Categories
personal

Logan’s 50: Five of my best life tips, Pt. 1

I like to kick, stretch, and kick!

Today is the oldest I’ve ever been.

That’s a joke, of course. But I did just turn 50 this past week, so it’s not quite as funny as it’s been in the past.

The pic above is of me when I was a few days old.

Man, it’s a kick in the head to get my mind around that I was once that infant in the picture above some 50 years ago.

Realize that I probably don’t look 50 to you, which is fine because I don’t look 50 to me.

In fact, when I think of 50, I think of Molly Shannon’s Sally O’Malley (who’s actually 58 in the clip below):

It’s funny because a lotta my friends tell me that they use me as an example of what 50 might be like for them.

This is my friend Hawk, who – like a lotta my friends – only texts me on my bday, but that’s fine, I’m always thrilled to hear from them.

Spent a lotta time wondering what I would write about to commemorate this momentous occasion and the best thing I could come up with was the five concepts that changed my life the most.

1. Invest in the S&P 500

One of my summer jobs in college was helping two accountants do paperwork for a company called Ziff-Davis, where I ended up working at after college. They asked me to come in on the weekend and said they’d buy lunch. As a poor college kid, that was enough, so I did.

While I was there, we got to talking about investing and they told me to just dump every spare cent I ever made into the S&P 500.

Basically, “S&P” is “Standard and Poor,” think of them like the New York Times, except they only report about companies. And one thing they do is list the 500 biggest companies – in terms of how much they’re worth –  at any given time.

When, say, Company 498 becomes Company 502, it’s kicked out, and some other company becomes 498.

A fella named John Bogle figured out that if you invested money evenly into each of the 500 companies, you’d end up making about 11.8% annually.

If you invested $1,000 a year for 50 years, you woulda “spent” $50,000 but you would end up with $2,505,311.97, or $2,455,311.97 profit.

There are hundreds of funds that track the S&P 500 for little or no money. 

Started doing that 30 years ago, when I was 20. My life woulda been radically different if I never took that weekend gig. 

Think they got me turkey club both days.

In any case, you should probably start investing ASAP, if you haven’t done it yet.

2. Do pushups – or something – every morning

I was a pretty fat kid from 10 to 14 – when I was 14, I was 5 foot 3 inches and 185 pounds with a 44-inch waist.

I went on a fast for four months – legit stopped eating, cold – and dropped down to 120 pounds and a 28-inch waist.

I’m now 50 years old with a 28-inch waist.

It all started when I stopped eating completely to reset my brain and started working out. When I first did it, I could barely do two pushups.

By the time I was 18, I was doing 100 pushups without issue. I just banged out 79 pushups in 60 seconds a few weeks ago.

Look, I don’t really do pushups anymore because I kept needing more. I’m in the gym like 10 hours a week these days.

You don’t gotta do pushups, you can do situps, you can run, you can walk for 30 minutes. Whatever.

But you gotta do something.

Otherwise, you’ll definitely look your age.

3. Learn to cook and stop eating stuff made by machines

OK, I admit that I eat quite a lotta things made by machines, like protein bars and stuff.

But I make sure that at least three out of every four meals I eat, I’ve made most of it myself.

This way, you know what you’re putting into your body.

When I was growing up, my main source of cooking knowledge was a fella called The Frugal Gourmetthis is the very video I saw to learn how to make chili.

But he turned out to be a pedophile – really – so alla his stuff disappeared and I turned to Alton Brown’s Good Eats and America’s Test Kitchen.

As an aside, the bulk of my diet is beans and nuts, mainly peanut butter, honestly.

I found out that they sold five-pound jars of peanut butter but I’m more than half-way though one jar and it’s only been less than two weeks.

So, I bought another jar.

But that’s really neither here nor there…

I still have two more things to tell you, but I’ll do that tomorrow because it’s getting late and I don’t wanna mess up my sleep schedule any more than it already is.

And because it’s never too late to be better.

I’m trying to be better, even now.

We should all try to be better than we were yesterday.

