pregnant. We already knew as of Saturday, but the doctor made it official today. Congratulations, to me.

"I feel as if I should be doing something, becoming something. I mentioned it to N and she feels that way also. Of course, it's exciting. Of course, I wanted a baby. Then why do I not feel so full of joy, so excited at the prospect of becoming (being?) a father? I hope I will not ruin these first days of discovery for myself, or especially N. It would be a shame to remember our first days of knowing we'd conceived our first born as confused and troubled.

[And here I discuss possible reasons that seem trivial after all this time.]

"My deepest fear is that it's simply because N's pregnant. I want so badly to be a provider, a man of morality and integrity, worthy of greeting my first child and leading him/her through life. I want to be strong, responsible, intelligent, improvisational, reasonable, funny--I want to be what I think the perfect MAN should be. But then, I've always wanted that.

"Maybe this is about all of a sudden not being all those things when, in 9 months, someone will arrive into this world who will expect and need me to be nothing less. Can I be a good, decent father if I am not all those things? Sure there are lots of scumbags who can pass along their DNA, but I want to be something special. Will I be? My fear is that I will not."

That child I worried so much about being a father to turned 15 this summer, and I still have the same worries on an almost daily basis. I love this kid more than any words can express. He has a younger brother and sister now, too, so the worries have only compounded. My inability to be a good enough man has left for them potholes they won't know how to navigate around, because their mother and I haven't learned ourselves. I have watched them fail in detestable ways and seen only a reflection of myself. But I have also seen a miracle occur: I have seen them succeed in ways I never could have imagined for either myself or them.

I didn't get to know my dad very well before he was killed by cancer and chemotherapy, but I knew him well enough to understand that he also lived with these same fears every day of my life. He was a bastard sometimes, truly. He was an alcoholic and an abuser. And I don't make excuses for him. But I understand him, because from an emotional perspective, I have become him. He was in pain his entire life. He was ill equipped for manhood and fatherhood, because despite what society demonstrates, men are taught to be Men; it's not automatic, and the expectation that it could be is a Great Bullshit Lie. After learning some things about my dad later, things he would certainly have been loathe to share with any other human being, let alone those who called him Dad, I think his performance as a father was nothing short of a miracle.

Tonight I honor my dad, not just with a meal or company, but with the weight I carry in my heart. He died was taken away before he could fully become himself, and we were all therefore deprived of an even more amazing person. Every year since his passing, I realize how much like him I'm becoming, and that I'm on the same painful journey of self-discovery he never really started in earnest. He and I have the same unfinished business.

I'm not taking on his burdens; I have my own aplenty. But I will still carry with me memories of his painful nights, his addictive fits, his simple loves and pleasures. I will consult his life's laboratory notebook while doing my own painful experiment in Happiness, and as I complete my own, I'll jot down a few solutions for his benefit as I work though them. He wanted happiness for me, and my siblings, without having a clue how to find it himself. This I understand very painfully as a parent myself. But in his nobility as a sufferer, he did so much of the footwork for us ahead of time. He could never have known this; in fact I'm certain it was a point of shame for him, but it's something for which I will always be grateful. I truly think he knows it now, and it may even be satisfying, though he no doubt still carries great regrets over the man he wanted to be while he lived.

As for me, I will try to become a good and decent enough Man for the both of us. Happy birthday, dad. I will always, always love you, and miss you forever.

Chained

Image credit

I like to call it incomplete despair: I’m not exactly hitting bottom here, but my ass is sure dragging. The weight atop and the sludge below grind together and mash me into a human stew of emotional insolvency. Duty pulls me forward on a pointed hook fitted through a bloody hole, ensuring the only way I’ll ever really sink is if I break the towline and therefore lose any means of ever ascending again.

There is a light, some days, that I follow. Hope doesn't necessarily lift me, but seems to clear the waters, keeping alive a dream that I will emerge, in time, a Better Man. I know my foundation is true, but I doubt my course, and fear for my future, and given the example I’m setting, the futures of those I love.

I know it is not for naught, but I mourn the lost days, knowing when I finally stand free I’ll wish I’d acted years earlier. If only I knew what to do, I might even do it today. If only… but these chains are hard to break, especially considering I still have yet to understand them. Link by link, I must get through it. I owe this to myself and the people I love.

The Brightly Coloured Crayons

Image credit: JerrySpinelli.com

“She was bendable light: she shone around every corner of my day.” 

Tonight, I had an extraordinary evening. I don't mean that generically; I mean that two specific things occurred that made it wonderful and beyond ordinary, things I hope I will remember forever.

The First thing: I read the novel Stargirl, by Jerry Spinelli. This book was loaned to me by my sister, a human being who is beyond words, who I had the rare occasion to see last week. We weren't discussing books, nor had any idea of suggested reading come up. She just handed it to me. A small part of me was annoyed, only because I haven't had (made) time to finish the other novel I'd been carrying around with me. The rest of me was elated, and I read the first page right there in the chair.

So tonight, having made plans to go out with my friends from work, and having been subsequently ditched by said friends, I decided I'd crack open Stargirl. My sister reported it as a three hour read, and though if I've ever read a novel in a single sitting I can't remember, I at least decided to get through a serious chunk of it.

Three hours, in fact, was a fair estimate, even at my slow reading rate (I don't bother to try reading quickly; I read to myself about the same speed that I read aloud). I knew in the first few chapters that Spinelli's art was sufficient to draw the same emotions experienced during The Book Thief, and midway through the tears started. Although the novel is short, and the story considerably simpler than that of Liesel Meminger, it was still written with the same passion, both tragic and elated, and by the end of the novel, I was bawling like a little child.

