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.

Divorce Announcement

Written 10 July 2014.

Last night I told Nx I wanted out of the marriage. We had the talk with the kids. It was shitty.

I am more scared now than I have been at any other time in my life. I know this intellectually, but do not feel it. In fact, I feel like almost nothing's changed; I feel the same as I did every day I woke up unhappy and unresolved about how to change my life. I thought a weight would be off my chest, but I still feel just as burdened as I did yesterday and a hundred days before this.

I also feel guilty, not about Nx but the kids. Sx was devastated, heartbroken. I fear I've ruined her for the rest of her life. I worry, too, about the boys: of course they'll deal with this differently. They didn't really respond appropriately at all, which worries me more than Sx's response. They will have to deal with this, just like they dealt with all the silent bullshit for years before this, but I know (both intellectually and emotionally) that they will be better off after this has settled, and real happiness comes into view. (At least for me.) I also feel guilty about not feeling guilty about Nx.

I have fucked this marriage up, it's true, and it's on me to end it. I have not fucked it up alone: I bear no more or less than 50% responsibility for its slow, agonizing demise. Nx knows this in her heart, but has never accepted that it needed to end. She may never. What I did yesterday was nothing more than pointing to the situation as a whole and calling it what it is, what it has been for a long time.

Today's Facebook status should be: "Looking forward to living without pain."

And to think this all started with a really productive day at work. I had a fire under my ass about unfinished business. (unfinished)

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.

55: Days and Nights

(Written 14 December 2012. Time to publish.)

There are days
I can’t see it coming,
Days of laughter and smiles.

There are nights
I wonder why it’s taking so long,
Nights of tight-clenched teeth and hushed arguments.

And the times in between
I just don’t know what’s happening.
Maybe nothing. Maybe that’s why it needs to end.

But what if I’m wrong?

* * * * *
FFF-55 Vol. XLVIII.

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.

Rebirth

Source: Dylan Guest Art

I've been thinking hard, in some deep places, in my background processes. There are hard times ahead. The world is about to fall apart. I am about to permanently change the lives of everyone in my family.

I will lose a lot in the processes. I hope to rediscover lost parts of myself, and build new ones of only happy and strong parts, that will make a framework for the rest of my life and every relationship I'll have from now on.

I am scared. Shitless.

The only greater fear I have is that of nothing changing, of staying trapped in this unhappy place, which is not awful, and has become comfortable. But is not happy.

So I know I must get myself out. And despite the overwhelming fear of this, I know it's only temporary. Or I am beginning to know. I can feel the solidity and purity of that kernel of a new beginning. And what sweetens it is love.

Love. From friends, for and from the children, and of myself. Love to be felt and shared in days and nights yet to come that I can't even imagine except in after-school-special caricatures of what a real life of contentment and fulfillment and building something together with people might be.

I feel this undeniably beneath the despair: quiet, still, and patient beneath a hulking grotesque inflated mass, mostly transparent but still huge and formidable and terrifying. That mass is called Fear.

Fear must be dealt with.

I don't know how to do this. I will fall apart. I know I'll misstep and have to retrace my path, berating myself over lost time and wasted effort. I will screw this up over and over again before getting it right.

So be it. This is the process of emerging. This is how I love myself and, ultimately, my family, including my wife: by becoming the very best human being I can be, the man I was born to become. There may be dark days but I will find the light.

SCWA

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 Weight

Obviously, it's time to give in.

I can't work; I can't think; I can't feel. I can't untangle something inside and I'm not even sure where that knot is, but I do know the lump it creates makes everything uncomfortable. My efforts to be a partner may be questionable now, but they went unnoticed or un(der?)appreciated for so long I can't tell if I've given up or I'm just being too guarded. My perspective is so mangled all I want to do is escape, but every effort I make to that end only brings guilt about what I'm avoiding, even though every moment away is ultimately spent in search of the Truth.

Truth--here's what it looks like at the tip: I want out, because there is no satisfaction. I've read so much bullshit about commitment and giving and providing it makes me want to puke, but not before flaming the idiotic Facebooker who posted it. It is NOT wrong for me to want to be satisfied in a relationship, or (God forbid) happy. And while I'm still working out exactly what happiness is, I know for goddamn sure what it isn't.

