On the cusp

This is just kind of a journal entry, given that I haven't written in so long.

I am on the cusp of beginning of the second volume of my adult life.

Baring unforseen and improbable complications, tomorrow, September 24th, 2008 at around 14:00 CDT, I will not be married, for the first time in over 22 years. I don't know how I'll feel. I don't know if I'll be happy, sad, angry (well I can guarantee I'll be angry at my lawyer, but I meant more generally). I have no idea. I think I'll feel some of everything.

The last several days have been better, for at least a few reasons.

First, the end is near, and there is just less stress about how this divorce is going to finish.

Secondly my ex (gotta get used to that term) and I are getting along very well. I've recovered a sense of family and friendship with her, which I sorely missed. Despite everything, we were always friends the last 25 years. Not always close friends, though usually, not always happy friends, though sometimes, but friends. The loss of the friendship was worse than anything I think. It felt like losing an arm. It is strange, I don't even always like who my ex is, how she acts, but I still want her to be my friend. I still feel the need to look out for her interests, and she is still looking out for mine. I think 'family' is the best analogy. You don't always like your family, sometimes quite the opposite, you sometimes argue with them, dislike them, but when they need you, you are there, you can't just write them off. That is what it feels like at this time.

Finally, I began dating someone, someone nice, someone who meets my needs for intimacy, as defined below (definition provided by my counselor). I desperately want friendship and intimacy. I yearn and thirst for it. Here's what my counselor suggested intimacy is:
- Attention
- Acceptance
- Appreciation
- Support
- Encouragement
- Affection
- Respect
- Security
- Comfort
- Approval
- Compassion
- Devotion
- Kindness
- Understanding
I look at that list and think to myself, I could live without anything else (romance, sex) if I just had those things, not even all of them. My pet theory is that this is what everyone is looking for in all our relationships. This is the connection that humans crave.

This is not the first time I have had those needs met. I have friends who give me that, some even more completely really than this new person can, as they know me better, are closer to me, have a more complete view of who I am. Isabelle gave me that to a large degree, despite the impediment of distance. My children sometimes give me that, though only partially as their understanding of me is limited by their child's perspective.

Intimacy, the feeling of being loved, cared for, listened to, is the most powerful anti-depressant ever. Whatever the source, it makes me feel normal, focused.

I don't need romance, I don't need sex, I don't need fun. I need intimacy like I need oxygen.

I hope my current mood is more than just a fleeting moment, a temporary euphoria induced by a surge of hormones and neurotransmitters. I hope it is at least in part due to an adjustment to the new reality of my life. We'll see.

Before I go, let me just add that despite my current very 'zen' outlook, I will tell you that divorce sucks. Absolutely. There is huge loss involved in any divorce. You, your spouse, your kids lose immeasurably. You will all be scarred for life. It may be the only solution, as I think was the case for me, but if there is any chance of making what you have work, give it everything you have. Don't settle for a pissy, mediocre marriage, insist that your needs be met, that you and your spouse be happy, but work at it as if your life depends on it. If after that, it still doesn't work, get a divorce quickly, nicely, and try to continue caring for each other. Life is too short to be unhappy.

Be happy, don't hurt others.


Night y'all.

============================

This is an update....

So I was divorced yesterday. The courtroom appearance was altogether perfunctory: we were called up first and it took all of 1 minute, 2 tops. The only trauma was when my lawyer told me I owed her another $1000, bringing it to a total of $4000, for a *completely* uncontested divorce in which all the terms were already agreed upon and written down when I hired her. She had said it should cost less than $1500. All she had to do was translate our wishes into a legal document a judge would sign. I obviously picked the wrong career.

I didn't have most of the feelings I had anticipated: not happy, not sad, maybe relieved, definitely mad at my lawyer. The rest of the day I was very pensive and introspective. I had the feeling I was strangely detached from my own life, sort of looking at it as though it were someone else's, watching a movie perhaps. I guess I had a hard time believing it had actually happened. I was rather nostalgic, thinking back on my life, what it had been. Mostly just detached though. I don't know how my life got here, it isn't the way I planned it. It isn't bad, it just isn't what I expected.

I recall feeling this way at funerals: someone you are close to dies and it gives you pause, a chance to consider your life and where it is going, where it's been, what it is. The fact is that I have a good life: I have people who love me: a good friend, family, kids, even my ex cares for me in many ways. I have a girlfriend who makes me feel loved, appreciated, wanted. I have an ok job, a nice house, enough money.

I think the thing I miss the most of my old life is knowing who I am, what my function is, where I fit in. I'm used to being a married father, my wife's husband, my in-laws' something-in-law. I'm none of those anymore. I'm used to having to tell someone what I'm doing, where I'm going. Making plans with them, laying out the roadmap of our joint future together. Negotiating money issues, house chores, hanging out together. I lost all my old habits, but do not yet have new ones.

This weekend, ironically enough, I am going to one of my brother's (1st) wedding. It is the first family function at which I won't be accompanied by my now-ex wife. I can't dance in the couple's dance anymore. It's strange, it just feels weird. It's not that I have forgotten how unhappy I was being married, nor do I think the divorce was avoidable. Given who we were, what had happened, it was the least bad alternative. It's like graduating without a job: you walk out and everything is possible, but you have no idea where you are going or what to do.

I'll be ok, but I will tell you that I feel completely lost.

Here's to the great unknown of life.

Divorce club

Yesterday was one of the most interesting days I have had in a long time. I am still reeling from it.

I went to pick up my race packet for Nike's 'Human Race', a world-wide synchronized 10K race I am running today. On the way back I stopped by my favorite dive-bar and had a couple gin and tonics, the drink of the gods.

As I was about to leave a couple guys sat down at the other end of the bar. A couple minutes later another guy came and sat on the only seat left, next to me. The four of us began talking, and lo and behold, we had all been divorced, 3 of us recently or soon-to-be, one a couple years ago. All of us had our wives cheat on us. We talked for a while and then went elsewhere, where we met up with a 5th guy. Turns out he is also recently divorced, his wife having cheated on him too.

When I spoke to them, I didn't say much, I told them I was a couple weeks away from being divorced, that my wife had cheated on me and that it had been hard. Nothing more. I didn't need to. They knew me. They knew what I had felt, what I was feeling then, what I was thinking. The phase of emotions I was going through, what I needed, what I was looking for. They instantly knew everything I have been trying to express in this blog and to my friends for the last 6 months. They got me in ways no one had to date.

It turns out the insanity, depression and pain I felt over these last few months is completely normal. One guy didn't work for a year, and lived in his walk-in closet for 3 months. He spent an hour staring at a loaded gun, trying to figure out what to do with it. He drove his motorcycle at top speed, over 100 mph, for a long time, as I did, not caring what happened. Another guy had to take Xanax to cope with the (misplaced) guilt, depression and anger. All of them hit the bottle and other stuff hard. All of them are still not "over" their ex, they are still reeling from the loss, despite having had many relationships since.

It turns out none of their ex-spouses had any problems "moving on". As soon as they separated, their ex's picked up new serious relationships and never looked back, just like mine did. One guy's ex remarried 30 days after they divorced, 60 days after they filed for divorce. None of their ex's have any remorse, any regrets, any difficulty moving on, even the three who were married 15 years.

It was like discovering a posse of clones. We got each other. It was weird and magical and more comforting and validating than I know how to express.

I am not over it and it's alright, I'm normal. I'll be ok.

Breath

I feel I am swimming underwater.

I am occasionally stuck on the bottom, holding my breath and waiting for something to change, not knowing where to go, what to do.

Sometimes I am swimming along, enjoying the scenery, feeling no need for air, seeing the beauty and grace all around me, even in this confined, restrictive environment. In those moments, I am o.k., I can do this forever, my needs are met, I am content.

And occasionally I am frantically swimming for the surface, lungs screaming for air, barely able to hold my breath, waiting for the first sweet taste of life in all its glory. I know what it will feel like to burst through the surface, explosively exhale, then inhale... deeply. I'm not quite there yet, but I'm swimming for the top, I can see the surface, it is there, shimmering, glistening, tantalizing. It isn't far away, I can taste it already.

Divorce sucks

Ok,

So now lawyers are officially involved. I have mine, she has hers. We are still trying to do it "collaboratively" where my wife and I negotiate the terms and I dictate them to my lawyer. My lawyer will write up a decree, have it reviewed by her lawyer, and hopefully, since we agreed to everything beforehand, just sign it.

That's the plan.

What could possibly go wrong? (LOL)

The problem is that we both have this sense of being wronged: she rather extensively lied to me and betrayed my trust, even tangentially involved my kids in her cheating, making my oldest see things no 10 year-old should ever have to see. I am screwing her out of about $65K, which she would be entitled to in a 50/50 split.

The things is that she would lose, badly, if it went to court, and with it the rather generous visitation arrangement I am offering her. She would also probably owe me child support. I think she knows this. Additionally, neither of us really want this to turn into the horror freak-show that it would be. The balance of terror keeps the situation tensely stable.

These feelings lie very near the surface and this process of legalizing everything brings them out.

The level of conflict is unsustainably painful. We have another month to go, it feels like a year. I will be so happy when we are done, assuming it doesn't turn into WWIII between now and then.

Here's the funny part: this is an easy divorce. I can't fathom a hard one.

So here's tidbit of wisdom for anyone contemplating or starting a divorce: it hurts, it sucks. It starts out easy and gets very ugly very quickly.