Tonight I made another bridge, and tapped those emotions that sit for too long beneath a pathetic veneer of mundane everydayness, a "world of gray nothings," as the novel's narrator says. And I connected with my sister, and her bridges. And I fell in love all over again with such a joyous thing. It's hard and disappointing to realize that I've become so 'mature' that I had forgotten the wondrous things a book can do, and when I came downstairs to the family, with my reddened eyes and my runny nose to don my shoes and find the dog's walking stuff, I hope they all noticed, and may yet wonder what power exists in books, so that they, too, might discover it on their own.

The Second thing: I took that walk with every intention of being immersed in a dark late summer night, devoid of anything interesting, so that Stargirl could sink in even deeper. The night failed me. Also, my daughter asked if she could come, and she is hard to refuse. Though I love this little girl more than anything, her presence is distracting with such a chore as mulling over the happenings of Mica, Arizona when Stargirl Caraway appears. So it goes. So the dog and I went out with my daughter, instead.

That wasn't the only change of plans. We hadn't yet left the driveway when we both noticed a large storm off to the west. The thunder rumbled vaguely but the lightning was definite. A flash occurred somewhere in the sky no less frequently than every second, yet the sky directly above was clear. As we walked, we watched it and wondered: it was a marvel, like a great feature film projected onto a vast screen solely for our benefit. We walked and talked, and we could see the storm moving, and I guessed maybe it would miss us. We discussed what might be happening only a handful of miles away: the terrible rain and awful racket of thunder, and how different it was from what we were experiencing. We talked about the book I'd read.

I asked my daughter if she thought it was weird that a book would make me cry. She said yes, almost with embarrassment. Then I described a box of crayons to her that was filled with only muted and dull colours: greys and browns and darks. I asked her to imagine using only that box for days and days, for so long you started to see everything in the world as one or another of only those shades. Then what would happen if one day, you were loaned those forgotten colours: reds and yellows and oranges, so you could draw a sun; and green and blue and violet, so you could draw a rainbow. And imagine what picture would emerge that day, that hour, when you finally had access to the brightly coloured crayons once more, especially if it were only for a little while, and you knew you'd have to return them.

And she understood where my emotions came from: she suddenly knew that all the happiness and sadness that might have caused my tears over the novel weren't a bad thing, but something wonderful, something necessary. And we both grew in that explanation and realization. And with the backdrop of lightning flashes above us, we both made it home before the rain came (I was wrong about it missing us), but as human beings more whole and more strongly bonded than before.

So tonight was extraordinary, and when my buddies and I do finally get together, I owe them every round of drinks, every appetizer, and more, because what has happened to me in the last handful of hours is something I never want to forget. I want to remember these sensations and emotions and sensitivities the rest of my life.

And I hope my daughter does too. I never want to lose what I shared with her tonight.

The Old Tree

Here there once stood a great tree, which sprouted perfect and true. But through years of improper and cruel pruning, misdirection, and abuse, it became misshapen.

Still it grew as beautiful as it could, handsome and proud, though flawed, into the world. There it encountered many storms which, had it remained healthy, would not have affected it so. Thus this tree, as it aged, became gnarled and scarred as a result.

Over time the tree made offspring, and though they were born perfect and true, it knew not how to raise them so. Instead, it began to twist and stunt them in its own image, in the only ways it knew how to grow.

Over many years of storms and disease, the old tree succumbed. His last storm took him down in a sad and cruel assault. He fell silently into the forest. There lay his broken trunk finally open so all could see the beauty that was there, locked within.

And I, his offspring, grow truer and straighter without his shadow, but still sometimes wish for a guide, taller and hardier, as I make my journey toward the sky. I am still gnarled and scarred, but no longer can I blame the old tree--he did his very best. And looking back at the stumps of his past, I realize that he performed miracles of patience, and love, and nurturing, even though he did it with gnarled hands and stunted heart.

And now I will grow as straight and true as I am able. In honor, yes, but also for my own sake, and for the love of my offspring, who started out so perfect and true, but now are beginning to bear the signs of my influence.

Binge And Purge

For people who truly understand this term, binge and purge, it's well understood that a feeling of nausea should overcome any mental images accompanying the phrase. For those who don't know what this means, I'll explain: you gorge yourself on (typically) alcohol until you're senseless, then vomit it all out, along with other miscellany that may come with it. Sounds like a blast, eh?

The Red Book uses the terms emotional intoxication and emotional sobriety. The first is a state of mind brought on by the influence of whatever behaviors accompany a person's dysfunction and/or addiction. Point: it's the behaviors that cause the state of mind. It could be any number of things, from raging to codependence to avoiding a bill, but the effect on one's emotions is the same effect that alcohol has on the body: an intoxication that allows the indulger to believe that, just for right now, everything is okay, even though all around him/her, some situation that is usually perceived as a threat is swirling and ready to bring chaos. Just as with chemical/physical intoxication, emotional intoxication allows for a temporary escape.

Disclaimer on escaping: Knowing how to care for oneself well enough to recognize when it's more healthy to not deal with something is a serious life skill, and it necessarily involves the complementary skill of being able to plan to deal with the thing before it's too late, penalty or pain is incurred, etc. Doing this right ensures that, when you take the time to deal with an issue, it's done with an appropriate amount of attention and adequate resources. There are entire industries created around the need to escape (vacations/travel, recreation/sports, entertainment, etc.), but this all becomes unhealthy the moment the escape takes priority over dealing with the problem.

Some people spend the majority of their lives in a state of emotional intoxication to varying degrees, depending on the severity of the problems they're avoiding. Clearly, it's dysfunctional when avoidance is the default behavior as opposed to setting an appropriate priority to dealing with a problem, figuring out how to solve it, and putting that plan into action.

Emotional sobriety is the process of recognizing one's emotional intoxication and getting rid of it. Unlike physical sobriety, which, on the surface, just means not boozing or drugging it up, emotional sobriety is much more subtle and complicated to achieve. Many substance addictions are easy to recognize because, well, something must be consumed to engage in them: alcohol, painkillers, food, etc. But behaviors are usually harder to recognize, at least from the addict's point of view, and therefore harder to stop.