The arrangement isn't without its benefits. I don't deny that. I don't even deny that, at times, those benefits may be worth the trouble, except for the fact that every day we stay married, our children learn what they will think is normal: what they will seek out later when they are adults. That is a dangerous, deep-dark-thought provoking realization. So I fear I am only left with two choices, and both seem awful and destructive.

I just want to cry. I just want to beat something with my fists until they bleed. I just want to throw myself away and start over.

But there is no starting over, because Truth is an iceberg. Beneath the deranged pain and anger that sometimes consumes and debilitates me, below the surface of public and professional perception that keeps me getting out of bed every morning, is the rest of it all. I am broken. I am beautiful. I am rotten. I am growing. I evolve: spiritually, mentally. But I keep my body and feelings in chains because I am afraid of the work necessary to remove them, and ashamed of the scars that will become apparent when they are gone. I am deformed on the inside and contort myself on the outside to hide it, and it hurts a little more every single fucking day. The ice is ancient and colossal, beyond comprehension, and under its weight and influence I have suffered long and terribly.

The one thing that saves me is my routine. Work, school: it's a familiar track and I know where it goes. It provides a necessary distraction and they pay me well enough to show up. For these same reasons, the routine is also a terrible constrictor: once the work is done, my available resources for dealing with real issues are so limited as to restrict or eliminate my ability to solve anything. It's important for me to remember that my life will actually improve with formal education, and I suppose it could be worse: I could very easily be stuck in my situation without a means to support myself or those who have come to depend on me. With all the emotional stress I currently have, I must remember to be thankful of at least that much. Except on days like today, when the confusion and worry become so overwhelming I can't even get through a to-do list of 4 items.

This post is unfinished, and I submit it under duress, because I dare not allow what little clarity has come with its writing to fade away.

SCWA

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.

Desperation

The pain settles itself into the bottom of my stomach to be dealt with later; right now, there's work do to: widgets to make, dinner to plan, homework to help with, teachers to meet, dogs to feed and let out, tables to wipe and set and serve on then clean up again. There is no time to ponder the direness of the situation, or the urgency of my cravings, or the desperation of my need for closeness and intimacy and deep, satisfying love. There is no room for the work I need to do to repair my marriage, and nobody that would notice except me anyway. At the end of it all, I am an instrument of my children's existence and a means by which they survive and enjoy their First-World problems. To my wife, I am a symbol of some outdated definition of success, and a source of fuel for her self-loathing. To myself, I am a burden. Lift me, and relieve them all.
* * * * *
Yes, this is the depression talking. Yes, I know parts of it are rather pathetic and some may even be offensive. That is the nature of the pain; I offer no apologies, only some disclaimers (ONE and TWO).

Desperation

Floating
Streaming
Gloating
Screaming
Trying
Failing
Denying
Betraying

A pale evening glimmer falls in shades of pink and orange as I lie agonizing. It is beautiful; an Aurora Borealis to contrast the slow bleed of my emotions. Pain like this is only earned, never truly inflicted. It is a soul-ache caused by some deep failure to nurture oneself. It shows a sickness of the heart that can only be cured with a revelatory love, the kind that scandals are made of. There is no rock or hard place, only decisions, and all this slow demise will seem a sad and ignorant episode in just a few turns. Or so I can hope. Or maybe I can just decide?

God help me: I need light, and I need to be touched by a soft and gentle and adoring hand. Then there will be love. And peace.

Mischief of One Kind And Another

I, like about a zillion other people, am an enduring fan of Maurice Sendak's classic children's book Where the Wild Things Are. The appeal of the book isn't just the story or the illustrations, it's a universal identity with the inner Max in each of us. Everyone's misbehaved without regard to the consequences, everyone's been pissed about the inevitable punishment, and everyone's fantasized about escaping the unpleasantness of real life. Sometimes, everybody wants to be king, regardless of how old or young we are, where we are from, or how we are raised. To me, the book's most important lesson comes right at the end, when Max finally decides to return home, and finds that he hasn't, in fact, been abandoned by his mother, and that his dinnenr is waiting for him, "still hot."

Isn't that the perfect ending to any story?