God help us all.

The myth of the easy divorce

Ok, so I'm an idiot.

My friends, who all have been divorced, would look at me and gently smile, all but pat me on the head and say "of course you'll have an easy divorce", when I suggested as much.

There is no such thing as an easy divorce. It started out easy enough and almost could have continued that way, both of us being kind and gentle and supportive of each other, going to great lengths to make everything fair and easy. But something happened. I think something always does.

We had planned to watch some family videos and do some fun reminiscing on our 22nd and last anniversary. The night before our anniversary I had volunteered to watch our youngest so my future-ex could ask a co-worker out for drinks after work. I called later that night to let her know I would be by in the morning with my youngest to drop her off so I could go run an errand. She says she heard the phone but didn't want to answer. I stopped by in the morning, my daughter in her pull-up in my arms, my wife's brand-new boyfriend's car was in the driveway, they were still in bed.

I sort of went nuts.

I don't really know the exact reason, it could have been the spite this gesture would seem to require, it could be envy that she was able to so quickly move on and find someone withing a few days of deciding she wanted to, it could be that she seems to always get exactly was she wants, the injustice of the Universe rewarding her for her deceit and selfishness, or it could have been simple jealousy, even now.

She said she had forgotten it was our anniversary, she didn't know I would be upset, she forgot to listen to her messages. She may be telling the truth, I have no way of knowing. I didn't care, I still don't. Whether she did that out of spite or stupidity, it hurt. A lot. I recognize her moral right to sleep with whomever she feels like, even though we are technically still married. I get that. What I don't recognize is her moral right to go around ignoring the consequences her actions have on people.

Her callous disregard for my feelings (whether rational or not) destroyed in one instant any remaining sense of obligation to her. I no longer cared for anything being fair or for how she felt. I renegotiated the terms of our divorce. Since I hold all the cards, the negotiation was short. I recognize the somewhat vindictive nature of my actions, but I really just don't care anymore. Why is it my job to protect her interests and feelings when she doesn't do that for me? Am I stupid? Yes, I was, but I'm done.

This was on July 19th. I am no longer angry, but I no longer love her or even really like her, which I still did on July 18th. I should thank her, for in one fell swoop, I got over her. Completely. I no longer really care what happens to her, she is just some woman I have kids with, and am trying to remain polite with.

And that is sad. We used to love each other, she was my best friend. The death of love and friendship should always be mourned.

Welcome back to the world of the living

It's been a while since I last wrote.

There is a reason for that, her name is "Isabelle" (a pseudonym), and I love her. "O.k.", you might say, but here's the deal, I've never met her. I "met" her online. We've had very personal IM chats. A lot of them actually, but I've never seen her, held her, looked in her face, caressed her cheek. Lately, we've added webcam feeds to our chats, which adds a level of interactiveness to the experience. Nothing taudry, just to see each other's face and reactions to the chat. We also talk over the phone. I love the sound of her voice. How can a voice be sexy? I don't know, but I get aroused hearing her describe what she's making for supper (huh?)

I feel connected to her at the deepest level. I feel like I can't live another day without her, holding her, hugging her, kissing her.

I love her. I say that soberly, an accurate description and reflection of what I feel in the deepest recesses of my soul.

I love her strength, her resilience, her character, her determination. I love that she knows what she wants, particularly since it seems to include me at the moment. I selfishly love that she loves me, that she thinks I am wonderfully attractive, handsome and glorious. She seems to care about me and would like to be with me in every sense of that word. It doesn't hurt that she is beautiful.

I love being able to tell someone that I love them, that I yearn for them, that I went to bed thinking of them and woke up still doing so. I love being able to use the most romantic love-filled language I can imagine on someone and really mean it in more than a perfunctory way. I love being able to love someone. What a gift, a pleasure it is to be able to love, wholeheartedly, unabashedly, without reserve, without needing to pretend anything or guard my words.

I know it isn't practical.

She doesn't know my flaws, my weaknesses, the things she would hate about me (I could venture a few guesses, but it'll be more fun to let her discover them on her own). She has never had to balance a checkbook with me, pay a mortgage or deal with a moody pre-teen. I am not the perfect person she imagines me to be, any more than she is. I struggle to accept the reality of her imperfection. Screw it, I can't. I'll have to discover that the hard way, should I be so lucky.

Our relationship is also geographically challenged, she lives more than 1000 miles from me. Would either of us really be willing to leave their families, jobs, lives to be with the other? If we did a long-distance relationship, would we be happy to just see each other a couple times a month at most?

I don't know.

I don't care.

Right now I know two things: she loves me, I love her. As practically absurd and ridiculous as that statement is, it is a reflection of what is in my heart and what I think is in hers. It may not last, it may be doomed, but that is the current reality. I may look back on this and gently laugh at my romantic optimism; or we may make it work and this will become a seminal moment in my life.

This is real, I am feeling it, and would give *anything* to have five minutes with her in a crowded room. It is beautiful and wonderful, I wish to savor every moment of it.

Did I mention she makes me sane? When I talk to her, I live in the present and future, I don't care about the past. I am able to accept what happened as unfortunate reality. I can care for, even love my ex-wife. and yet look forward to a new future. Isabelle makes me the person I want to be, hope to be. I want to exercise, eat well, live to 100 and die making passionate love to her.

So Isabelle, whatever happens to us: everything, nothing, something in between, please remember what I am telling you now: I love you, I thank God every day for sending you into my life.

Goodnight, my sweet love.

Advice for the recently divorced

This will be an ongoing entry I think. I'll just add things as they come to me. This is also just my own experience, you may well disagree, feel free to do so. I'm still working on following my own advice, I'll let you know when I succeed.

Please do leave comments, anonymously if you wish. I'm open to suggestions, corrections.

Emotions:
- Expect anger, sadness, loneliness and a sense of deep loss. They will come, and hopefully in time they will go. Anger and bitterness are persistent houses guests. Try to find the beauty and happiness that is still in the world.
- Expect to nearly lose your mind at times, to feel obsessed, angry, sad, distracted.
- Avoid thinking about how you have been wronged. It may be true, but dwelling on it serves little purpose. I have a hard time with this.
- Avoid over-generalizing the wrong done to you. I have a really hard time with this. ALL my memories are tainted, they are all "gone" in a way.
- Acknowledge the reality of what happened: the wrongs both you and your spouses committed. Own you own failures absolutely, don't make excuses for them. No, it was not ok to screw the babysitter, no matter how lonely you were and how hot she was. I didn't do that, but I did have an affair.
- Be patient. I'm really tired of being a head-case, I want it to be done. This makes me feel "stuck", like it will never change, that makes me feel hopeless, depressed. I need to relax and give myself time. I'm told a year is a good minimum to expect. God, 9 more months to go!


Actions:
- Make new friends, and or start hanging out with old ones. Try not to talk too much about your problems, you'll burn them out. That's tough. My friends are understanding and ask to hear... mostly.
- I would say fall in love, but it wouldn't be fair to the poor person you fall in love with. You are probably a bad bet for a long-term anything. You are probably emotionally unstable. I am having an online flirtatious friendship with a wonderful woman who makes me feel loved and appreciated, handsome and desirable. She also gives me the opportunity to pour my affection onto another person, even if it is "virtual".
- Write about your problems, even if just to yourself. Anonymous blogs are great.
- Stay busy: take classes, work on your house, do your hobbies, work a lot. An idle mind is dangerous.
- Get enough sleep, but not too much.
- Eat right.
- Exercise.
- Don't drink excessively. I find that when I do, I am always sad and angry the next day. These last 4 items are important (sleep, food, exercise and not drinking too much).
- Get out, even if it is by yourself, and do stuff. I am so used to just going home after work that it doesn't naturally occur to me.
- Get counseling. I haven't done that, but will soon. That gives you an outlet to talk to people.
- Join a divorce support group. I haven't done that either.
- Get in touch with some kind of "spirituality": start going to church, meditate, pray. Shave your head and sell flowers at the airport (joke).


Your Ex:
- Try to not hate them. Despite their failures, they are human, like you. At one point they loved you, and you them. They allowed you to get to this point in your life, perhaps gave you children, helped you through school, whatever.

- If you can, talk to your ex about stuff, but only as much as they want and as long as it is useful.

I had a small epiphany about this yesterday: My ex deals with stuff by pretending nothing happened and minimizing the importance of what did, in our case justifying her choices. That is her coping mechanism, and whether right or wrong it works for her, it seems to allow her to "move on". I want to talk about it, examine what happened in close detail and wish her to fully own up to the deep moral failure that her actions were, even as I admit mine. That is my way of coping. The two are not compatible. I can't really talk to my ex about stuff: there is no way she will ever really be able to accept the full wrongness of what she did did, it would be too destructive to her self-image. She needs to "bury" her past. I need to unearth it and roll in the putrescence. I need to stop getting her to do that, she just won't go there.


Update:

So it is now about 3 months after the initial post above. I was officially divorced last week. The divorce itself helped me gain some closure. I also started seeing a counselor, that is helping a bit. Time heals things too, as things receded into the past, the pain is less intense, the anger less immediate.

The thing that helped the most though is beginning to date someone. I hope I am not just 'using' her as human prozac, but the feeling of being loved, cared for, hugged, kissed is therapeutic beyond words. Everyone t me I should avoid getting emotionally 'involved' with anyone, just date, they all said. The problem is that I appear to be incapable of not falling for someone I date. Honestly, I need some emotional involvement at this point.