Imagine growing up in a house where, anytime the family ran out of bread or milk before grocery day, everyone got out the vodka and took shots until the problem was forgotten about, even the kids. Unhealthy, right? These people would all become physically intoxicated. It's almost funny how inappropriate this reaction would be to the stimulus. Now imagine if, in the same house and situation, everyone started yelling at each other, maybe about who used the last of it, or why we didn't make it last longer, or how some of it was wasted two days ago and now we're all out... ad nauseum. These people would become emotionally intoxicated. Ever seen a house like that? Ever lived in one? If so, you know that, growing up that way, you learn that yelling is the right response when things go wrong. Yelling takes the place of the addictive substance. Over time, dozens or hundreds of these lessons build up in children, who grow up thinking these behaviors normal, until one day they have a home and family of their own, and the bread or milk runs out before grocery day... (Repeat After Me)

Just like with substance addictions, addictive behaviors come with motivations and underlying causes that make perfect sense (subconsciously) to the addict. Stopping alcoholism isn't as simple as keeping a person from tipping the bottle. Addictions are preferred because they satisfy a need, usually emotional, which must be rooted out through a lifelong process and serious lifestyle changes. A person cannot simply stop addictive behavior, wither it involves consuming a substance or acting out, without understanding and addressing those needs. Even people who claim to have beaten an addiction have usually only moved on to some other substance or behavior (smoking, exercise, religion, work, rage, etc.) if they haven't dealt with the underlying issues.

Notice that, at no point in the previous examples, does anyone ever bite the bullet and go out to the store, or pull out the powdered milk and make everyone suck it up until grocery day because the powdered milk isn't nearly as good as the real thing. This is a rational response to running out of milk. It's true that none of these actions answer the questions about why some was wasted or who didn't stick to the rationing plan; the only way to do that is through rational discussion and candor with calm questions and honest answers, and then better planning. But this takes a tremendous amount of effort when the yelling response (and/or other myriad dysfunctional behaviors) are at work. And this is the challenge with emotional sobriety.

Now back to binge and purge. Just as alcohol can be overindulged in as an addictive substance, so can something like anger or withdrawal. Using these 'substances' instead of physical ones has the same effect: as a user, you become totally immersed in the effects of it, eventually extraordinarily so. You begin to feel the extremes of the behavior. Unfortunately, too much of the 'substance' halts normal emotional processing: you no longer listen or think rationally, you can't have a reasonable conversation, you're unable to use the social skills necessary to interact with people in a professional, social, or family setting. You hurt people.

And then comes the pain of realization. Just as the body begins to reject too much alcohol in the system by vomiting, so does the mind recognize lost connections or missed deadlines or failed obligations. Just as the body heaves to release the perceived poisons, the mind panics and goes into a stress response, and you as the 'user' undergo emotional extremes as you struggle to understand the impact of your behaviors and the damaging consequences. This is the purge, and just like puking doesn't always get out only that fifth of vodka you drank, emotional purges can also bring up other feelings and thoughts that were part of the mix during the bingeing.

I'm not saying that being emotionally intoxicated constitutes an emotional binge, nor am I saying that you are an addict (either of substances or behaviors) if you 'use' recreationally to explore those dark parts of yourself. Like alcohol, which can be recreationally misused (either accidentally by people who lack the experience to know how much is too much, or intentionally by those who want that escape once in a while), it's okay to 'recreationally' 'use' anger as a means of expression at times when it may not be completely appropriate, as long as you recognize and manage the potential risks. Indeed, since anger is a perfectly healthy response to some stimuli, learning how to control your anger, and your behavior while angry, including the way you act and speak to people, is really the only way possible of becoming skilled in using anger when it's called for. Another way to learn this is by watching how healthy angry people act, but now we're back to whether the family uses vodka or yelling or conversation to deal with running out of milk.

Emotional purging is a necessary part of being a behavioral addict. This is due, in part, to the frequency of emotional binges that occur, as compared to physical/chemical binges. Unfortunately, addictive behaviors are usually so subtle, or even socially acceptable (reality TV, anyone?), that it's sometimes difficult to recognize when they're being used without social interaction. At least, that's true in my case. As a result, emotional purging must occur. Through whatever activities are involved in the purge, the addict is hopefully able to sort through several emotions and/or behaviors at once, sorting out which ones are relevant and which ones are not, and string together a chain of remembered events or feelings that will he or she hopes to use as a sort of decoder key the next time some stressful stimulus presents itself and demands to be dealt with. That's how this blog was born and, most of the time, the purpose it's meant to serve. I share it publicly partly as a means of accountability, and because I occasionally wish to rant, criticize, or entertain to the lucky few who happen by. You know who you are ;)

Many thanks to my muse for today for shaking up the pieces of these thoughts well enough to fall together into a (semi)coherent post. This self-exploration was much-needed.

SCWA

Postscript: When I wrote this, I was -in no way- making reference to the binge/purge cycle of bulimics  Any insensitivity encountered is purely unintentional.

Repeat After Me

This morning, we had a little craziness in my house as we all prepared for our days. I was getting myself ready to leave at 7:30, my kids were finishing up breakfast, and my wife was in the bathroom finshing her business. As I headed out the door, I said goodbye to everyone.

Less than a minute later, my phone buzzed in my pocket. In my pants pocket. I was on a two lane residential road with unpredictable patches of ice. There were school busses and other commuters moving in both directions. I was buckled in with two layers of coat over my waist and gloves on my hands, and I'd already spilled tea onto my breakfast of toast and peanut butter. I realize, every time this happens, that the caller has no idea of this--they are only calling for what they perceive to be a good reason--but each time it happens, I feel anger.

Repeat after me...