When the live action film was announced, I was ecstatic. I couldn't imagine how anyone would make the movie, but I didn't care. I couldn't believe a feature film could be adapted from a story that's less than 350 words long, but I didn't care. I wanted to see it; I couldn't wait, and I have to admit the trailer itself nearly brought me to tears, due in no small part to that song playing. I was hooked in the first five seconds.

When the film was released, I was surprised to hear negative or hushed reviews, and criticism that the film's story didn't follow that of the book exactly. Truth be told, I became even more intrigued. I was secretly happy the critics weren't raving about it, because it meant the film was made for its own reasons, not those for which it would be judged successful entertainment. When I heard about the parents who threw a fit because it wasn't a happy kid's show, I knew even better that it had been made for me, and nobody else.

I didn't see the movie in the theater; I couldn't get anyone to go, except when I could, and then there were always more 'entertaining' movies to go see. Finally I watched it on Netflix. I didn't know what to expect, but whatever I got was more than satisfying. I haven't had the experience very often of seeing a movie and not feeling some closure at the end, but this one came close. Sure, it has a conclusion: Max makes it home, just like he's supposed to. But unlike most stories that are neat and clean, that go around their story arc from beginning to end, Where the Wild Things Are kept turning around inside me, following the same arc over and over, just in the context of my own self instead of Max.

When I described the movie to my family, it was difficult. All I could come up with was, "it's a movie about growing up, and facing your fears, and finding out who you really are." Which is lame as movie descriptions go. The movie is different. Where as the book gives us a story of exploration that's fun to read, the movie is sometimes difficult to watch. The characters get into uncomfortable and unpleasant situations that are common, at least in my family, but nobody wants to see, and certainly nobody wants to deal with during an evening out. They fight. They call each other names and hold grudges. They hurt each other.

Today, for some reason, my mind went back to that story, the one on the screen, and I found out more about who I really am. I saw myself in every predicament the characters endure. This morning as I looked into the bathroom mirror, what I saw partly completed a picture I've been piecing together my whole life.

I could see my own wolf suit.

We all have a wolf suit, and we all do with it exactly what Max does with his. It changes us; that is its purpose. It allows us to become brave and reckless; it lets us present to the world that which we would like everyone else to see, instead of that which we know will be disapproved of, that which is weak. It lets us tame the wild things in our own lives, and gives us a barrier of protection against the terrible roars and gnashing teeth that would otherwise reduce our broken souls to tears.

My personal realization is that I have relied too much on my wolf suit. I have never taken it off, because I have never believed myself strong enough to live without it. I have hidden inside from everyone I've known. Some, a tiny few I could count on one hand, have been shown this truth. But no one, including myself, has a real understanding of who is inside.

This must be my quest: to do what Max does, and finally come home, still loved, and feel safe enough to start taking off my wolf suit. People will be hurt, more than have already been. I will be shamed, more so than I am already dealing with. But maybe, like Max as he sees his dinner, I could just start with the hood.

I am scared to death.

Disclaimer

Dear Friends,

Big news: I may not be the man you think I am. I'm certainly not the man I want to be. If you've read more than two posts in this blog, you likely already know this. No, see, the man I actually am is not very respectable.

Maybe you've figured this out. It's possible you've been personally screwed over because of it, or that you've heard it through the grapevine. I probably won't come out and say it to you, not unless you're willing to commit a few hours to sharing a pair of barstools, and you might have to buy shots. But the list of people I'd talk to even if those conditions were met is very short. I am ashamed, you see.

So here's the truth: The real me, my True Self, took off 15 years ago or so, and left a shell that has been operated like a grotesque puppet by an Evil Twin on and off since. It's a lot like those movies where a guy is taken over and controlled by some entity, but occasionally breaks through to warn the people around him to flee before he loses control again.

Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe this has been the real me the entire time, and I wear my public perception like a garment so no one will suspect it. A wolf in sheep's clothing. I operate in this guise to manipulate those around me into thinking I'm a good guy.

Actually, both of these descriptions fit who I've become, but the key to understanding myself is that my True Self, the man I wish I could be, has been drowning, held under water by both the fearful and addictive behaviour of the Evil Twin, and the man driven by a desperate need to maintain a respectable public image.