Man, I could go for a turkey club right now…

Location: same place I’ve been for the past 18,250 days, here in NYC
Mood: hopeful
Music: I’m still me, who I was, who I’ve been, who I’ll always be
Since I was young
(Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Having all the parts

On the regular

The last few people I’ve dated, including the Firecracker, have been on the shorter side, which I find amusing.

Me: Man, you’re tiny. You’re like half a person.
Her: No, I’m not! I’m a whole person – I have all the parts.

I have most of my parts, but I’ve been worried about how some of them have been functioning lately – mainly my eyes.

My eyesight has been getting progressively worse since I got kicked in the head the night I covered class.

Rang up the doc that I saw a few weeks back and he told me to stop by his office again this past weekend.

One thing that I really like about him is that he runs a tight ship. Within 30 minutes of my arriving he, was already wrapping up the visit.

Him: Everything looks good, your retina is solid, and you just have a touch of cataracts.
Me: So why does everything look blurry?
Him: Ah, well, you’re developing monovision. That’s when one eye sees distance and one eye sees up close. Your right eye is now essentially for reading while your left eye is for seeing things far away.
Me: Whoa, that’s wild. Because I got kicked in the head?
Him: (nodding) But it doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Most people have to have surgery to get that, but you now have it naturally. I have it naturally myself and it’s why I don’t need glasses.

All-in-all, it was a relief.

It’s still weird to walk around and have things so blurry alla time. But he says that I have to practice looking at things far away with my right eye and reading with my left eye.

How hard can that be?

One thing that I found interesting was that, when I first met the doctor, I barely knew the Firecracker.

Now, I’d spent the last two months seeing/chatting with her on the regular.

Funny how life works.

Location: a small room, watching her eat an apple pie in her bed
Mood: wondering if I should eat an apple pie in my bed
Music: I’ve lost more than a heart could take (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Getting Old is a Privilege

My theme songs

Me: Look, we just have to make this work for…
Simultaneously: 40 years
Her: Jinx! You owe me a coke.
Me: What? That’s not a thing.
Her: Yes, it is grandpa…

The Firecracker likes to poke fun at our age difference but I don’t really mind at all.

See, I wear it like a badge of honor.

Cause the ability to get old is a privilege. Not everyone gets that chance so I’m grateful to get to be an old man.

Years ago, I asked you what your theme song would be.

I think our lives go through a series of thematic changes.

Back when I was young and stupid in my early thirties, I thought that my debilitating insomnia and my breakup with the Reporter was the worst thing that coulda happened to me.

Looking back, I’m shocked how naïve I was.

During that time, my life was a dramady – some comedy mixed with some minor drama.

During that time, my theme song was Overkill by Colin Hayes.

Speaking of Colin Hay, when I met Alison, I think that my life was still a dramady but definitely more drama than comedy, as we felt the weight of life as a young married couple.

We had our ups-and-downs but we were just trying to figure out how to have a life together. With a fatty of our own, somehow.

Always felt that, once we got the kid, our real lives would begin, that any minute now, our ship would come in.

But it never did.

It never occurred to me that I was living my real life until it was too late.

See, every day was a holiday with her…

…until it wasn’t.

Until it all turned to shit.

During Alison’s sickness, Lorde was huge because it was the only album I had on my phone and I was so busy trying to save her and our life that I didn’t have time to change it.

Still never listen to Lorde because it brings back such vivid memories.

Think I would throw up if I heard Pure Heroine again.

Jesus, I musta heard that album easily 200 times during the first four months.

I was so busy that I literally didn’t have a moment to download any new songs and it was waaaaay before Spotify.

Anywho, in the song, Buzzcut Season, there’s a line that goes, “It kissed your scalp and caressed your brain.”

Remember hearing that line and thinking that, even with Alison bald and stick thin, I still thought she was beautiful and I was so lucky to have met her.

When she was sick, suppose that my life was probably best summed up by Chaos Chaos’s Do You Feel It?