I got the phone out too late to answer, and in the process spilled more of my tea onto my center console. So I wouldn't have to repeat the previous process of unbundling the damn thing, I set it down next to me. Immediately it lit up again. It was my wife, saying she'd tried to flag me down when I pulled away because our son was late for orchestra practice. Knowing what was coming, I asked what she wanted me to do, and heard the answer. This is when the stress reaction started: fight or flight.

The fight or flight response was originally intended to save mankind from sabertooth tigers and ensure he had the strength to respond when assaulted by an enemy. It still serves a purpose. For example when stepping off a curb, if we hear a horn close by, our senses are heightened and our blood quickens, our muscles become instantly ready to react when we realize a car is heading for us, and we're able to back up in time to get out of the way, thereby saved by our cavedweller instincts. However, although our social evolution and lifestyles rarely demand a real life-or-death fight or flight reaction, one still takes place upon perception of some stress. Our blood vessels still constrict, our hearts begins to race, muscles tense, adrenaline is released... the whole biopharmaceutical package is delivered, even when we get a call from a bill collector or we suddenly realize... oh shit, my son is late for orchestra practice.

Back to that moment on the road: even before my wife answered my question, I knew she was going to ask me to turn around, come back home, and take our son to school. For some reason, this enrages me. Rationally, I of all people understand forgetfulness, even the occasional willful negligence. This is what happened to my wife and son: they forgot. My wife's alarm went off right about the time I probably put the car into drive and then they remembered. It makes all the sense in the world that she'd try to stop me so our boy could get to where he needed to be.

Emotionally, however, I was livid. All manner of questions about unmet responsibilities that weren't mine crossed my mind in an effort to justify telling her hell no, take him yourself. Fortunately my higher thinking intervened and I made the decision to help, but not without some malicious flavor. Because I was right near an intersection with no nearby traffic, I didn't take the time to answer the question, hang up the phone, and proceed back home. No, what I did was throw the phone onto the passenger side floor and do a quick U-turn. This is the only seemingly angry part of my reaction I can justify, as it really did save me probably two minutes--remember I'd only been on the road about a minute at this point. But everything after that, until my son exited my car, was pure dysfunctional response. The only part of the return trip I really remember well was getting caught driving like a crazy man by my neighbor as he walked his dog past my house.

Repeat after me...

By the time I'd pulled back into the driveway, I was fumbling around trying to find a place for my (wet) toast. It only took a few seconds for me to decide to just go back inside and grab towels. The door opened and my son exited; I told him to get in the car and headed to the kitchen as my wife stood there with wet hair and my daughter sat on the floor donning her boots. I flashed a mean look at my wife to express an ambiguous rage for being asked to come back home. I got my towels and stepped back through the foyer, again throwing as much angry energy at my wife as I could muster. I knew beneath my raging that she didn't deserve it, but I dished it out anyway, not because I didn't care that I was wrong to do it, not because I don't love her, not because I think she ought to be treated that way... just because my reaction had taken over, and some part of me insisted on driving home the point that I'd been horribly inconvenienced by her (yes, perfectly normal) forgetfulness. I know my rational mind was present because I expressly avoided eye contact with my daughter, with whom I not only had absolutely no quarrel, but also was terrified that she'd pick up on the way I was treating her mom and realize her dad is, in fact, a monster. My wife said, "Thank you," timidly; I grouched, "You're welcome," back; and stepped out of the house, slamming the door behind me.

Repeat after me...

I even grilled my son in the car. This was completely unfair. I know he's learned his share of dysfunctional responses because he replied to me with a raised, angry voice. I was reasonable enough to use words that expressed my simple need to figure out what had gone wrong, and tell him not to yell at me, but my tone was a million miles away from my intent. Hopefully, he'll remember that I told him I loved him when I dropped him off more than he'll remember the rest of it. Of course, that doesn't mean the rest of it won't have an effect on him, not to mention the impression my daughter got when I left the house.

Repeat after me...

None of what I can remember takes into account what may have happened in the house this morning after I left. I can imagine my wife and son's reactions upon hearing the alarm and realizing what it meant (panic?) I can imagine the mad shuffle to get me on the phone, and the response my wife may have had when I tossed the phone away (confusion? anger?) I can imagine the meaning of the words spoken as my son hurried to get his stuff together (your father is angry and it's all my fault? your father is angry and he's an asshole for acting this way?) I can imagine the thoughts of my daughter as she put on her boots, seemingly outside the situation, but completely immersed in the reactions both her parents were having (why is daddy angry? why is mommy crying? why didn't he say anything to me? why did he slam the door? why do I get punished when I slam a door?) Of course, all of this is speculation.

Repeat after me...


It is in this way that my wife and I perpetuate the broken and dysfunctional behaviors we learned in our families of origin. These reactions are a disease with which we were infected as children and continue to be affected as adults, and we are fully engaged in the process of passing it along to our own kids.

Today, for example, the lessons were:

1. Even though you're not perfect, it's okay to expect others to be
2. You should hold other people's mistakes against them
3. If you are asked to help someone who's made a mistake, they should pay for it somehow
4. Someone else's mistake is a cause for you to be angry
5. The proper way to act when angry is shows of verbal and physical violence
6. If you make someone angry, you deserve to be mistreated
7. The proper way to react to an angry person is to yield to whatever abuse they dish out, or lash back at them with an even bigger reaction

Thinking about some of the arguments in my house in the past, I know my kids are learning these lessons well, and using each other to practice their own dysfunctional behaviors for when they are grown and have families. As I look back on it now, I am ashamed, as I am every time something similar happens. Deep down, my heart breaks for it. I am working hard at just being able to recognize these behaviors. I know the only thing I can do afterward is apologize. Many days I still have no idea how to prevent the reactions before they occur, but when I am able to, I am met with a special brand of resistance only a fellow dysfunctional person can deliver, which only deepends the mess.