I don't have any really close friends I can spend a lot of time with, and I need emotional intimacy and connection like I need oxygen.

So my advice, for what it's worth, is to get that intimacy however you can: friends, family, dating. Find people who make you feel loved and appreciated, who remind you that you are a wonderful, beautiful, precious human being, who can't wait to talk to you and make you want to get out of bed in the morning.

I am aware enough to realize this may just be a 'rebound' relationship, that she may primarily be a person filling a role I need filled now. I hope not, but even if she is, I think I am meeting her needs too, making her feel precious, beautiful and wanted. Humans are meant to love, life is too short to live without love.

Open Letter to My Wife's Lovers

(This is not a happy piece. I am in fact very depressed today, but it felt good to write this)

"Pat" is a pseudonym I am using for my wife.

Bruce, Gabriel, Son, Frank, Stephan and possibly others:

I am writing you as part of my attempt to heal from the pain of the end of Pat's and my marriage. The point of this letter is merely to inform you of the damage and pain your actions had and will continue to have on Pat, me and our children as long as we live.

You all have children, you are all married or have been. Please think about your own wives and children as you read this and imagine what it would feel like if this had happened to you, your little kids. Think about this as you kiss your wife or make love to her, think of this as you hug your children.

Try to imagine what it is like to have to reinterpret 18 years of memories, those of nearly my entire adulthood. In part because of you, my children will grow up without a normal family. My life, as I knew it, is not only over, but never existed. I was living in a lie you helped perpetuate, a fantasy existing only in my mind.

Pat's violation of the trust I deliberately extended to her is of course the main problem. I knew she had "crushes" on you, but took her lies at face value when she assured me there was nothing going on. I was happy to give her the freedom to "flirt" with you and feel beautiful and wanted. The main guilt is hers.

You are nonetheless complicit in her deception and also responsible for the end of our marriage. You enabled Pat's bad choices and encouraged her to do things which destroyed her life along with her children's.

You helped destroy any trust which might ever exist between us, Pat and you tainted the happy memories of my youth, exposed them for the screenplays they were. You knew when you were dating her that she was married, most of you had at least met me. Son, you knew my children well. Many of you shook my hand, smiled at me and said it was nice to meet me, and then proceeded to sleep with Pat. Despite knowing me you chose to sleep with my wife, in later years the mother of my children. You understood the risk you were putting her at, in case I found out, but you didn't care enough about her or me or my children to refrain from doing so. One of you gave her genital herpes, since you didn't even care enough about her to use a condom all the time.

Collectively, you took from me something that did not belong to you. You stole my wife's time, libido, affection, passion and energy. You introduced The Big Lie into our marriage which set up a barrier to emotional intimacy between us. You helped establish a pattern of behavior in Pat where she went looking outside our marriage every time there was a problem or she was unhappy. When Pat began sleeping with you, she largely stopped having sex with me, actively denying it to me for months at a time. You were more fun, more exciting. She never had to balance a checkbook, pay the mortgage or raise children with you. I could not compete. She never had any real sexual interest in me after that.

You went on vacations with her, had secret romantic getaways with her, went out to eat with her, had nice relaxing times, afternoon naps with her. All this as I watched the kids and dogs so she could date you without having to deal with the trouble of domestic life. I helped pay for airfare so she could see you.

You could say "well if it hadn't been us, it would have been others". You would be right right, but it was you.


Bruce: You cost our marriage the most. You were the first, you were with her the longest, at a very critical stage on our marriage, 4 years into it. All that time she spent with you she was not with me. You enabled her first to set up a life-time habit of lying, deceit and betrayal. You took the most passion, time, and energy from our marriage. Pat was desperately in love with you and spent two years vainly pursuing your affection. Her first "kinky" sex was with you. You probably gave her herpes. You are the reason I recently had to reinterpret one of my most cherished memories: A rare moment of physical passion while on spring break in Florida. It is no longer a brief reconnection between us, made possibly by a respite in the living hell my life was, it was because you weren't available and I guess she needed to have sex with someone. I miss my old memory, I hate you for playing a part in stealing that from me. You were young, but that does not excuse your selfishness. It cost Pat, me and my kids tremendously.

Gabriel: You are perhaps the most culpable. You were an adult when you slept with Pat in grad school and again recently. You are the reason I found out about Pat's cheating: she checked her email on my computer and left it up. At the top was an email from you with the subject line "I've got tickets!!!!". You have been divorced before, you knew exactly the pain you were putting Pat and our family at risk for. You knew better. You nevertheless chose to meet her in Spain, then when you were done satisfying your curiosity, told her you weren't interested in any kind of a relationship with her. Your use of Pat cost us our marriage and all of us our happiness. My favorite picture used to be from 1994(?) of Pat returning from a conference in Florida. I had met her at the airport with flowers. She was holding those flowers and petting our little dog, smiling, happy to be home. In actuality, she was happy because she was madly in love with you, and had just spent several days hanging out and having sex with you in a fun, relaxed environment. I miss that old memory too. That was supposed to be me having fun and relaxing with my wife, not you.

Son: I don't know exactly what to say to you. You knew my kids well, they trusted you. Yet, you began an affair with a woman in Vietnam to adopt a child. Have you no sense of decency? You pulled yourself out of Pat to answer the door when Tina knocked on your room door and stood there with your erect penis exposed as you spoke to my 11 year-old girl. You were perhaps too high and drunk to know what you were doing and this may have thus been unintentional, but you did it nonetheless. The first image Tina will ever have of a man's erect penis will be yours, not her boyfriend's or husband's. She had to listen to you and Pat fucking in the room next door for a long time, both before and after you exposed yourself to her. That is how she found out her mother was cheating on her dad. She held that secret for over 6 months, racked by misplaced guilt and shame at what she *thought* was going on, but didn't want to believe, much less say. She said she thought it was her fault, somehow. I hate you for damaging my child. Think about someone doing that to your child as you hold your baby. You now act as though nothing happened. What are you going to do when your wife finds out? Do you think she will understand what you did with Pat and to Christina? Do you know what it is like to have to try to defend your cheating wife from an 11 year-old girl's accusation of being "a whore"? Since last summer Tina never wants to return to Vietnam. How does one do what you did? What kind of person is even capable of thinking of doing something like that? I am at a loss for words to express the anger I feel for what you did to my girl.

All actions, even those borne of a desire for happiness are not equally moral. Taking something from someone (my wife's time, libido, passion) or exposing them to a risk (STDs, divorce) to make yourself happy is a profoundly immoral act. I don't know what religious or morals beliefs you claim to have, but there is no moral code I can imagine which makes it ok to steal, cheat, lie, and hurt. You have dishonored yourselves and hurt at least one person you perhaps claimed to care for at some time, or maybe you didn't. Perhaps you are all just users of people. I don't know you well enough to assess that.

You will now need to live with the consequences of your actions, as do we all. Perhaps you don't care. You will never meet me (again), never see my kids (again), perhaps not even Pat. You can live the rest of your lives and forget what impact your choices had on our lives. I hope you are unable to do so.

I understand your culpability because I too had an affair with a married woman: a sexual encounter with someone I was very much in love with. I understand how it happens. I also understand how guilty we "other men" are. I knew precisely what I was doing and the risk I was exposing my lover to. I knew I was taking something not mine, that I was acting selfishly to fulfill some perceived need I spent quite a while justifying (she really wasn't happy, her husband was not meeting her needs). I had a right to be happy, and if it meant ruining someone's marriage to be happy, hey that's life. I deserved happiness. I was lucky, as was my lover, because we weren't found out. You were not.

I'm guilty as hell.

So are you.

My baby is six

Today, we had a birthday party for my little girl. Her actual birthday is tomorrow, which also happens to be Fathers' Day, nice coincidence don't you think? We held the birthday party at "Kiddie Acres" in Austin. If you haven't never been there, and you have small kids, you must. It is a wonderful place, so authentic, so authentically run-down as a friend put it. They have these tiny little carnaval-like rides, pony rides, a miniature train. It is certainly commercial, but somehow has a completely different, and much more pleasant feel than Chuck E. Cheese. For one it is outside, and we got to authentically bake in the authentically hot summer sun. Summer should be hot, and it was that today. Did I mention I love summer?

So my baby is six, which means she isn't a baby. I have maybe another year, two at the most where she will be all mine, then she starts becoming other people's: her friends', her teachers', mostly her friends'. Right now she is still mine, my little girl.

This was the first birthday party my ex and I had as exes. I imagine the there will be other firsts: the first 4th of July, the first anniversary (what's the protocol for that? one wonders), more first birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's. It is a strange new world. But we'll be ok. I have people who love me and who I love. I have a good life. As long as I can keep the beast of anger and bitterness at bay, all will be well.

I wish you all a happy Father's day. Hug your kids would you? For me?

I am a biker

I woke up early for a weekend, 8 or so. I still had the kids overnight and my ex was coming to pick them up around 11. I stumbled around, took a shower, gave instructions to my 11 y.o. on how to care for and feed the 5 y.o and off I went to my first ever group motorcycle ride with the Austin Motorcycle Riders Group, a meetup.com group.

I'm sure you've seen them: long staggered lines of bikers on the highway, conveys undoubtedly setting off Richter scale sensors in nearby states. Contemporary knights going off to battle on their trusty steeds, visors glinting in the sun. That was me today. I was one of them.