Some days I’m built of metal, I can’t be broken
But not when I’m with you
You love me real, we have it all
Can’t leave me now
I love the way, you are today
Run away with me now

Kept hoping it was all a bad dream, I’d wake up, and she I could run away somewhere with the boy and live the life we were supposed to live.

The years afterward were gutting for so many reasons that I’ll just keep my theme song during that time to myself, if you don’t mind.

But right now, at this moment, honestly don’t know if my life’s gonna be a dramady again, another tragedy, or something altogether new.

There’s a song by a fella named Mike Blume, who released his latest song under the name Whatever Mike for some reason, called In-Between.

The chorus goes:

I’m inbetween
Right here where I want it
Right here where I want it
I′m inbetween

Dunno if the rest of the song is really super appropriate to my life right now but those few lines perfectly encapsulate how I look at my life right now.

I’m in-between alla these memories and hopes, life and death, happiness and sadness.

All of it. I’m in between all of it.

Somehow, it’s ok because it’s better to be in-between than toward the end. Nowadays, at least.

Nothing is as I wanted it to be, but I’m happy where I am right now.

Which makes me anxious because happiness is so rare for me. Then again, what is life, if not a tragedy fulla joy?

I think our theme songs changes with the years, so I suppose we’ll revisit this topic again from time-to-time.

What about you?

What’s your theme song?

Me: Why do you hurt me?
Her: (laughing) If I don’t have old jokes, I have nothing here, Logan. Nothing!

Location: this afternoon, walking in the sun with Firecracker down Broadway
Mood: introspective
Music: I’m between, right here where I want it (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Never have I ever…

Finding the things we look for

Forgot to mention that, while I was at my in-laws last week, we got onto the topic of how many pushups I could do in one minute.

I’d never tried to figure it out before so I cranked out about 60 in 45 seconds, but those last 15 seconds were agonizing. Agonizing.

I could only get out 19 more; try as I might, I could NOT get to 80 before my muscles gave out.

Which they did and I collapsed onto the floor. My son – god love him – was disappointed:

Him: For god’s sake, get up!
Me: (breathing heavily) Everyone’s a critic…

That’s my boy, folks.

During one of our late-night outings with copious amounts of legal pharmaceuticals, the Firecracker and I started playing a game of “Never have I ever.”

Gotta say, dating someone from the south is entertaining on so many levels.

Her: You’ve never been to a field party?
Me: I don’t even know what that is.
Her: It’s a party. In a field. With a bonfire.
Me: I figured out the first part on my own.
Her: My favorite one was on Moo Cow Lane.
Me: That’s not a real place.
Her: (laughing) Yes, it is!

So many levels.

On a different, but related, note. There are also lots of unexpected perks to dating another parent.

For example, she and her son came by the other day for a playdate. They’re close in age so they get along well.

Unfortunately, in the middle of it, my kid tapped me on the shoulder and said that he didn’t feel well. I figured he was just tired but then he said he had a sore throat so I gave him some Tylenol.

Her: Take his temperature.
Me: Not a bad idea, ok, hold on. (later) Shoot. 103.
Her: OK, we should go.

It was impressive, I gotta say, how her maternal instincts kicked in.

Tthought about that woman I briefly dated that said that she didn’t mind that I had a kid.

That woman and I got along great for the few times we saw each other but once she said that, I lost all interest.

Chatted with a buddy about it a few days after I ended it.

Him: Your kid’s so great, I’m sure she woulda come around.
Me: (shaking head) I couldn’t take that chance. My kid’s made of awesome; anyone who wouldn’t want someone like him in her life, I wouldn’t want in mine.
Him: (shrugging) Well, hopefully you’ll meet someone you like.
Me: I will. We all find the things we look for, good or bad, one way or another.

Location: this evening, running into two of the kid’s teachers from when he was a kid just off Broadway
Mood: potentially sick
Music: always been the weird one out, fucking up that little town (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Hurt you so badly

Better off now

After the night out with the Firecracker and her friend, neither of us could make it to the Frenchman’s karaoke thingy the next day.

Me: (next morning) I think I’m still drunk.
Her: I need a Tylenol.
Me: Why are we even awake?!