The fact is I am sick, and at this point, I am always left wondering how to move forward. As with every day, there is work to be done, and I can't afford to stop for long. Rarely do I have the luxury of stepping away from my existence and responsibilities to examine the behaviors that tear apart my relationships, and even when I do, I'm out of the context of those relationships, so any proposed solution is only experimental until I'm back in my 'real world,' and therefore subject to a response by the people in those relationships (who are also sick) that might completely dismantle whatever outcome I may have hoped for.

Rays of such sunlight are ever fleeting and must be appreciated when they appear, or healing will never happen. To ignore the problem just keeps the brew acidic, and every new episode of dysfunction sours it further, poisoning the family and ensuring future generations will be just as messed up. This cycle must stop, and I yearn with every breath I draw to find a way to start over.

For now, in this moment, I must concede that the only way to start over is with each new moment, each new day, and each apology and admission of guilt or explanation I give the kids in the hope that they won't grow up and repeat my unhealthy behaviors. I also hope that, as I strive toward emotional and spiritual health, I will also demonstrate an increasing number of behaviors that enhance their ability to function as healthy people: to have fun and be frivolous, to believe in themselves because there is no legitimate reason not to, to take risks that might create a better life for themselves, to love vigorously and loyally, and to only accept vigorous and loyal love.

Oh, what I wouldn't give to break these chains, but the fact is I wouldn't know how to live without them should they all just fall immediately. They are safe and familiar. They were forged one link at a time, both by my parents when I was a child and by myself as I've built an adult life using the rules I was taught. Breaking them will only happen with the same slow process.

Repeat after me. SCWA.

---

Addendum: I owe many of my original realizations, and some of my continued recovery, to the book Repeat After Me, by Claudia Black. Anyone who finds themselves in similarly distressing and confusing situations should definitely give it a look. Dr. Black is a pioneer in studies of children from addictive and dysfunctional homes, and I honestly don't know what kind of mess my life would be without the intervention of a counselor and the realizations of Repeat After Me and other books, videos, and meetings I've needed to realize what was happening to me emotionally. I'm still a long way from being truly healthy, but I'm on the right path.

This one....................................not this one.

No infringement is intended on the book Repeat After Me, its cover, or the images of Claudia Black, Ph.D or the actress Claudia Black. Please email me should you have any issue with their being included in this post.

Fishing

My first cast hit the water with a lame plunk, hardly worthy of the effort I’d made. Dad just said, “Try again.” Eventually I caught something tiny, but judging by his excitement it may as well have been a whale.

I still see his smile when I fish now, with or without my own kids.
* * * * *
FFF-55, Vol. XXXVIII? Tell a story in exactly 55 words. Go see G-Man. Dedicated to my dad on what would be his 39th Father's Day. 

Reconciliation

Well, so now it seems I'm the only one who hasn't had my say.

It's not because I haven't been paying attention. When all this (recent) business started, I delayed reaction, and asked others to delay reaction, because I wasn't sure what the right course of action was, or if any action was necessary at all. I was temporarily content to maintain my silence.

In the meantime, I was (justly) accused of not speaking up for the greater good, not making a strong position well known. This wasn't really surprising to me. Don't think I didn't feel a little wimpy because of my inaction. However, I know myself, and I know that when I respond immediately to a tender situation, especially in writing, I usually get myself in trouble because I haven't allowed myself to absorb all the facts and emotions, and my response is usually misunderstood because I couldn't grasp the context enough to present it well to my audience(s). This situation was certainly no exception, and so rather than risk being taken out of context, and thereby accused of something much more egregious than not speaking up, I chose instead to endure the accusation. The actions of others that followed were not entirely unexpected.

One problem here is that I am not understood well enough to be trusted to do what's right. You see, it isn't that my intentions aren't good, or that my priorities aren't in order. I do know what's right, and for the first time since this all began, I finally understand why. There's a reason I'm here; there are important things for me to do. It's no surprise to anyone that I'm ill-equipped for these roles, but what might be is that I desire more than anything to fulfill them well. I've been called to do something important, and even though I've proven over and over that I'm incapable of it, that job is still in my lap. I'm still expected to do it, and if the one I'll answer to when I ultimately succeed or fail can have this much patience with me, maybe I can find it in myself to become capable after all. I deserve another shot at it, and even if I've squandered the patience and trust of those around me, I am going to take that shot. To put a humorous spin on it all, Steve Martin put it best in "The Jerk" when he said "I have a special purpose!" Well hey folks, so do I.

To be fair to my doubters, this isn't the first time I've tried to change. It's true that much of what I've said has been said before. To be fair to myself, it is the first time I've tried changing my approach to change, if that makes any sense. My entire adult life, I've made some very bad decisions, and I have 20+ years of legitimate reasons why, but none of them qualify as excuses any more. Changing how I operate hasn't been easy, and it hasn't taken hold because I've been doing it for the wrong reasons. Now I think I have the key. This doesn't mean I won't have trouble, and it doesn't mean I don't foresee problems in fulfilling this purpose, and it sure doesn't mean I won't occasionally fail. I have a lot of details to work out, and I'm going to need a lot of help, but for once I think I've found the team that will pull me through.

So listen here. I am paying attention. I want my position to be known. It just seems I needed more time to speak it than others. Let me state it now then, for the record: Any and all who wish me well, if they are to support my success, should honor their place as has been agreed and forewritten. They should respect the sanctity of my heart, my home, and my family. We all have some role to play in this and I, for one, am ready to move on and start figuring out how to play mine. Finally, regardless of how others may feel, I will not speak or write words intended to harm or hurt anyone. There have been more than enough of both from all sides and it's time for something greater than a tenuous ceasefire. We need to learn to coexist peacefully, even if we intend to steer clear of each other, before any of us can begin to heal, let alone prosper. I will pray for this outcome, and I invite you all to do the same.

SCWA

Bibliophilia

Closing the book, I wipe away tears. My new acquaintance, Markus Zusak, has again brought me to such a state of reflectance. Such beauty in my hands, such tragedy. Such truth.