It was an interesting group, from the plush Goldwings and low-slung Harleys, both worth more than many cars, to the more modest bikes: the newbie riders' relatively cheap Japanese bikes, me and my "little" 800 cc Triumph. There was a lot of leather, a lot of tattooed skin. a lot of exposed middle-aged fat. There were the old wizened riders whose riding experience went back to the first Nixon Administration, the aforementioned newbie riders, primarily identifiable by their shy demeanor rather than any lack of skill, and many people in the middle in which I will generously include myself. There was one really eccentric guy in a leather vest festooned with patches declaring himself to be a "Christian Infidel", "Biker for Jesus" and other other unusual things, he rode a heavily modified old pan-head Harley with a kick-starter (only) and straight pipes. The people who rode next to him will never hear again.

It was a beautiful cross section of humanity, well at least in the 40-65 year-old age bracket. We were out in the wind, the sun, enjoying yet another beautiful day, our work and worries eclipsed by the sheer gloriousness of being alive, sweating in the hot Texas sun under our layers of black leather and stifling helmets.

It goes without saying that I had the most resplendently beautiful bike, the coolest jacket and definitely the prettiest brightly-colored plastic-bead key chain (made by my oldest when she was 10) of anyone in the group.

We were all cool and powerful, tough and independent, real badasses. That illusion could continue as long as we kept our middle-class jobs to pay for the gas that our beasts drank, and could get home in time to mow the lawn and do the laundry.

Nothing mattered though, because today no one felt more like Steve than me.

It's good to be alive.

Elevator

(This is a fictional piece, a homework assignment for the writing class I'm taking. And no, this is not about me... mostly)

I knew already it was going to be a long day: I had woken up late, very late. I had had to skip breakfast, running, the morning paper. A silent curse crossed my lips as I remembered I was supposed to have finished that stupid work project the previous night! Son-of-a-bitch, I knew I'd forget. It occurred to me that the four beers which had started out as just one hadn't helped. That also explained the skull cramp. I looked out the window, it was early April and there was still snow on the ground. Wait, what was that? Snow flakes? "You must be joking", I thought, it was almost Tax Day, and still snowing? The fucking April snow was coming down heavy and wet, the kind that nearly breaks your back when you shovel it. Taxes! I remembered I needed to finish my return by the following Tuesday. How, I wondered, was I going to figure out the cost basis for those stocks, and where was the HUD settlement sheet for the new house? That thought was interrupted by another as I tried to recall when the movers were scheduled for, my release date from that hellhole of an apartment... memories of the fist-shaped holes in the walls, needing to be fixed before I moved out elbowed their way into my already overcrowded mind. "God" I muttered. I really needed to get going I thought, it would take even longer to get to work now, as everyone would be driving so absurdly slowly. Ok, jacket on, boots on, I hoped they'd salted Limekiln Road, or some idiot would inevitably have found a way to take that one turn too fast, run off the road and cause a backup. I shut the door behind me, walked over to the elevator and hit the button. The door opened, I stepped in, hit the button for the ground floor and leaned back against the wall, shutting my eyes, trying to catch a moment of respite from the already rotten day. The day couldn't possibly get worse, I thought, hoped, prayed. Just as the door was closing a hand shot through. No, it wasn't, it couldn't be, God couldn't be that unjust, could he? But it was. It was The Asshole from down the hall. That one. The one who always played music too loud, too late, who had drunken parties during which his friends would park in my spot, puke in the hallway. And no, he wouldn't clean it up until I threatened to call the landlord on him... again. That one. Things were very "polite" between us though, as we both understood the unfortunate consequences of what would happen if either of us really lost our temper: you know, police, district attorneys, bad stuff. The Asshole stepped in, looked at me, his eyes barely concealing the contempt in which he held me. I returned the stare. I begged for a pretext, any pretext really. I'd always wondered how useful my years of karate would be in real life. The Asshole, ok, "Bob" if you must know, looked at the illuminated ground floor button and faced the front, graciously assuming a position as far from me as possible. All I had to do was not kill him for 3 floors, that was all. Simple, right? I stared at the wall in front of me. All would be well, I told myself, 20 seconds to go. Then Bob spoke. "Pretty late for snow, eh?". Wishing to maintain the facade of politeness, I responded "Yeah, now I'll probably be late for work, too". Bob stared at me, the hint of a smile crossed his lips. He hit the button for the second floor and said "I guess you will be". Something inside me snapped with an almost audible "pop". I was going to have to slay him, right then and there. There would be an investigation, they would certainly find out who had done it, I would go to jail, be executed, my life was over. I didn't care one whit. My fist clenched, I took a step to the side, winding up for that first blow. Just as I was about to launch my murderous attack, the bell sounded and the elevator stopped. The doors opened and the cute girl from the second floor looked up, my violent plans foiled. The Universe had yet again taken the side of those who already had everything, now denying me the simple pleasure of killing Bob. The hopelessness of my life hit me like a sledgehammer: trapped in a shitty job, doomed to loneliness, crawling further into the bottle every day, predestined to step aside as the imprudent and carefree passed me by, obtaining everything they'd ever desired. Bob-The-Asshole had everything it seemed, including the ability to elicit in me the kind of rage I had spent 20 years trying to suppress through psychotherapy, booze, hours and hours of thinking of.... nothing and the oneness of all of humanity at the local Bhuddist temple. The cute girl, whose name I didn't know said "Hi". The shock of her voice gave me a second's pause, my homicidal fist still clenched and ready for action. Without a clear plan, I fled out of the elevator and onto the second floor, pushing past my nameless neighbor. She looked at me, quite rightly, as though I had lost my mind, and stepped into the elevator. The doors closed. As the elevator resumed its descent, I thought I heard Bob and the girl laugh. I headed for the stairs, and resumed my journey out into the world.

Henri woke up late that day, quite late. He hadn't really meant to drink an entire 6-pack the night before, it was supposed to just be one or maybe two beers. His lateness caused him to miss breakfast, running and the morning paper. His growing alcoholic tendencies had recently led to other problems: forgetting work assignments, what his therapist would probably have diagnosed as depression, anxiety, a loss of control over his own life, his temper. While he drank to cover up and forget his shyness and sense of inadequacy, it really just aggravated the problems. These were lessons he had yet to learn. Henri had spent years in therapy trying to master his inner demons. He had recently taken up meditation at a local Bhuddist temple, tantalized by the possibility of discovering the inner peace and happiness which eluded him. He was aware of the self-defeating aspects of some of his behavior, but was seemingly unable to really do anything about them, to escape the seemingly inevitable path his life was on. The escape he found in alcohol had led him to procrastinate starting on his tax return which was due the next Tuesday. Having just bought a house, he had scheduled the movers during an early "cocktail hour" but was now unable to recall when that was. In a drunken rage, he had put his fist through the sheetrock a few times, requiring him to fix it sometime before he moved, whenever that was. All of this added to a sense of overwhelmed hopelessness which hung over him like Damocles’ sword. Had Henri not overslept, he would have read the paper and known it was supposed to snow and would not have been surprised to see it doing so when he looked out the window. He may have left a little earlier for work, leaving time for the reduced speed of traffic or the possible accident on Limekiln road, locally known for a particularly treacherous curve, luring many into the ditch on such a day as this. But he didn't. Instead, Henri looked out the window, saw the snow, and in what was now a common occurrence, freaked out. Hurriedly putting on his boots and jacket, he walked out into the hallway of his cheap apartment and hit the button calling the elevator. Stepping into the elevator, Henri leaned against the back wall, closed his eyes and tried to remember how to meditate, something about thinking of nothing except the oneness of humanity. Just as the doors closed, his neighbor, Bob, stuck his hand in and forced the doors open. Startled, Henri looked up with surprise and dread at the sight of Bob, who he despised. The feeling was mutual. Henri hated Bob for having the life he wanted: he had an easy, good-paying job, which he liked, a lot of friends, particularly girlfriends, a life full of fun and parties in which the laws of causality were seemingly suspended. Bob had parties at least twice a month which he invited the whole building to attend. Whether out of shyness or self-pity and resentment, Henri never went. Had he gone, he might have met Lucy who lived one floor below and who was secretly rather taken with him for reasons she only partly understood. But he didn't. Instead he sat in his apartment listening to the loud music, cursing all these people who managed to live carefree and in the moment. How would the world function if everyone lived like that? He would ask himself, echoing the voice of his parents. Bob saw Henri as an angry bitter man with no sense of humor, someone just like his Dad who had always tried, unsuccessfully, to make him "buckle down" and "be responsible". Bob had never been willing to give up the joy he found in living an unscripted life for some nebulous promise of future happiness. He was not yet old enough, mature enough to understand that there are indeed usually, eventually, unpleasant consequences to a recklessly lived life. It isn't clear he would have cared if he did. Bob wasn't an evil person, just somewhat full of himself and very impulsive, rarely thinking much before doing things. As Bob walked onto the elevator, he saw Henri. Wishing to lighten the tension instantly filling the air, Bob said something about the weather. Henri responded by mentioning how the snow would probably make him late for work, but the tension remained palpable. Wishing to make a joke, Bob hit the button for the second floor and said something to the effect that Henri would now certainly be late. In Henri's mind, years of suppressed rage at the injustice of the universe and his own self-loathing boiled over, erupting in a black wall of hatred directed at Bob. It is unfortunate that karate students are not psychologically screened before being allowed to train, as Henri planned in that moment to misuse every bit of his decade of training to kill Henri. Henri clenched his fist and was about to launch his assault when the elevator stopped on the second floor. The doors opened to show Lucy staring idly at the floor. Lucy looked up and saw Henri, her heart briefly inflating with joy. She looked at Henri and said "Hi". Startled, Henri paused, his murderous plans interrupted by the sound of Lucy's voice. Henri, desperately seeking to escape his situation, leapt past Lucy and out onto the second floor. As the elevator doors closed and Lucy and Bob continued their journey, Bob made some comment about Henri being even more uptight than usual, and laughed. Lucy, not knowing what else to do, gave a nervous little laugh which she instantly regretted, having seen both the anguish on Henri's face and the self-assured arrogance on Bob's. Henri, after a moment's pause, found his way to the stairwell, to work and to a new day.