But we were scheduled to meet up with her sister and her sister’s fella, both of whom lived across the street from her.

We ended up meeting up at a bar for an afternoon drink, not too far from the tiki bar we were the night before.

The Firecracker and I each got a rum and diet coke – plus wings for me – while they got beers and a huge pretzel for their kid, which made me think of Germany.

Her sister and fella were super cool and grabbed the bill, which was super nice of them.

Afterward, I was hungry for more wings, so we spent a solid 45 minutes walking around the hood looking for more wings, which I ultimately found.

A young couple were arguing – well, the fella was being yelled at by his girl – and the girl asked me what I thought.

Her: (turning to me) What do you think?! Am I right or is he?
Me: I’m just trying to get some wings here, lady…
Her: No, no, no, is he right or am I?
Me: (shaking head) I can’t say. I can say that communication isn’t what you’re saying but what he’s hearing. And he – and everyone else here – is just hearing you yell at him, kid.

There’s a lot more to this story but I’ll end it here.

The next day, I went out to NJ to get the boy from my in-laws.

MIL: We’re having pasta, salad, and garlic bread.
Me: I’m not saying no to any of that.

He went out with his guitar to practice and bringing it back was a bit of a pain, but worth it because he had plenty of time to practice.

As you might imagine, the Firecracker and I chat quite a bit now.

I find it odd because the weird commonality of the women I met after Alison have all had very sad stories to tell.

Wonder if it’s something about me that either attracts people with sad stories or perhaps they feel safe because I have my own – obscenely – sad stories.

Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

Me: I’m sorry.
Her: Nothing to be sorry about. I’m better off now.
Me: (shaking head) I’m sorry the world hurt you so badly, Firecracker.
Her: (nodding) I’m sorry the world hurt you so badly, Lo.
Me: Yeah…

Location: this afternoon, Blue Bottle with the pastor, disagreeing about cruising
Mood: contemplative
Music: this should be a crime and I’m ready to do the time (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Single-serving friends

A late-night walk in Hoboken

It’s been busy lately with a lot of comings and goings. Nothing really noteworthy; honestly, all the faces and names start to blend together.

Still, I was out in Hoboken the other day to meet up with someone but she was running late.

Her: I’m just aborting my current mission, shouldn’t be too late.
Me: Your phrasing made me laugh.

Since I had time, I found myself walking around Hoboken like I did Jersey City the other night in fall.

Dunno why I revisit these things but I do.

Of course, I found myself in front of Alison’s apartment.

Remembered when I first visited there and the day we moved her stuff out. It seems like both yesterday and a lifetime ago.

Wanted to ring the bell because there was a tiny (crazy) part of me that hoped maybe she’d answer. But the saner bits of my brain won out.

Barely.

Probably for the best, otherwise, I’da been arrested.

As for the girl, we met up at a restaurant I’d never been to.

It was a nice night. She was easy on the eyes, which helped.

Her: I wore this for you.
Me: Trust me when I tell you that I appreciate it.

We ended up hanging out and chatting for about five hours and hit up a few different places before she gave me a lift in her whip.

It was after midnight when I finally went to bed.

To be honest, it was a really fun and interesting night. But, like the narrator says in Fight Club, these are all single-serving friends; her for me and me for her.

It was a one-and-done, like most of these nights go.

Me: We’re both looking for something we can’t put into words.

It’s fine. We all know the rules of the game.

Lviv dropped me a line the other day as well to wish me a Happy New Year.

She and her fella moved outta state and they seem to be doing well. I wonder if things would be different if we met now instead of then.

It’s strange, you never can tell who stays in your Venn Diagram and who leaves.

Her: I’m sure something good is coming your way 🙂
Me: Thanks, Lviv! Here’s hoping…

Here’s hoping.

Location: earlier tonight, on West 94th Street, playing Taboo
Mood: hoping
Music: I been looking for a new ride (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

All my gods are gone

Poof

Me: I have to be careful with what I say and do around him.
Him: Of course, you’re his father.
Me: (shaking head) More than that. He’s a little kid. I’m god to him. I provide him love, a home, food, everything he knows about the world. I’m his god and I have to be careful because of it. All parents are god to little boys and girls.