But I am alone in this houseful of people. There are none else who share this love. Not here.

T.S. Elliot and Emily Dickenson sit beside me, offering such treasures that no one else seems to recognize.

I am both enraged and ashamed. I am dumbstruck.

Poe sits above me and tempts my imagination, but I am the only one with enough patience to enjoy such a fine and delicious treat.

Milosz makes frames for my emotions. Dahl sits down to share an evil laugh. Hawthorne engages me in the finest depths of guilt. Buck reminds me what is just and good. Both Lewis and Carrol will walk with me along their separate paths. Homer and Virgil and Melville too, though most nights are usually too short to enjoy their company. Bradbury, Flaubert, Silverstein...when will there be enough time?

Figures crowd the room around my shelves, and only I can see. They smile silently at me, each knowing too well that part of my soul they alone have touched and spoken to. I carry them always with and within me, for the lessons and tools they have given have made me strong and rich.

Oh, how I am loathe to let those others be content without these gifts. But their time will come. They will find their way.

Or they will never truly know me.

Farewell Letter

23 February 2009

Dear N---,

Before you leave our family for good, I want to let you know that, for all the good and bad times between us, you were a very important part of our family while you were here.

We both know why it had to end, but we'll remember it in our own ways. Maybe you'll never feel like your home was here; maybe you'll never really know what we were trying to do, or the kind of parents we wanted to be. Maybe you'll try to forget us, and maybe later you'll say you hate us for sending you home early. I can't change any of that.

Regardless of how you might feel about Mom and me, never ever forget the kids. They will never forget you, and you will always be their brother, no matter how old you all get or how far away you may be. They were not part of the problems we had, so if you have any bad feelings at all, don't blame them. They love you. Please love them back.

So now as you head back home, you'll have lots of time to think about what happened, and why things happened the way they did. I'm all done lecturing you on rules and telling the truth--don't worry. Nothing can change what's already happened.

But now you have a future to think of.

During your six months with our family, I think I've seen many parts of who you are. I've seen your soft, boyish side who likes cartoons and comic books. I've seen the way you get along with kids, and play with the dogs. I've seen how smart you are, when you really want to understand something. And I've seen what you are willing to sacrifice to get what you want.

Not all of these pieces make the whole person you are, but they are all parts of you. Not all of these pieces fit together well, either.

Soon you will be a man. I don't know what your culture teaches about manhood, but I'll tell you what I believe. Being a man means owning all the pieces of who you are. It means even if you don't understand a part of yourself, you don't pretend it isn't there, and you take responsibility for the things it makes you do, whether they're good or bad. It also means growing--seeing when something is bad, and learning what to do about it.

Every person has to go through this, man and woman. But it's especially important for a man. So many forces will tear you apart as you become an adult--sex, friends, career, family--and you will not be allowed to fail. Pay attention to how the world sees men--those who succeed, and those who don't. Don't think you will succeed all the time, because you won't. Don't fear failure--it will come whether you like it or not. How you deal with it will make the difference. Will you let your failures beat you? Will you stop trying to be better?

You should know that ignoring a failure or problem--pretending it doesn't exist--does not make it go away.

There is also a time in every man's life when he must realize that he is alone in the world, and no one else can be held responsible for his actions. You are near this time. Yes--you will always have people around you who will love you, and help you--but the longer you rely on them to make problems go away, or fix what went wrong, the longer it will take before you are truly a man.

I believe in you, N---. I know that you can succeed in life, if you really want to. I know you have what it takes to survive when others would fall. But you must know fully who you are, and accept every part of yourself, before that can happen.

I wish you all the best in life. Though today might not be the best day, it will end and better days will come. You will be in school very soon, doing things that will start a whole new life. You will be with friends again. And best of all you will be home, home with your family who loves you more than anything.

We will miss you, N---, all of us. Make the best of the lessons life gives you, keep rolling no matter what. Because I know that once you find the right direction, you will be unstoppable.

Sincerely,

(signed)

The List

I recently bought a new CD, my first in a long time: Rosanne Cash's The List.

The story behind this album is that, after graduating high school, Rosanne went on tour with her dad, the legendary Johnny Cash. In a conversation with him about music, he kept mentioning songs, to which Rosanne would reply, "I don't know that one." It happened frequently enough to disturb the Man in Black to the point of jotting a list he called "100 essential country songs." The songs on my new CD are thirteen items on that list.

In the liner notes (a main reason I still love the actual, physical media), Rosanne mentions the songs as part of her musical geneology: those songs which came before and helped shape the songs she'd discovered and loved in her own time. I have to admit: of the thirteen, only two of the songs are familiar to me, and all of them are somewhat obscure (in my limited musical experience) and not exactly my genre of choice. However, if Johnny Cash made the list, and Johnny's in *my* musical geneology, then obviously every song he thought of that day on the tour bus is also part of mine.

This led me to think of making my own list, and as I drove my daughter to her dance class last night, the need for this was confirmed. I put on the CD and had her listen to Heartache by the Numbers, a duet Rosanne sings with Elvis Costello. The song itself is catchy enough, and their version includes such a deep and rhythmic guitar solo I thought for sure the little girl in the back seat would find something to appreciate. When it was all over, she said to me, "What's so special about that?"

My dear girl, you are *so* missing out.

And so I present my list of 100 Essential Rock Songs. It isn't so much a list of songs essential to understanding or appreciating rock (I'm vastly underqualified to make such a list), but those songs which have helped define and shape the person I've become, at least up until now. They all have some special quality or meaning that I consider essential, and therefore all have at least a small connection to my Core.