Call me Steve

(Yeah, ok, this happened 30 years ago, I don't actually recall all the details in this story. Consider it semi-fictional. Most of it is true, kinda)

I knew in an instant I could no longer live without it: metal-flecked dark blue paint and a very tall sissy bar. It had a sports car-like gear-shift lever mounted on the bar going between the banana seat and the ape-hanger handle bars. It had 6 gears, at least one more than any of my friends' bicycles. The front fork, complete with fake suspension springs, was raked just like Peter Fonda's "Captain America" chopper. Well, not really, but enough to make it clear that it wasn’t just a bicycle, it was a bike. The twin mirrors and huge headlight added to the chopper look. The heavily chromed wheels and bobbed fenders were hypnotically resplendent in the sunlight. My God, how was it possible to make something so beautiful, so utterly, completely, absolutely cool? There are moments in a person’s life when the path of their life lies before them, clear, obvious, unambiguous. My destiny laid in owning that bike.

I clearly foresaw the lustful, jealous looks in my friends' eyes, the ease with which those gears would propel me around the neighborhood, through the woods, to and from school, or to the pool. No one would ever be able to catch me in races. When my mom sent me to the store for milk, I would easily set some kind of land-speed record in my age division. My Dad would certainly get it for me, I saw in his eyes how he missed his '55 Triumph Bonneville and the coolness it automatically bestowed upon him, how we bonded over the uniquely male fascination with two-wheeled things, how even he was seduced by the nearly sexual appeal of this bike. Parents are so easy.

I imagined myself in a white tucked-in T-shirt, cuffed jeans and boots, a leather jacket. Marlon Brando, Steve McQueen, eat your hearts out. Certainly then the girls in their skin-tight jeans, about whom I was still somewhat ambivalent, less so by the day, would swoon and fawn over me. I wasn't yet quite old enough for a moped license, but who cares, every 15 year old had a moped, no one had a bike like this.

Some things change. Others don't.
Just call me "Steve".

I am a writer

My 11 y.o. daughter has played in a couple movies ("The Two Bobs" and "Shorts"). I asked her if she would buy me car when she became an actor. She looked at me and stated with confidence "I am an actor". She has acted, therefore she is an actress.

In the same spirit, I will publicly state: "I am a writer". I did not say I was a good writer, but I write, therefore I am a writer. I am taking a creative writing class at the Austin Community College in the hopes that I can improve my skills, or at least have fun. I am right now procrastinating from doing homework I need to do by tomorrow. Given the volume of homework I have, I may not have as much time as I did before to blog. I may let you know how the class is going. After one class, all I have to say is that anyone who is capable of writing fiction, or even better fiction with dialogue is a genius. I'm talking to you, you know who you are, you!

Ok, I should go, I have homework to do and I don't want to disappoint.

Take care everyone.

Dawn

I have a love-hate relationship with dawn.

On the one hand I hate waking up. I hate leaving my dreams, the warm cozy comfort of my bed, the freedom from responsibility. When I am tired I hate it even more, it hurts. I have a thousand memories of waking up tired, sleep deprived, painfully thirsting for just a few more moments of that precious, delicious sleep. No drug could be better, no love sweeter than sleeping. I thus associate early morning with pain, deprivation, a half-dead stupor that hangs on you like a wet blanket.

Yet I also love it: the birds just beginning to chirp, while the dark of night is no longer complete, neither has the sun declared the day begun.

Dawn is an intimate stolen moment I share with the world: just me and it, no one else is around to notice. Quick! enjoy it before someone sees us. The quiet and tranquility is not yet broken by the business of the day, I'm still free of the day's worries, blissfully unaware of its problems and stresses.

Dawn is the naive promise of a new start, a fresh beginning, yet unsullied by the grit of reality: work, bills, traffic. Dawn is a young person's innocent belief in true love, untempered by the reality of the difficulty and strain of living together, raising kids, noticing your lover's flaws. Dawn is the hope that it isn't too late for any of us, that as long as we breathe we can do whatever we want. Dawn is the wonderful illusion of free-will, before we discover our freedom to be that we have at the wheel of a car in heavy traffic. Dawn is the promise of immortality before we discover life to be terminal.

Dawn is the end of one beautiful thing and the beginning of another, still pure, beautiful, hopeful.

I love dawn.

Transitions

There are several things that have surprised me about the process of suddenly becoming single or at least not-fully-married.

The first is how fast everything went. From the time we decided to separate until we selected and bought my ex-wife's house and moved her, only 3 weeks elapsed. Although we were planning things, it seemed like events took on a life of their own.

Then there was the almost complete lack of any real negative emotions: we were just getting stuff done, executing the plan. There were a few sad moments, but very little acrimony or anger. This is a good thing. I could sense the ease with which things could have gotten bad quickly, but we both worked to avoid that, and succeeded.

I was surprised at how differently my wife and I have reacted to the end of our marriage. While I "dove into" my new life, accepting the permanence and reality of the end of my marriage and trying use this as a chance to become a better me, my ex has somewhat belatedly decided she really cares about our marriage and seems to want it to continue. She seems to be having a hard time dealing with the consequences of her completely deliberate and intentional choices, a contradiction I find more than a little perplexing.

I was pleasantly surprised at how quickly I was able to "let go" of my hurt (for the most part) and in many ways forgive my wife, even as I recognized the wrongness of what she did and the pain it caused me. I didn't really forget, but the immediacy and unrelenting nature of the pain receded very quickly. I went from being nearly insanely obsessed with the situation to being able to at least function in society within a week. Through no effort of my own, I could suddenly walk away from the pain, as least for a while, just let it go.

Nothing surprises me more though than the absolute abruptness of our transition from "spouse" to "just friend". I fully expected that transition to take weeks, months. Given the freakishly amicable nature of our separation, I honestly even expected there to continue being a sexual aspect to our relationship or hint of such. Even though our sex life was nearly non-existent while we were married, it always existed at least in theory. I could not have been more wrong. Within 48 hours of her moving out, any feelings of being "married" disappeared (for me). She also instantly became a really good friend: someone close, but not so close that you take them for granted. It suddenly became natural to hold doors open for her, thank her for getting back to me, or taking my phone call. I stopped calling her several times a day. We started making lunch appointments where one person invites the other and pays for the meal. Our interactions became much more formal and distant. We stopped telling each other how or what we should do. All of this happened in a few days. In some ways, it is as thought the last 20 years never happened. It is as though we were never married nor romantically involved. Even as this change was happening, it seemed strange, surreal. I don't really have an explanation for this, except that the physical intimacy of living together, sharing the same roof fundamentally changes the nature of how people interact, it drives an emotional intimacy and interdependence (which can be good or bad). Take away that physical proximity, the forced intimacy, and the relationship snaps back to what it naturally would be.

As I said in my last post, I hope our friendship can continue. Friends are good, I don't have too many of them, fewer yet who have known me for 25 years.

So here's to friends... making new ones, but even more so keeping the ones you have.

My significant ex

There was recently a news story of a man who won the lottery. He had been divorced for a long time. The first person he called was his ex. When interviewed, he referred to his former wife as his "significant ex". I love that expression. It resonates deeply with me.

Despite the pain my wife caused me, I find my self unable to hate her. To the contrary, I find myself seeking out her company, yearning for someone to talk to who understands me. I have been attached at the hip to my wife for 25 years. She is part of me, we grew up together. She understands me like no one else. A 25-year relationship cannot be explained any more than childbirth or parenting can be. While I do not wish to live with her, sleep with her (in any sense of that phrase), I also do not wish to "get over" the deepest friendship and most important relationship of my life. I have not forgotten the reasons we split up, not at all. Yet there remains a soft place in my heart for the person who helped me through some terribly difficult times. I am not able to envision a time when we will be able to be together again, but I am equally unable and unwilling to envision my life completely without her. She is part of me, I am part of her. We wish the best for each other: I sincerely hope she finds happiness and joy in life, that she finds someone to love her, live with her, be her lover. My wife gave me my beautiful children. For that, and for all the good times we had together, I thank her. I love my friendship with my wife, I hope it continues for as long as we live.

The astute reader of this blog will note the striking dichotomy between this entry and the one a couple back. Both are true, both reflections of what's going on in my head.

I would like to take a moment to note that the friendship described above is universally viewed with suspicion by all my friends, counselors, and observers of my situation. With the solitary exception of one person (out of perhaps 15), everyone is telling me that I need to cut the tie, sever the bond between my wife and me. Everyone tells me that my friendship with my wife is unhealthy, unwise, unsustainable, that I need to "move on". I don't know if I should believe them or not. It seems unreasonable that I should sever our friendship "on principle", yet I wish to be open to what people have to say.