Before Alison got sick and died, I went to church most Sundays. I believed in God and Christianity, most likely because my mom did. If she was Muslim, I’m sure I woulda believed in Allah. But that’s how it goes.

Then Alison started losing babies and I quietly clung on to the hope that there was a merciful god and he would show her/us some mercy. And then she got sick and died in May of 2017.

Exactly 90 days later, my father died in August of 2017.

This whole time, another relative of mine was sick that I never mentioned because I was asked not to mention it.

There’s so much I tell you about; imagine if you knew alla the things I don’t tell you about. But we all have our three lives: Public, private, and secret.

All three losses were devastating to me. Imagine if your spouse, father, and close cousin all died within a few weeks of each other, how would you fare?

In all of this, I also lost my career that I spent 20 years building. An entire portfolio of clients gone – poof. Because I didn’t give a shit about it anymore.

Me: (to a different woman) What happened to your last fella?
Her: (shrugging) His family wanted a nice Catholic girl and I’m … definitely not that. What are you?
Me: Oh, I’m a devout atheist. If there is god, he can go fuck himself.

In the New Testament, when Jesus is on the cross, he cries out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” He’s in pain, dying on some wood, and his father is nowhere to be seen or heard. And that’s when the son just gives up.

He says, “I’m thirsty. I’m done. Take it.” And he dies.

Because imagine if you’re dying and your dad knows this and you call him.

He picks up and says, “I know you’re dying, I know you’re in pain, but it doesn’t matter, I’ll never speak to you again, you’ll never see me again.” And then silence. Pure silence.

Now that’s pain. I’d give up too.

But that’s what happened to me. Times four.

Now, this fella named William Makepeace Thackeray once said, Mother is the name for God on the lips and hearts of all children.

But the kid never knew her. So that leaves me and me alone.

Still, with all due respect to Mr. Thackeray, my dad was my god as a little boy because I think it’s fairer to say that parents are gods to their little children. He and my mom were mine.

As an adult, my god was the god of my church and Alison – there was no sin I would not commit to keep her alive.

My minor god, but something I worshipped nonetheless, was my career. I think most people, if they were honest, would say that the thing that bring them income and security, they worship, to some degree.

But in 2017, I was hollowed out because I lost all my gods – everything I ever fucking believed in – all between the months of May and August. Alison, my dad, my religion, my job.

Poof. Gone.

And I filled those gaping holes with rage, women, and varying forms of pharmaceuticals. Not a single woman from that period speaks to me.

Because I was just rage and sadness and they were all unfortunate enough to be swept up in it all, hoping that I could possibly be normal.

I’m just starting to feel normal now, five years after the fact.

My buddy Jaerik commented in 2007 that I was never angry. Cause I always felt anger was the most useless of all emotions and I was pretty anti-emotion as a whole.

During NYE, one of the sisters remarked that there must be some part of me that believes in the Christian god somewhere and that’s when I realized why I was so fucked up for so long. Because this whole time, I thought I was grieving the loss of my wife and my dad, and – to lesser extent – the death of my old life and career.

That’s when I realized that I lost my religion as well.

Man, I lost all my gods at once. Losing one would be enough to drive anyone starkers. I lost everything that I felt made me…me.

To answer my friend’s question: The god I knew and believed in is as dead and gone as Alison and my dad is. The only thing with any spark of life is my career and even that takes a massive backseat to raising the kid.

Somehow, realizing that that night was the missing piece in my head and I felt my head quiet in ways I’ve not felt in over a dozen years – not since at least November of 2011.

Glad they asked me out for a drink, I gotta say…

And that’s why I decided to upgrade my OS. Or rather, replace it altogether.

It was originally built on ideas, people, and things that no longer exist, save for things about Schopenhauer that I still believe to be true.

But I’m tired of the anger and the rage. I miss being the quiet grey man no one knew could fight or knew experienced the devastating losses I did.