Don't flame me; I know there are egregious, almost criminal omissions. About half the list popped spontaneously into my head during the remaining ten minutes of the car ride to dance class, and had to be reconstructed later. About a quarter of it came from a quick perusal of the musical library on my computer, and the rest came from sources outside my immediate reach, because, though I can certainly come up with 100 songs I think are amazing and awesome, I know there are songs that have shaped me which I own no copies of, and haven't heard in many years, so I went looking for some of those. Some of these are personal favorites, some are what I think is representative of the artist's work, and some are truly what I consider "essential" in one's musical exposure. Certainly each meets at least two of these criteria. On the obvious omissions, I've concluded that 100 are not enough, and even if it were, everyone's 100 would be different than everyone else's. I invite any of my three or so readers to make a comment and add their own full or partial lists.

I'm cheating a little; where multiple artists are listed, I imply that each artist's version of that song should be listened to, contrasted, and appreciated separately. With all due humility, here is my list:

1. (Anesthesia) Pulling Teeth, Metallica

2. Almost Cut My Hair, Crosby, Stills & Nash

3. Am I Evil, Metallica

4. And it Stoned Me, Van Morrison

5. Aqualung, Jethro Tull

6. As I Am, Dream Theater

7. Back in Black, AC/DC

8. Travelin Man+Beautiful Loser (live combo), Bob Seger

9. Black Magic Woman, Santana

10. Blue on Black, Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band

11. Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen

12. Born to Run, Bruce Springsteen

13. California Dreamin, Mamas and Papas

14. Cemetary Gates, Pantera

15. Come on in my Kitchen, Robert Johnson/Allman Bros. Band

16. Crazy Train, Ozzy Osbourne, Tribute to Randy Rhoades album

17. Cult of Personality, Living Colour

18. Descending, Black Crowes

19. Do You Feel Like We Do? (Live), Peter Frampton

20. Domino, Kiss

21. Dream On, Aerosmith

22. Eight Miles High, Byrds

23. Even Flow, Pearl Jam

24. Every Break You Take, Police

25. Everything is Broken, Dylan/R.L. Burnside/Kenny Wayne Shepherd Band

26. Fearless, Pink Floyd

27. Fight For Your Right (To Party), Beastie Boys

28. Fire And Rain, James Taylor

29. Flying High Again, Ozzy Osbourne/Tribute album

30. Folsom Prison Blues, Johnny Cash

31. Guitar Shop, Jeff Beck

32. Have You Ever Seen the Rain, Credence Clearwater Revival

33. Higher Ground, Stevie Wonder/Red Hot Chili Peppers

34. Holy Diver, Dio

35. Hotel California, Eagles

36. House of the Rising Sun, Animals

37. I Am the Highway, Audioslave

38. I Shall Be Released, Bob Dylan/The Band/Nina Simone

39. I Want A Little Sugar in My Bowl, Nina Simone

40. Imagine, John Lennon

41. Instinct Blues, White Stripes

42. Jenny Was a Friend of Mine, Killers

43. Kashmir, Led Zeppelin

44. Knocking on Heaven's Door, Bob Dylan/Guns N Roses

45. Life By the Drop, Stevie Ray Vaughn

46. Light My Fire (full length), The Doors

47. Lines in the Sand, Dream Theater [1,2]

48. Lithium, Nirvana

49. Little Wing, Jimi Hendrix/Stevie Ray Vaughn

50. Living' on a Prayer, Bon Jovi

51. Mama Told Me (Not to Come), Three Dog Night

52. Manda Una Señal, Maná

53. Master of Puppets, Metallica

54. Maybelline, Chuck Berry

55. Mellissa, Allman Bros. Band

56. More Than A Feeling, Boston

57. Nights in White Satin, Moody Blues

58. One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer, George Thorogood

59. Pack Up, Eliza Doolittle

60. Piece of My Heart, Janice Joplin

61. Purple Haze, Hendrix

62. Rainbow in the Dark, Dio

63. Rock This Town, Stray Cats

64. Roundabout, Yes

65. Runaway, Del Shannon

66. Sea of Heartbreak, Gibson/J. Cash/R. Cash-Springsteen

67. Slaves and Bulldozers, Soundgarden

68. Sledge Hammer, Peter Gabriel

69. Someone Saved My Life Tonight, Elton John

70. Something Beautiful, Lynn Miles

71. Sometimes, Ours

72. Somewhere Down A Lazy River, Robbie Robertson

73. Space Oddity, David Bowie

74. Star Spangled Banner, Jimi Hendrix

75. Strawberry Fields Forever, The Beatles

76. Sweet Baby James, James Taylor

77. Sweet Child O' Mine, Guns N Roses

78. Sweet Euphoria, Chris Cornell

79. Taxman, The Beatles/Stevie Ray Vaughn

80. That's Alright Mama, Elvis Presley

81. The Distance, Cake

82. The Flame, Cheap Trick

83. The Great Gig in the Sky, Pink Floyd

84. The Pretender, Jackson Brown

85. The Weight, The Band

86. Think About Your Troubles, Harry Nillson

87. Thinking Of You, A Perfect Circle

88. Trouble, Coldplay

89. Voodoo Child, Hendrix/Stevie Ray Vaughn

90. Walking Blues, Robert Johnson/R.L. Burnside (acoustic/electric)/Eric Clapton

91. Wander This World, Johnny Lang

92. War Pigs, Black Sabbath

93. Welcome to my Nightmare, Alice Cooper

94. When the Tigers Broke Free, Pink Floyd

95. Whipping Post (Live recommended, not required), Allman Bros. Band

96. White Moon, White Stripes

97. White Room, Cream

98. Yesterday, The Beatles

99. You Got It, Roy Orbison

100. You Know I'm No Good, Amy Winehouse

Much thanks to the posters on YouTube, and apologies for possibly crappy versions of otherwise amazing songs. I found what I could, knowing these links may all be dead someday anyway.

On Manhood

Here is what I am: a man.

These simple three letters define a conflicting myriad of roles and responsibilities, of strengths and weaknesses, of truths and lies, of affirmations and contradictions. I cannot hope to elaborate on enough of these in a single entry to describe the full extent of a man's burdens, but I hope to explore enough of the surface of this vast sea to better understand and explain myself, if only a little.