Interestingly, the one person who is sympathetic to my continued friendship with my wife also had an amicable divorce, and also had people telling them the same thing. Perhaps we are all so trapped by the immediacy of our own experience that we are unable to see outside of it.

To the wonderful complexity of human interaction, may our relationships always be "complicated" and confusing.

Regulation

One of the more difficult aspects of the end of my marriage is the extreme volatility of my emotions. They oscillate rapidly, sometimes in the same day, but usually from one day to the next. I never know going to bed what I will feel like waking up: happy, sad, euphoric, depressed, serene, lonely. The previous post was incredibly angry, today I feel o.k. again, like things will work out. I sometimes feel insane just from the speed at which my emotions change.

There are three things I have found that regulate my emotions: sleep, exercise and human interaction. The first two are mostly within my control, the last one somewhat less so. It's hard to meet people. My status of "separated" doesn't help, as that appears to be some kind of scarlet letter in the social world: neither married nor single, and likely to be mired in complicated and ugly problems with the ex.

It's o.k. Much of what I need to do is figure myself out, by myself: let those roller-coaster emotions settle out a bit, live my life as I want it lived. No one else can do that for me. I do need to exercise and sleep though... so do it, moron!

O.k., well today is Sunday. I'm hoping to go to Church and get me some God, as a friend says, along with a little human contact.

Have a nice day y'all.

Rage

[Warning: This is not a well-composed or written piece. It also an angry piece, very angry, and has a lot of swearing in it. It was written at 3 am, in a hurry, the only thing I could think to do with my emotions.]


Remember that anger I couldn't seem to find?

I think I found it, it was stuck in the couch cushions, next to the remote, three pennies and a piece of old gum.

Rage erupted in me today, a storm front's black wall: violent, overpowering, flashing, blinding, howling, raging. I don't know what to do with it, it is there, pounding at my head, barbarians at the gates. I can't let it in, I don't want it in. Not for my ex-wife, not even for my kids. For me. I don't want that dark beast to eat me up like some poor tormented devil, spitting out dessicated bones and the shell of a man. Yet it is there, howling, clanging.

People, meet rage, rage... people:

I HATE my ex-wife's infidelity.

I HATE the betrayal, the 18 years of lies, the utter and complete abuse of my trust, my unconditional and absurdly dedicated obligation to her. I didn't speak to other women for 22 years because she might be jealous, it might hurt her, wouldn't want that, would we? It wouldn't be fucking PROPER! Should I laugh or cry at that? I don't know.

I HATE that even now, she doesn't understand how her actions have eviscerated our marriage, destroyed everything it was supposed to be. She gutted it like a fish, leaving it gasping, dying, a putrid shell of the living thing it once was. How she can even entertain the notion that I would want to get back with her, after I "get over" what she did. As recently as today she pointed out what a small part of her life it was: only 5 of the last 18 years. She was actually faithful for an entire 4 years before she took her first lover. She had the decency to take of her wedding ring when she fucked him though, out of consideration for me I guess. She generously refrained from taking lovers for 8 years when we lived in the woods in NY. That ended though, the first time she had an opportunity and thought she could get away with it, when she was adopting our second child overseas!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But it's because we weren't getting along, making it both our faults.

I HATE how she continues to downplay how important it was, how she says it was "such a small part of (her) life": after all only 25% of all the sex she had during our marriage was with other people, that wasn't really that much. During the time that 90% of all the sex she was having was with her lovers, it was because she was immature and we weren't getting along. That makes it ok I guess.

I HATE how she considered it normal that a continued friendship with her last lover was simply a non-negotiable item, something she was going to do, because she could and I wouldn't leave. Moreover it was non-negotiable that she continue a private email relationship with that last thieving adulterous prick, because it would be a violation of her independence for me to be able to see what they say to each other.

I HATE that she exposed my little girl to this shit, negligently allowing my little (11 y.o.) baby to see lover #5's erect penis, the first one she will ever have seen, and listen to them screw like rutting pigs for hours, then making her hold the secret for 6 months. Now there's some good motherin'.

I HATE that she has made me feel like this separation is my fault for not being able to "deal" with her years of infidelity, her 100+ dirty little fuck sessions, her 5-day romantic Barcelona honeymoon with the last asshole who fucked her, her trips to Vietnam with our kids to visit another fucker.

I HATE that she stole my memories, sullied them. All those times she "went on vacation", "studied late", "worked", "went on a business trip", "went to a party with some friends". Lies, all fucking lies, every last one of my best memories now a morbid testament to her treacherous deceit.

I HATE how she took this marriage, and turned it into a farce, "a safe base" (her words) from which she could freely explore her sexual independence.

I HATE how she used me, simply squeezed everything she could out of me and my, MY marriage for her own personal gain. Fuck her kids, fuck her husband (not literally, she had people for that), what really matters is her happiness and recovering the sense of autonomy and independence she missed.

I HATE how she refuses to understand that marriage is about obligation and commitment, how a refusal to accept those is simply incompatible with any kind of committed relationship, how marriage cannot be about trying to assert your own personhood and independence.

I HATE that I have felt so ridiculously obligated to protect her from the shame and humiliation of the world knowing what she did. Let them know. Let the whole goddamn world know! Her parents, her family, her cousins, why not? This is the life she chose, why not expose it?

I HATE that she doesn't understand that promises mean something, that openness and trust should be inviolable, that abusing someone's inability to believe you would lie to them is a terrible, horrible thing.

I HATE that my wife killed the innocent, idealistic, well-intentioned girl I married and replaced her with a lying, cheating, amoral, honorless, narcissistic slut, willing to sell everything that matters in life for a few dozen fucks and a sense of independence.

I HATE, most of all, that she brought to life this angry beast, now speaking, this beast of mine, who is so hard to keep in check, but for whom I am wholly, totally responsible. I own my emotions, they are mine, no one else's, God damn it!

I had an illicit sexual encounter too, tell everyone. It was wrong. It felt good: I was genuinely, hopelessly, madly in love with my lover, it did wonderful things to me, but it was completely wrong. I took things that did not belong to me: my lover's passion, my wife's trust. For that I apologize to my lover, her husband, God how I apologize to him, her kids, her family, the Universe. I am abjectly sorry for my thievery, for contributing to the death of someone else's dreams.

Let everything out! No more secrets! I was overly cautious, conservative, boring, controlling. I was emotionally unavailable for my wife when she needed me. Tell everyone everything... NOW. Let the chips fall where they may. You want my parents' phone number, here, I'll dial it for you.

My wife sold our spiritual love, her soul and integrity, my trust, this absurd and beautiful ideal of marriage for a couple hundred hours of passion. I hope for her it was worth the price.

Actions have consequences, fucking deal with them.


Now where did my happy place go? I thought I saw it next to the remote.

Getting old

I got old tonight.

Tonight my oldest spent the night at my house. I love the times we have alone together. We get to relate one-on-one, almost like adults. I saw her as a person, a real person, like you, like me. I could imagine her as an adult, a woman, with kids of her own.

We played checkers, several times, and for the first time ever, she kicked my ass. I don't mean that she just kind of won because I wasn't paying attention, I mean we played three times, and she whopped me, but good.

There are times when I hate getting old, and there are times when I like it. In a strange way, this is one of the times I like it. I feel like my life, all in all, has been well spent. I could die now and be happy, I would have accomplished at least part of my mission, part of the reason I am alive. This is why people want to have kids, because they want to feel obligated, they want to feel like they have a reason to live.


So here is to getting old, to serving your purpose, to being human. To fulfilling the programming the universe had in store for you.

May you get old and happy.

Attachment

I have had a couple occasions recently to ponder the issue of attachment: how we become so attached to things that we fear life without them.

I was very attached to my marriage.

I am attached to my work and the financial security it provides.

I am attached to my stuff: my house, my car, my material life.

I am attached to my friends, their kids and the love I feel when I am around them.

I am attached to my little rituals, the way I do things.

I am attached to my kids, my dog, and even my now-estranged wife.

I am attached to the idea of being romantically bonded to someone.

Most importantly, I am attached to a certain image of myself, a belief in my own basic value and goodness.


I recently went to a Buddhist meditation and discussion. They seemed to say that attachment is almost always something bad, as it causes one to behave reactively, protecting the thing we are attached to, not least of which is our "ego". I would definitely try to protect all the things I mentioned above, to preserve my "relationship" with them. Is that always bad? I don't know.

I can certainly see times when I was overly attached to things that were bad for me, things that I should have let go of a long time ago, but my kids, friends? Why not allow myself to be attached to those?

Perhaps the key is fear, and my reaction to it.

Being separated, I share the kids evenly with my wife: one week on, one week off. During my on-week my oldest occasionally wants to go "off-schedule" over to my wife's to hang out or sleep. Part of me, no small part, feels jealous, afraid that I am losing my relationship with her. I can feel the pressure of that fear pushing me to react negatively: insisting that the schedule be followed, giving her grief for being over there. I do not think that would be a good choice, but I feel the urge to do so, driven by fear, itself driven by attachment. If I allow myself to "let go" of my daughter's love, at least mentally, I can accept her choices, respect her wishes and paradoxically probably make her love me more than if I reacted negatively. I have no wish to lose my daughter's love, and don't think I really will, but I need to let things be as they will be, driven by the forces of reality. My daughter will either love me or not, driven by the reality of how I interact with her and meet her needs (or don't). I need to not try to externally, artificially impose my own will on situations.