Then again, I wish alotta fucking things and I’m tired of wishing for shit that’ll never happen, people I’ll never see again, gods that never existed.

I just want things quiet again. In my head. In my life. I want it quiet, peaceful, and calm.

I think I’m at like 5% now in the upgrade process.

Him: Papa, I got a golf game. Do you want to play golf with me?
Me: I’ve never played…sure, kid. Lemme finish this email while you set it up, ok?
Him: OK! There’s a blue ball, a yellow ball, a green ball, and a red ball. Pick two.
Me: Red and yellow? (thinking) No, wait. Blue and green, please.
Him: OK, I’ll be red and yellow. I’ll get it ready. Hurry up with your email and let’s play!
Me: You got it, kid. I’ll be right out.

Location: earlier today, on 18th, drilling again like I did before everything went to shit
Mood: quiet
Music: I can do without sorrow, there’s a day after tomorrow, so I’m leaving it behind (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

New Year’s Eve 2022/23

The Quiet

Had a very interesting and chill New Year’s Eve.

Like most of you, I spent NYE 2021 alone – completely alone – because of COVID. NYE 2022 wasn’t much better because of COVID, as well.

This year was the first proper NYE I’ve had in quite a while; it was just me and two friends.

Got there first, where I opened the door for a girl with crutches.

My friends showed up not soon afterward.

Sister1: (wearing a gold lamé  blouse) Happy New Year, Logan!
Me: Thanks, same! You know, I was just thinking that not enough people wear lamé on the regular.

It was totally last minute; we were supposed to just meet up for drinks at 6:45 and I was gonna see RE Mike, but the food was good…

…the drinks were solid, and the crowd and company were great…

…plus, there was live jazz so, before you knew it, we were toasting 2023.

Sister1: It’s 10:50PM!
Me: Welp, I guess we’re staying here. I need another drink.

The two of them are in the growing group of people that don’t want to be in this blog, which I get, which is why I’m trying to keep the conversation as non-identifiable as possible.

Still, the first sister had a list of really insightful questions which led to some pretty deep conversations I wish I could share with you.

One of which ended like this:

Me: I’m thinking 2023 might be the year I finally lose my virginity.
Sister2: (laughing) Did you go to church summer camp? Is that why?
Me: No [to the second question] BUT I did go to summer camp, once actually. Of course, because it was me, it was because of a girl, but that’s a whole ‘nother story.
Her: I think that Christian boy in you is still there, somewhere.
Me: And that’s where you’re wrong. He died the day my wife died. But we can change the subject…

Because of that, I came to a realization the next morning – and a pretty wild one at that, which deserves its own entry.

It’s part of the reason I decided to upgrade my OS in the first place.

I spoke at length with my therapist about my realization today.

Me: An acquaintance of mine told me a little while back that, in all the years he’s known me, he’d never seen my level of rage that I am these days. He said that, when it comes out, I’m a completely different person. I didn’t realize how long I’ve been angry for.
Therapist: And now?
Me: I’m still angry, of course. At the unfairness of it all. But, it’s not blinding rage anymore.
Her: I hear it in your voice.
Me: What?
Her: The quiet.

My buddy who lost his mom was 100% right, the anger never goes away. But I’m hoping the rage is gone.

Suppose only time will tell.

Y’know when you upgrade your computer’s OS, it goes like “73% completed,” or whatnot? I think I’m like 4% in.

It’s a start.

Location: earlier today, on 18th, wondering if I should roll
Mood: quiet
Music: my trust in God and man, no confession, no religion, don’t believe in modern love (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Upgrading my OS

I like it when we play 1950

Her: I’m sorry about your wife.
Me: So am I. All my gods look like her.
Her: What does that mean?
Me: Nuthin. (brightening) Let’s play a game…

It’s the first day of 2023.

I’m writing this on a computer that I first built when Alison was still alive and upgraded repeatedly, such that there’s nuthin left of the original computer, just like I talked about in my Ship of Theseus.