Anyone who's known me any decent length of time has actually seen this True Self, this elusive man I'm struggling to free. You've each probably seen whatever little slice applies to our relationship, whatever that may be. Some of you have access to more slices than others. But I can't leave him out, you see, because he is both respectable and repulsive, both compassionate and cruel. He is not universally accepted, and so must be squelched in the name of social duties and standards.

This is a cruel fate, because this man, this True Self, is actually a good man. He's good because he will speak the truth even when it's offensive, but he is learning gentleness and tact. He's good because he speaks his mind, and is thorough and eloquent enough to do so in a way that even those who would be hurt by the words can't deny their truth. He's good because he honors his committments, even though he needs help learning how to say no, both to the people he should not cavort with, and those who pretend to like him but create unhealthy situations. He's good because he is willing to explore and develop himself in unexpected ways, and takes the risks necessary to realize change. And he's good because when he makes mistakes or misjudgements, he acknowledges them and pays his dues.

I do not know how I will manage these three identities: the pure deciever who lies for shame of the truth, the smiling neighbor and happy face at kids' school events, and the man in between, the one I really need to expose and become. I do not know who I will hurt or abandon in the process of revealing that man, first to myself, wholly for once in my life, and then to those who claim to love me. And then that love will most certainly be tested.

So whatever your relationship with me may be, consider this a disclaimer, but not an apology.

SCWA

Winter

6 March 2011

Walking through the frigid air
The wind passes over me
Like your disdain.
I lift my feet as high as I'm able
In heavy boots
But the snow is much too deep
To clear
Without leaving some regrettable act
Behind.

Still, I push on.

Every step takes me further
From a truth we both know
All know
Every day I'm another mile away
Every inch is an eternity I'll have to retrace
When it all comes pouring out.
Why was I ever walking this way
To begin with?

Into the ever cold night
Writing letters I'll never send
Because those feelings are too hot
For soft hearts to bear
Those words too sharp
They rend and tear
Gentle emotional flesh
Tender spiritual mesh.

No, these words I will hold within.

There they still burn, still tear
But only one person
The wrong person?
But isn't it right to carry this weight?
For you, for them, for everyone
To see?

But who is doing their best, for me?
Who will be their best

For me?

On Marriage

[Unfinished]

11 March 2011

I was thinking today about marriage.

Marriage, the legal union between two people who've decided they're done searching the world for a good partner with which to share their lives, is one of those social institutions so embedded into our culture that it means something a little different to everyone who engages in it, but also has solid legal, historical, religious, and traditional meaning as well. 

So now's your chance to move on; go for it: hit that 'Next Blog' button up there. I'm  warning you.

Still here? Okay, you asked for it.

What I was thinking is this: all the things we grow up thinking about marriage, all the things we read in books and see in movies and on TV, all the stuff your pastor and parents tell you about marriage, is all a joke. The idea of marriage, presented in the context of all this fluffy crap, is just plain silly. And I'll tell you why.

Marriage is this: dirty, heart-breaking, scandalous, exausting. It's a social and legal construct that forces us to act out expected behaviors that may or may not be agreeable to who we really are deep down, and hide those behaviors that are contrary to ideals held primarily by those around us, in particular the marital partner. 

Now wait--I'm not necessarily knocking the whole package. Most of that silly stuff we grow up expecting is based, in some fashion, in truth. Marriage can be rewarding, fun, and satisfying in so many ways life as a single person could never be. At its greatest, a couple's marriage is the keystone of their household, the foundation for the family they build. And that's just the practical part. The most ideal part of marriage, the part which produces that bliss people talk about, is that you can be all done pretending for the rest of the world. I told a friend that once youv'e found a true mate, you are free to remove all your social filters and be your True Self. Your partner becomes a sanctuary. Likewise, you're expected to reciprocate and provide equal sanctuary to your partner, but in doing so you are able to further delight in your partner's True Self, that person who only you have priveleged access to, because you alone are the person s/he feels safe exposing it to.

Any married person reading this will now be shaking his or her head. I realize that marriage means different things in different cultures, and all those cultures have ideals and silly expectations regarding marriage unique to them, but I'm willing to bet that in all these cultures, most actual marriages deviate significantly from those ideals and expectations.