By nature, all humans are conflicted. C.S. Lewis wrote (from the perspective of an experienced demon tutoring a novice in the ways of harvesting souls),

"Humans are amphibians—half spirit and half animal....a revolting hybrid... As spirits they belong to the eternal world, but as animals they inhabit time. This means that while their spirit can be directed to an eternal object, their bodies, passions, and imaginations are in continual change, for to be in time means to change."

Though I haven't yet finished the book, what Screwtape undoubtedly omitted from his letters is the fact that, among humans, men in particular are affected by a potent mix of social and biological pressures and expectations. I am sure that, armed with this information, and pertinent details, any of our own Wormwoods have a solid chance at tempting us away from our intended paths. I know mine has on thousands of occasions. It's something I struggle with every day. I've written a little on this before.

(I know that women are perhaps torn by a different, maybe even more potent, mix of pressures and expectations, but being male, I must leave that for others to explore.)

Skirtchasers
To be sure, men have gained a certain reputation in most (all?) of the cultures that have populated the earth characterized by their especial weaknesses, in particular their vulnerability to Lust. It's no use denying it, even though most polite adults do every day. No matter how elevated a society, or a man's role in that society, as soon as he falls victim to this vulnerability, everyone acts like it was inevitable, or praises him on his former chastity, but alas, now he's just like all the rest. Such a pity. So long as he is born with the typical cocktail of biochemical influences, no level of social upbringing or education can save a man from this, and no level of respect or status or social rank will excuse him once he falters. This is in the news every single day, and no adult that I know, of any gender, can claim to have been unaffected by this (negatively in every case) at some point (or several points) in their lives.

Breadwinners
Another burden unique to men is their expectation to provide. Now, I am a firm believer that our bodies and brains were designed to make this easier for us than for women, at least when this involved defending a village from aggressors or killing next week's main course. To an extent, we are still at this stage. Most of the world's military forces are male, and while a person of any gender can become educated and employed sufficiently to support a family, in some cases abundantly so, men have been given a characteristic motivation to do so, and the complementary capacity to beat themselves up when they perceive that they're failing. Society is no less forgiving. It's no secret that a man who is not the breadwinner of his family must distinguish himself in extraordinary ways to be respected as much as men who are. Nor is it a secret that women who take this role in two-adult households are often be stereotyped as agressive. This is magnified when the household includes children.

Men are judged on their ability to meet the expectation to provide, in some cases harshly, by both women and other men, particularly those who are seen/see themselves as better providers than the subject of their disdain. Traditional views sometimes go so far as to bestow special distinction to those who can (or cannot) meet this expectation to a great degree, or despite uncommon challenges. Where I come from, for example, men who really screw this up even get titles such as "deadbeat" and "loser" which enhance the perception that, again, nobody was surprised at that man's failure. The worst judges against this imposed standard are the men themselves. Many men who cannot meet a certain, internally and externally defined, level of success as providers often fall victim to their vices, such as addiction and gluttony, which of course leads to other personal and social failures. No amount of effort to provide, even for himself alone, is worth anything to a man unless it meets or exceeds this minimum level. Unfortunately for many, the resources a man has to meet that level can sometimes be out of his reach; sometimes the very cause of denial of resources to a man is his inability to meet other social expectations.

Suffer in Silence
A man is expected to carry his own weight, and not only be able, but willing, to carry the weight of others. He is expected to do so without complaining, at least publicly. Hiding one's emotions, indeed, feigning indifference or agressive passion, is viewed as a strength. A man who does not meet this expectation is given many labels that are not suited for polite discussion, but everyone uses on occasion. We are given countless examples against which to measure the men around us--cowboys and athletes and magnates and soldiers (who says the modern hero is dead?)--and as men, are we constantly comparing ourselves to others. Though a mark of maturity is the tendency not to indulge in such self-defeating behavior (there is always another man nearby who trumps us in one way or another, so losing a one-on-one comparison is inevitable), we still do so quietly, privately, because we know the people around us are doing the same thing.

To meet these many challenges, to succeed in being 'manly,' a man is rewarded with society's admission into a fraternity of common nobles who are all allowed, for the moment, to make the statement: I am a Good Man. To fail to meet those challenges, even a little, relegates a man to a lower level of acceptance, depending on how grossly he falls short. It's usually acceptance of some kind, yes, but the kind that make everyone smile politely then turn away in disgust. Society wants us to make the grade, but looks at us when we fail like a coach looks at a player who's made a game-killing mistake. "No fraternity for you, but we really didn't expect anything different. Try again later...but for now get out of my face."

I am not above any of these influences myself. Indeed, most of my ability to explore and discuss them comes from suffering numerous failures, and my conclusions on how to either hide the things about me perceived as weaknesses or enhance (or feign) development of those things considered strengths. I have even discussed some of this with my own growing boys, not necessarily because I have these expectations of them (though some of them I do), but because I don't want them to be confused (or, God forbid, humiliated) when they realize the world around them does.

The deepest truth here is that all these criteria, all these definitions, of how a man is ultimately seen by society, and sees himself, come from my own personal expectations of myself. I am plagued by Lust. I pressure myself to provide materially and emotionally for my family. I ignore or deny most of the pains endured along the way. I fear judgement, especially by those I love, especially from other men, whether they are important in my life or strangers. Maybe I'm not as mature as I ought to be; I certainly have reason to fear. I fail in one aspect or another at being the Man I want to be nearly every day, and I don't want anyone to know it. I know the nature of love is acceptance, but because I am a man my programming overrides much of my willingness to show my True Self to those around me, despite their claims that it won't affect how they view me as a person, as a partner, as a father. And because I am human, I am imperfect: I make mistakes and don't want anyone to know about it.

But my humanity is no excuse, not when Society is the Judge.