I think that may be the key: being ready to "let go" of hopes, desires, and the fear of loss. What's the best bluff? to never bluff. I need to be ready to let go of things, even as I hope not to have to. There are many things I yearn for, some deeply, but some of them are not possible. For those, I need to truly, deeply, "let go", let reality takes its own course and genuinely accept and appreciate reality as it is. There are other things I long for that may happen eventually, but again, I need to learn to "let go" of the desire to have it now, understanding that things will happen (or not) in their own time.

The unwillingness to let go generates fear. Fear prevents me from enjoying, appreciating life as it is, right now.

I used to go canoe-camping on the Wisconsin River quite a bit. There are time when the channel restricts and the current becomes strong. The canoe was also pretty heavily laden and maneuvered like a pregnant Heifer. In those channels, you can see obstacles in the river: logs, rocks, that you need to avoid. You can also see things you want to get to: a clear channel, a place on the shore. The thing is you can't fight the current to get there: a heavy canoe cannot be moved by one person against the current. You can steer, you can direct, but you cannot force the canoe to go in a certain direction. The canoe will pretty much go where it is going to go, with some guidance from you. That guidance is important, critical even, but it is not the primary mover of the canoe. It is important to accept the reality of the current because it ultimately moves the boat, you just influence how. The key to canoeing is understanding, respecting the current and how you choose to interact with it.

To reach a distant objective on the river it also does little good to paddle harder, it may get you there a little faster, but it is exhausting and unsustainable. The best way is to work with the current and wait, simply wait, until it takes you there. You cannot jump ahead.

Reality is a current, the force of that current pushes us in certain directions. We can direct our path, we can aim for places, but reality, history, our circumstances are very strong currents. Fighting the current can lead to small victories, momentary changes in direction, but overall the broad, strong current of reality takes us where it wishes to. Much more effective is to study the current of our lives and work with it to try to achieve our goals, accepting that the current may not allow for it, and moving on to the next objective.

Am I saying that we have no choice, no moral responsibility for what we do? No. We still must choose our path, the direction in which we steer our life. We are responsible for the way in which we react to the current of our lives. Those choices matter and often determine which path we take. I guess my point is that I need to be able to recognize situations where reality is simply going to be a certain way no matter what, and learn to "let go" without bitterness, regret, and carry on with living.

I would like to approach my life that way: openly accepting what is, what will be, without fear, without desperation to attain a certain objective, to appreciate the true wonder of life, as it is, now.

Groceries

I love grocery shopping.

When I am grocery shopping, I'm someone else.

I am the person I want to be.

My 5 year-old and I usually go grocery shopping on Saturday morning. We go to the local super-HEB. We have a routine: we get a race-car shopping cart and make a circuit of the freebie handouts. We are particularly fond of this one station where they actually cook. We call it “our favorite place”. Dave works there. The thing is, when I am shopping with my girl I'm this other person: happy, friendly, outgoing, patient. I am the best parent you have ever seen: loving, gentle, attentive. I smile at strangers, I hold doors open for people. I chat with store employees and other shoppers. I am the most outgoing person you’ve ever met. This is not usual for me. It’s not that I am unhappy or unfriendly, but I'm a bit shy and don’t usually find it easy to talk to people.

Why is that? Why is it that in a slightly different setting I'm suddenly free to be who I want to be? Why is it so easy to be super-dad with my friends’ kids or with my own in a store? Why can’t I just be who I want to be all the time?

I love the grocery shopping me, why does he only make a weekly appearance?

I had this conversation with a friend of mine yesterday. We made a deal that we would try to be who we want to be all the time. I can do it, I do it every week, why not make that the new me?

Are you sometimes someone else?

So next time you are at an HEB and you see a really great outgoing, friendly guy with a 5 year-old girl, say hi to me, tell me what you think of this post.

I scream!

I love summer.

I mean, I LOVE summer.

It is very early May in Austin, Texas, and by the northern standards I still seem to use, it's already summer: warm, sunny, glorious. People are out in shorts, kids are swimming. Life is good.

It's Sunday afternoon, I'm lounging in bed, half-asleep, listening to the radio. My oldest girl is watching a streaming movie from Netflix, my youngest watching along. A perfectly quiet, indolent Sunday afternoon.

Suddenly terrified shrieks fill the air: Daddy, Daddy, DADDY!!!!! The tone is frantic, panicked, like when Something Really Bad happens. I envision broken bones, severed limbs... arterial spray. Leaping out of bed, I run into the game room where my two lovelies were just a moment ago: they're gone, vanished! How could it be? they were just there, I heard their terrified yells. Then, from outside, I hear another plaintive cry: "I scream, I scream", or was it "ice cream, ice cream"?

I look out the window just in time to see the two of them flying down the street, headed toward the ice cream truck strategically parked by the community pool. They end up toward the back of the gaggle of impatient kids straining to glimpse the board loudly displaying the dizzying array of options to choose from, one sugar and artificial-everything laced item more delicious than the next. A middle-aged man, for whom the preciousness of the moment is somewhat diminished by having spend much of his adult life dispensing ice cream to crowds of kids, is doing exactly that, once more, with the enthusiasm of a TxDOT worker at the end of a long day. I notice what looks like a prison-tattoo on his hand, perhaps the inked reminder of a misspent youth. My kids don't notice, they wouldn't care if they did, it's ICE CREAM.

Not just any ice cream, mind you, not the boring Breyer's all-natural stuff, not Blue Bunny or HEB-store-brand, not even the Hagen-Daaz ice cream we sometimes get, and completely unlike the three or four kinds of ice cream or popsicles in our freezer. No, this is ice-cream-truck ice cream, that most treasured, precious and delicious treat. The stuff over which wars could be fought, fortunes or nations lost and be worth it. My oldest gets some kind of chocolate ice cream, the youngest some fluorescent-colored snow-cone thing.

The sheer delight of the moment, the pure joy of sugar and summer radiates from their faces, raw, unfiltered, untempered by any perspective or experience. They don't know how fleeting the moment is, how ultimately food won't really make them happy, how one needs a job to pay for the ice cream.

They don't give a care, it's summer, it's ice cream, and they are happy.

I love summer.

Marriage

Marriage is an ideal, a hope, a dream.

An impossible one.

Marriage starts with two people: two individuals with different tastes, preferences, inclinations, drives, desires and ambitions. These people choose to commit themselves unconditionally and without reserve to each other, to put the welfare of their spouse and their marriage above their own, with the understanding, the trust, the faith that their spouse does the same. They agree to forgo their own personal interests and desires for that of this new entity, this joint venture, again assuming that the other person does too. Through this process, the happiness of both parties increases: they support each other, care for each other, make each other happy, meet each others' needs. Well, that's the idea at least.

Critical to this arrangement is trust. Without it, the whole scheme simply falls apart. Therein lies its weakness. If one party violates the trust the whole premise of marriage vanishes, it stops making sense, it becomes a sucker's game: who can fool the other, play the game and get the most out of it. The most trusting and gullible person loses.

It seems like a bad idea, doesn't it? I mean who would agree to such an arrangement, given what we know of human nature.

And yet we marry, by the millions each year. For many it ends up being the sucker-game described above: trust is broken, needs unmet, promises forgotten. The hurt is too great, the betrayal too deep or the unmet needs are simply to great to ignore. This usually ends in divorce, separation. Other times people carry on in abject misery, driven by a sense of duty, obligation, cowardice or simple inertia.

For a lucky few, it's easy; whether by temperament or good luck, there are no significant temptations, disappointments, they always see their spouse as the beautiful desirable person they were when they met. These sentiments are reciprocated and everyone is happy. Maybe I'll meet such a person some day.

Then there is a third category: people for whom marriage works, but only because they work at it, really, really hard. For these people, subjugating their desires, preferences, drives for a greater good, an ideal, an abstract notion and promise is not easy. Not at all. Yet, they fight the good fight every day, and they win... mostly. Their unhappiness and disappointment occasionally eats at their soul until they don't think they can stand it anymore. Yet they do. They choose to love their spouse, to overlook their foibles and shortcomings, to remain true to them in spirit as well as in action. They choose to deny themselves freedoms and feelings they yearn for. They do so not because they are not tempted to pursue their own interests, but because they fundamentally believe in the hopelessly naive ideal that two people can "find someone to love and make it last" (Rush- "Ghost of A Chance"). In the process of undertaking this struggle, of making the right choices, of choosing to actively love their spouse, something occasionally happens. They sometimes discover that they actually do love their spouse, they are reminded of what brought them together in the first place, of what truly binds them together. Love is a complex thing. After a while the butterflies leave, replaced by something else, something more enduring, more subtle, but no less powerful. This is the love that can be rediscovered and renewed daily.

Marriage is like Faith: it is the unreasonable hope (hope not based on reason) that something more exists, something more profound than what appears at the surface. Why is the sky blue? is it due to Raleigh scattering or is it because God wanted there to be something beautiful for us to look at? The faithful may believe the first, but they hope for the second. The married person may believe that marriage is a financial, sexual, housing and child-rearing arrangement, but they can hope there is something else: something that transcends the practical, or even romantic. Marriage, like Faith, makes us human.

The people in this last group are either idiots or heroes. I choose the latter. I would call them "lucky", but that would insult the hard choices they make every day they live. They have much more than "luck": they have character, strength, integrity and courage.