That's because none of what you learn about marriage beforehand can prepare you for the actual work of being married. Keep in mind that, while being your partner's sanctuary, you also have to make sure the bills are paid, shopping gets done, dinner is cooked, dishes are washed, laundry is done and put away, and--hold on a second, somebody better put away this box right now or the TV will not be turned back on the rest of the weekend! In short, there's a whole lot of work to be done in addition to all the work of marriage. Typically, there's so much other stuff that the marital work is taken for granted, put aside, postponed, or simply dismissed as unnecessary. 

BLJ: Big Life Journey (or Through the Fog)

An essay in three parts.

1. It happens often enough that we hear some trite phrase that compares life to a journey. Not trite because it's untrue, and surely not because it doesn't fit whatever context in which we may find it, but only because we've heard this comparison a million times before. But have we ever really considered the truth of it?

I'm sure everyone has, to some extent, though not all have pondered it long. I know many who've peeked above the rim of everyday life and been thoroughly frightened permanently back below, and a few who've been traumatized by their first glimpse beyond the daily grind, and therefore are loathe to ever look again. I don't blame anyone in either of these camps, and I both pity and envy anyone who's never had need to consider those forces behind the life that is projected, as if onto a screen, before their faces.

I've spent many thousands of words and hours considering my own journey, but like everyone else, my view is skewed because it's impossible to see it objectively since, well, I'm still on it. It happens often that I (we all?) am more able to say definitively what I'd do in any situation presented to another human on his/her own journey, but for some reason find myself stymied by my own, even simpler, circumstances.

So because there really is no other choice, I just keep on moving, making each decision with the wisdom at hand, and hoping I always see it as the good choice I believed it to be at the time. This happens to everyone... right? I know this is true of many whom I have surrounded myself with for years, but for some reason all of us, every one, believe we are the only people dealing with this or that trouble at any particular time. And because we either don't want to bother anyone else, or we're too embarassed by our inability to handle something (or the fact that we have to deal with it in the first place), or a bad memory of trusting the wrong person, or some other stupid reason, we fail to reach out to those who may be able to help, and thereby create for ourselves a perpetual lonliness.

2. When I drive from Detroit to Milwaukee, a trip of roughly 370 miles, I do so with such severe limitations I am surprised sometimes that I even get into the car. For one thing, when I'm driving, I can only see a few miles ahead on a flat, straight, relatively empty road, or less than 1% of the total distance. Wouldn't it be preferable if I could see the destination before starting the trip? Usually the road goes up and down hills, is curved, and is crowded, and this of course limits visibility even more.

If I happen to see trouble ahead, it's usually a good enough distance away that I can avoid a collision or any other bad news. It isn't always far ahead: sometimes it appears right in front of me, and I have to make a quick decision. And it isn't always apparent what the trouble is: sometimes I just see the orange barrels or slowed traffic and know something bad is up the road without actually knowing what it is or what to do about it.

What's worse, if I make the drive at night (which is most often the case), I have a maximum visibility of only a couple hundred feet with good headlights (or about 0.01% of the total distance), which is not much further than the minimum stopping distance at highway speeds with good tires and road conditions. If there is something ahead of me that would stop or slow me down, I don't know it's there until I very quickly need to make a decision about how to handle it, and though the roads are typically less crowded at night, I still have the other factors to make the situation even more complicated.

To make matters worse, there are occasions when conditions aren't favorable for travel. It's inevitable that there will be rain, or fog, or snow, or ice, or mud. I can also count on the chance that something from someone else's vehicle will fly into my path, or hit my windshield, or be left on the road for me to avoid. With other cars out there, this is just a given. Though it's many long years ago, I still remember the minor panic I felt when I realized that, although my driver training was complete and I was fully licensed and such, I would eventually have to contend with less-than-ideal travel conditions.

Why on earth would I want to even consider such a trip? First and foremost, because of the people I'm travelling to visit. A close second is that I've been a passenger on the trip enough times to believe I can do it on my own. (Still, the first solo attempt was nerve-racking.) Also, I have maps to guide me: I know which route is the most reliable. What's more, I have experience that will help me make decisions when something goes wrong, even with only seconds before disaster strikes. And finally, I know my vehicle is up to the trip: it's been maintained well enough that I don't have to worry much about the transmission, battery, tires, etc.