One thing that I did after the hack was to upgrade the operating system of that computer from Windows 10 to Windows 11, something I did with great reluctance.

Still working through the pros and cons of that, but I note that I went through Windows 7, 8, 8.1, and 10 on this machine before finally arriving here.

Just like the philosophical exercise of the Ship of Theseus, the question remains if there’s anything left of the original computer that I originally built all those years ago.

Speaking of philsophy, this blog has, more than anything, been my own personal repository of how I see the world, kinda like Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations.

Suppose my operating system has always been based on German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer, who was introduced to me in my 20s by the Devil.

One of my earliest blog entries spoke about a quote that served me well my entire life: With increased intelligence comes increased capacity for pain.

When Alison, my dad, and another relative got sick – all at the same time – and I essentially gave up my career(s) to try (and fail) to save them, then lost Gradgirl and Mouse, I think that the truth of that statement is why I’m here writing you now.

Schopenhauer’s worldview was that life is, at its core, suffering.

Life swings like a pendulum backward and forward between pain and boredom. – Arthur Schopenhauer

At no point in this blog – through all the highs and lows – did my baseline OS change; it was always run on some variant of Schopenhauer.

And you know my feeling about those who’s worldview never changes. I can’t be a hypocrite.

All this, despite the fact that some baseline beliefs of his contradicted directly with my own heart’s desire.

For example, I’ve always wanted family and family, by definition, requires children. Yet Schopenhauer, like my billionaire buddy, feels that “Bearing children into this world is like carrying wood into a burning house.”

Schopenhauer, as the base operating system of my life, was ill-equipped to deal with the overwhelming sadness and despair of it all, for various reasons.

For example, Schopenhauer’s world view of Wille zum Leben respected love like one respects a dangerous animal, but it doesn’t deal with love, which I both respect and submit to.

To Schopenhauer, love is an illogical means to an important end: The extension of our very species.

I understand that but, having loved and lost in the profound ways I have, I think it’s an idealized version of what humans are actually capable of.

While it’d be nice to live a life purely pragmatically, the way humans are designed, it’s not practical. Because emotions exist and aren’t going away.

I need an OS that reflects that reality.

The Devil’s gone from my life and, while I appreciate all that he’s shown me in the world, the OS he helped build for me doesn’t work with who I am now, especially given all that’s happened.

Moreover, I want more for my son. Assuming that Schopenhauer was correct, and our universe is only what we experience through our mental facilities – our operating system – then I plan on giving my son the best one I can.

After close to 30 years of working on myself, I think that answer lies in Stoicism. Not “stoicism” with a lower-case “s,” rather the full philosophy of Zeno, Marcus Aurelius, and Seneca.

The happiness of your life depends upon the quality of your thoughts. – Marcus Aurelius

I don’t think, at all, that Schopenhauer was wrong, or that the last three decades of my life were wasted. Rather, I think that it’s served its purpose for what I needed for that time and that version of me. Now, I have a new purpose – the boy – and that requires a new way of thinking.

We suffer more often in imagination than in reality. – Seneca

It’s still early yet in all this. Just like it’s early in the new year.

But I spent the last month reexamining my life and need to discard the things that aren’t working for me anymore, if they ever did, and find things that do work.

Don’t think you’ll notice any drastic changes here, per se. Just little things for myself as I try to give myself and – by extension, the boy – the tools I’ll need to be the best version of myself.

Man conquers the world by conquering himself. – Zeno

I’m still me, but I wonder how much of who and what I am/was is still there or if I’m a completely new being altogether, just like this computer I type alla this out on.

On that note, let’s start the new year off with a song.

This is by a young woman named King Princess that my brother introduced to me a little while ago.

Can’t put my finger on it, but it always makes me dream that my life might be better than it is.

Maybe it’s the line that goes, “I will keep on waiting for your love,” which goes directly against Schopenhauer’s distant respect of the concept of love.

Because love’s not only something I respect, but also something I want – to both give and receive – so it’s worthy of patience and time.

Even if it never comes my way again.

Here’s to 2023 and changing for the better.