There are no guarantees, no assurances that even after all their efforts these heroes will succeed in their tasks. Sometimes marriages fail despite the best effort of all involved. Even heroes are human, ultimately limited by their own needs, finite capacities, personal histories. But damn it, they're trying!

So here is a salute, a tribute to those people who keep this irrational and absurdly ridiculous idea of marriage alive through work, determination and guts.

May you find your reward in the happiness you reap growing old with someone you love, in the best, deepest, most active sense of that word.

Instant Zen

I want to live in the present. I rarely do.

I am a worrier. I obsess about the past and what could have been. I worry about the future and what might happen. Lost is the present, the now, the only part that really matters, the only part that directly touches me. These preoccupations distract me from being in the moment and seeing the world, really seeing it.

So often, I look at my girls and rather than seeing them for the precious beautiful people they are, I see them as distractions: impediments to what I want to do. The wonder of their love, the marvel of their existence is obscured by this fog of thoughts, worries, concerns about the past and future, neither of which I can do anything about.

I wish to control my own thoughts, to quiet my mind, experience more fully the world around me. I think that is much of what I seek in my quest for God: being able to quiet my mind and actually feel life, connect with it. During my religious youth I was never able to successfully pray or mediate, the chatter of a thousand thoughts drowning out the voice of God.

The only time I have ever really lived in the present has been on long-distance bicycle trips. I have done several 1000-1500 mile rides, each taking 2-3 weeks. Most of these rides were done alone, just me, my bike, a tent and sleeping bag, a couple changes of clothes. When I started these rides I always had ambitions of deep introspection, intense reflection. I would bring notebooks and pencils. I never used them. My thoughts were very immediate and short: the road, the cars, my legs, the next hill or water stop. If I stopped for a break, I could get myself to think about where would I overnight, what would I eat, how far could I go. It may sound like I was thinking a lot, but I wasn't. These thoughts we all very short, a second or less, sometimes a minute during a stop. My mind was washed clean by this shower of trivial minutia, a mental sandblaster.

Within minutes of getting on the bike, my mind would be a blank slate, gone was the veil of worry obscuring my view of the world. If I looked up, I really saw the trees, birds, cars, people, houses. I lived, absolutely and fully, in the now. My mind was open, spongelike, to the sensory reality of living.

It has been 3 years since I last went on a ride, the first being 10 years ago. Yet, if I pause for even a moment, I remember. I remember a corn field outside of Dubuque where I slept in a savage thunderstorm, an empty road in Ontario that stretched off in a perfectly straight line to the horizon, the raw terror of sharing the Trans-Canadian Highway with triple-tandem logging trucks. Sleeping in a campground in Ohio and a cemetery in West Virginia, drafting an Amish carriage for 10 miles in upstate New York, the soybean fields of Illinois as infinite and uniform as a green rustling ocean, smoking brakes going down the truly endless mountains of Pennsylvania. I remember horrible, bitter people and incredibly wonderful generous people. I remember them all, my open, uncluttered mind having soaked up the unfiltered experience of existence.

I want to fully experience the present in which our lives unfold. I want to stop seeing so much of the past and future. I want to see my daughters, the trees, the hawks circling in a limpid Texas sky. I want to feel the passion of a kiss, the love of a friend, the hug of a child.

I'm looking for the present, I'll let you know when I find it.

The gods toy with us

I think the ancient Greeks were onto something.

One of the recurring themes of Greek tragedies is that despite our individuality, our personal skills, efforts, in the end our lives are predetermined by our past and our circumstances. We can try to avoid our destiny but we are ultimately doomed to follow it.

I am at the end of one phase of my life and on the cusp of beginning another. As I look back over my life, I understand how this all came about. I can look back over the 21+ years of my marriage and before that into my and my wife's childhoods and see how everything followed almost inevitably from the past.

Even now, although I feel like I made a clear and deliberate choice about separating from my wife, I'm not sure I really had a choice. I tried keeping it together, to just "get past" the hurt and betrayal of her infidelity, and I couldn't, I simply couldn't. So what choice did I really have in the end? What were my choices: to go insane? To be angry and resentful the rest of my life? No, there was only one reasonable choice, which is to say there were none.

I think I am making choices about my future, but what choices do I really have, in the big picture? Changing one's destiny is like changing the course of a ship, hard, slow, and in the end, if the current is swift enough, impossible.

Nonetheless, I am unique, just like everyone else, and like everyone else, I value the illusion of free-choice and autonomy. That being the case, I will go through the motions of making good choices, the best choices I know how to, hoping the play the gods have me in involves me being happy.

Out there

It's 5:15 and my alarm goes off. I don't really want to get up, but I'm not really tired. I dawdle in bed for another 10 minutes then get up, start the coffee, check email, begin this blog entry. I should go running, I really want to.

Out there it's inhospitable, still dark, probably not cold, but seems like it should be nonetheless. Perhaps too many years spent in a cold climate where it almost always is cold at 5:30. My nice warm bed and house, hot coffee and comfort here, the dark and cold out there. In here: the indolent pleasure of sitting and surfing. Out there: the dark, the pounding pavement, whizzing cars with glaring headlights, straining muscles, straining lungs.

Yet I love the feeling of being out there running, using my body like a machine, feeling in control. I feel strong, healthy, good. Once I'm out there, I love it, savor the act of living that running really is. If being out there running isn't living to the fullest, what is?

Out there is daunting isn't it? At least it always is for me. Perhaps for some it's always first and foremost something else: an adventure, an opportunity, a chance to live. I recognize it as all those things and yet find it intimidating. I'm not sure why. What am I afraid of? failure? the unknown? doing something hard? I couldn't tell you, although I know exactly what I do like about being out there.

I can think of many reasons why I should be out there, want to be, and no good reasons why I shouldn't or don't want to. Yet, I'm still here typing, sitting in my warm house, on my soft couch, drinking my coffee, comfortable.

Those miles won't run themselves.

Time to go out there.

Waiting

Waiting is hard, the hardest part, according to Tom Petty

Waiting for the ketchup to comes out of the bottle
Waiting for your food to arrive
Waiting for an approaching storm to break into rain
Waiting for the first big snow of the year
Waiting for Spring
Waiting for an exam to start
Waiting to graduate
Waiting for the first glimpse of someone you are expecting
Waiting for the feel of that first kiss
Waiting for an important meeting to begin
Waiting for the doctor to enter the examination room
Waiting for test results
Waiting for the end of a bad day
Waiting for a movie to begin
Waiting to be done running during a hard run
Waiting to climb into a warm bed after a tiring day
Waiting for the alarm to go off when you are only half-asleep
Waiting for the first swim of the year
Waiting for the first day of school in fall
Waiting to see your kids after work

Waiting for your house to sell
Waiting to decide what to do about your marriage
Waiting to close on your wife's new house
Waiting for the moving truck to come
Waiting for a new beginning
Waiting to be who you want to be
Waiting for happiness

Waiting for the beginning of the rest of your life

I'm done waiting.

Friends

Ok, so this is some sort of writing frenzy. Three blog entries in the space of 16 hours or so. I don't care, it makes me happy and it's cheaper than heroine.

I recently had the opportunity to be a friend to a friend. You know, one of those moments when you are able to help someone in a way that means something to them. You are are the person they call when they need someone and you are able to be there for them. You know what I mean, you've done the same. The act of giving of yourself is tremendously rewarding, it feels like nothing else. It connects you to the person you are giving to even more than that act connects them to you. I think that act of giving, in a real sense, is love and intimacy.

Think about this: is there any moment of purer love and intimacy than when you are able to give something to your child and see their eyes light up? I'm not talking about material stuff, but maybe when you say you'll take them to the park, or library, or play a game with them, expend something that really costs you and they know it: your time, attention, energy. They look at you and they feel your love, physically, viscerally. In that moment, they are certain you love them because you gave of yourself to them. Kids know everything that matters, we adults sometimes forget.

Do you want to know how I know my Dad loves me? It's very simple: when I was in high school, I had to catch the bus at 5:45AM. My Dad, who didn't really have to get up till 8 or so would wake up at 5:00 every bloody day, wake me up, make me coffee and breakfast, pack me a lunch, give me a hug and send me out the door. If I missed the bus, he would drive me to intercept it at a later stop. To this day, as I type, this brings tears to my eyes. That man loved me. In addition to being my Dad, he was a true friend.

The act of giving is the essence of what binds us together as people. I can be said to love my children, spouse and friends when I give of myself to them and the act of giving cements the bond between us. As it is reciprocated, the bond grows. Conversely, if that act is not reciprocated or it is taken advantage of, more being taken than was offered, the love is lost, killed.

On a somewhat tangential note, I think the connection I mentioned above is what we are all actually ultimately seeking in our adult relationships. As adults, we pursue romance and sex, partially driven by Darwinian and pleasure-seeking urges, but also largely, perhaps mostly in pursuit of that emotionally intimate connection. I think we are missing the boat in some sense. Isn't what we really want just that sense of bonding to another person?I think we are really yearning for the connection that comes from the simple love of a true unconditional love, born of mutual dedication to the other person and their happiness. We are merely distracted by that other stuff.

I love someone because I will do anything, sacrifice anything for them and their happiness. They love me because they will do and sacrifice anything for me and my happiness. Doesn't that pretty much summarize things?

It's so simple. How do we forget?