3. Every day when I get out of bed, shower, dress, breakfast, drive, work, lunch, work, drive, school, cook/help with dinner, do/help with homework, give kisses and hugs goodnight, rinse, and repeat, I'm on that Big Life Journey, and it's not much different than when I'm on westbound I-94. But beyond that basic similarity, things get very, very different.

For one thing, I have only a vague idea of what my destination is, and I've certainly never been there before. Therefore, I have only ideas about what the best route is. Consequently, I sometimes find myself on a road I suddenly realize I've traveled before, which is not always a good thing. Also, visibility is limited to days, or weeks, or until the next paycheck, or the end of a lease. At best, I can see only 1-2% ahead of myself on a trip that I hope will take in excess of 80 or 90 years. And this road is nothing like I-94. Crappy Michigan road conditions aside, the routes available to me are never straight, never wide. Though some appear to be, it's usually only they're toll roads, and I'd therefore be forced into conventions and directions that might not always suit me--that may, in fact, be detrimental.

Troubles are common and cruel on the BLJ. I never go a day without the need to circumnavigate some pothole or debris, sometimes left there by someone else, more often thrown into my path by my own ignorance or stubbornness. Usually I can see things coming, but this doesn't always mean they're unavoidable. When I can't anticipate them, they seem to come out of nowhere, and I end up not only trying to drive and navigate but clean up the mess I've made. Sometimes it even happens that I find something's been behind me a good while, trying to get my attention, and I've been ignoring it, and that makes the cleanup a bitter task. It's rare that failing to avoid or deal with some such hindrance does not have consequences that affect other people's BLJs. It's also true that making a hard choice to take the right path for any given leg of the trip has potential to hurt others.

Also, it's rare that a dry, sunny day presents itself along the BLJ. I've spent a majority of my own in considerably bad weather. Some people would say this is a matter attitude, and I wouldn't argue with them. That translates into where you choose to be traveling. Unlike a real road trip, if you don't like the current road conditions, the BLJ lets you consciously choose to "relocate" to a place with better weather. This of course, is not easy, and learning how is a journey in itself. And, you do always have to start out from where you currently are, which makes it difficult to realize relocation is possible in the first place.

Finally, I am never sure of my vehicle's travel-readiness. Each morning, I risk some kind of breakdown. I have known issues with particular things, which I treat, but they all have root causes that have yet to be fully diagnosed. Also, many parts and systems are either wearing out for lack (or ignorance) of replacements, or are completely untested, and therefore I have no idea how much they can take. I fear situations that will push them beyond their limits, and I won't see the failure until it's screwed everything up and I'm mired in the conquences. That has happened more often than not, and typically I'm not the only person who ends up screwed or mired. In fact, thinking about it now, I realize that every known issue has been discovered by an unexpected breakdown, usually with accoutremental embarrassment and/or shame.

So, why would I choose to make the BLJ? First and foremost because of the person at the end of the journey: ME. To be more specific, it's not just one single journey, but many smaller ones; and it's not one single person that is the goal, it's just some improvement on the version that began that particular leg. A close second is the chance to make a difference in other people's journeys. Large or small, anything I can do to help someone along their way puts me further ahead in my own. It's about filling buckets. There are some people in particular for whom I strive to be a positive influence, whose BLJs are a main focus in my own. It is for them that I choose not to turn off onto a road I know will end abruptly, when that is my inclination.

I know so little about how to conduct the BLJ it's a wonder I even stay on board, but what I have learned, or what I think I've learned, is that there is no 'end' destination. There are desirable ends, yes, but no Milwaukee in this trip. I've also learned that reaching some desirable end will require a lot of circular travel: many roads will be taken again and again as a necessity; indeed, the sub-goal of any day's travel may be just to reach a familiar road. Finally, I think I've learned to take risks: to take roads that are unfamiliar, or even unpaved, because when taking these roads, like a path in the forest, the point is not to get somewhere, but the experience you have along the way. Usually you end up right where you began, but as a better version of who you were at the first step. Sometimes, you end up somewhere different, and having found that place--somewhere you never would have seen if you hadn't taken a risk--always makes dealing with some other leg of the trip that much easier.

SCWA