Her: (surprised) Why did you do that?
Me: (shrugging) Seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
Her: (laughing) OK. (pause) You can do it again.

Location: in the first hours of 2023, on W 97, wondering if we should sell our apartments and move to NJ
Mood: new(ish)
Music: I love it when you try to save me
(Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.

Categories
personal

Kintsugi: The tenacity of the broken

Nothing gold seems to stay

Read yesterday that scientists discovered that a humpback whale named Moon that they’ve been tracking for a decade had broken her spine.

For 10 years, they followed her from Canada to Hawaii – 3,000 miles – something she had to do for food and to teach her calf how to do the same.

Sometime recently, a ship hit her and broke her spine, dooming her.

There’s no question she’ll die, it’s just how long she’ll survive in excruciating pain.

But she longs to live. So, she swam the same path she always swam – except upside down and in pain and a broken tail.

She swam 3,000 miles doing the breaststroke.

Look how broken she is, yet I find her beautiful, nonetheless. I’ve always found people and things that struggle and scuffle against their fate, beautiful.

She’s going to die and I wonder if she knows.

I’ve long said that females seem stronger than males in many regards.

The stories I’ve read about Moon aren’t clear if she made this last trip with her calf or not but I wouldn’t be surprised.

As I said before – and quoting Agatha Christie – A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity. It dares all things, and crushes down, remorselessly, all that stands in its path.

It dares all things.

Including swimming upside-down for 3,000 miles with a broken back and tail.

Have you ever heard of kintsugi?

It the Japanese art of repairing broken things with melted gold.

Essentially things like pottery bowls are put back together with melted gold and the result is something beautiful despite its scars.

I always thought Alison was so beautiful, despite all she’d gone through.

There’s something beautiful about tenacity, especially when it’s driven by love.


Me: They thought I was 35.
Him: Were they white? It doesn’t count unless they were Asian.
Me: (laughing) All three were Asian.

I feel myself retreating into my head again. But, I’m remembering things, so I’m not alone.

For better or worse.

My therapist thinks I’ve been making great strides in putting this mess that is my head back together again but I’m not sure.

The rage is better – all the hours at the gym seem to help with that – but I look at my face and don’t recognize myself a lot. And I’m tired.

Three different people from my gym thought I was 35 when I’m really pushing 50. Actually, one guy thought a woman there was the oldest person in the room when I was actually 17 years older than her.

But I wonder what I’d look like without all the trauma from 2014 to, well, today.

I feel those years aged me more than pretty much anything.

This is one of the few good pics I have of me from 2014, with PerfectCircles, at my fave dive bar.

I’m 41 in it but I usually got that I was in my 20s.

And this one is when I actually turned 41.

Me with Abe

This is me with my buddy a few weeks later:
Logan Lo and a buddy on the Staten Island ferry

I’m flattered that people think I look so young but that vain, shallow part of me – which, granted, is pretty sizable – wonders how much younger I woulda looked like without all that fucking shit we went through.

Which, of course, is hopelessly stupid and banal considering all that I’ve lost.

But it’s just bonus pain to my grief.

I feel that if Alison were still alive, she’d think that I look great, despite the grey and the scars, both visible and invisible.

Love is blind, after all.

I wonder if I’ll ever meet anyone that thinks I’m great the way she did.

Or am I just so obviously and irreparably broken inside and out, without her or anything else gold to mend me?

It’s an old saying but it weighs at me, that nothing gold seems to stay.

And we’re all on our doomed journeys, some shorter and more tragic than others.

I suppose that, like Moon, there’s not much to do but keep going until the end.

Her: What’s going on?
Me: Well, pour me a drink, darling, and I’ll tell you. But you won’t enjoy the story.
Her: How does it end?
Me: (shrugging) Like most true stories, love: In tears.

Location: earlier today, watching the boy sing Jingle Bells and wishing everything was different
Mood: complex
Music: I’m broken but, I’m ready to feel better. Glue me back together? (Spotify)
Subscribe!
Like this post? Tell someone about it by clicking a button below.