Greyhound to Fresno

Exactly 45 years ago today I was on a Greyhound to Fresno. I had enjoyed a great 4th of July party where I was proud to tell anyone that would listen I was joining the navy in a couple of days.

It was a classic bbq. Burgers and hot dogs, corn on the cob, and watermelon as far as the eye could see. The Stars & Stripes were everywhere. Laughing kids chased each other with water balloons and squirt guns. Adults patted me on the back and said, “Good for you. See the world!”

There I was in the summer of 1981 riding a bus to the AFEE’s station in Fresno. Armed Forces something something. I may have missed an F. Anyway it was a shabby little office in central Fresno that I had been to previously getting my pre-enlistment physical. I had to get two waivers to join when I did.

One waiver was for my ankle. When I was a child I had climbed up a 4×4 that was leaning against the house. As I was trying to get up it, I got splinters in my hands. When I got scared walking around up there, I didn’t want to climb back down. So I jumped. I guess because I was a kid instead of breaking my ankles, I just sprained one terribly. From then on, if I just sat on my ankle wrong, it would dislocate and I would be unable to walk for days. When I got to be a teenager, my parents finally got tired of me doing it intentionally to get out of chores they had it surgically repaired.

For the US Navy, when they looked at the x-rays of my ankle, they said it was a compound fracture and medically disqualifying w/o a note from my doctor explaining that my ankle was now fully functional. Waiver approved.

The other waiver was for my age. I was only 17. I wouldn’t turn 18 for a couple of months so my parents had to sign paperwork. One was in Alaska and one in California. Not easy, but it got done. Waiver approved. I could join the navy now.

As I was processing through the AFEEs station, I saw the recruits from all of the branches of the services gathering in their groups. Most were like me, straight out of high school, although some were older. One of the older guys (mid-20s?) came up and started talking to me about why he was joining the navy. I remember he was a bouncer at a bar. I was only a month out of high school. He impressed me immediately as a guy who had been places and done things already.

We would have to stay overnight at a cheap motel and wait for our plane ride to boot camp in San Diego early the next morning. Being a grown ass man, he could and did, go to the store and buy beer. After having spent the last couple of years having my prematurely balding best friend buy beer with a fake ID, this was also impressive. As the night wore on and we got more and more drunk he gave me a life lesson. No, nothing bad if that’s what you were thinking.

It was a demonstration of willpower. If you are properly motivated, you can do things you wouldn’t have thought you could. As his example he held out the plastic rings that had formerly held one of the 6 packs together. He folded it up until it was a single ring. He handed me the ring and said, “Hold it with one finger hooked on each side and try to pull it apart.”

I gave it a mighty pull, but it was useless. I couldn’t do it. Then he said in my face at increased volume, “Now imagine someone is attacking your mom! If you can’t break this, you can’t help her!” Sure enough this time I split the rings easily. It was a silly demonstration and point, but for some reason it has stuck with me since.

The next morning we were awakened by the sound of the shuttle bus horn blaring, waiting to take us to the airport. Hungover we grabbed our bags and ran out to the bus. A couple of life lessons indeed. First, don’t try and keep up with a guy who weighs twice as much as you, (and an ex-bouncer to boot!) in drinking beers. Second, you can summon strength, courage, or whatever you need with the right inspiration. I think the faithful know this too. If you seek devoutly in a time of need, help can be found within us.

I have changed so much in the 45 years since getting on that Greyhound to Fresno, I can hardly remember being that naive kid. It was all so exciting and new. I hope you had a great 4th of July. I hope you feel proud of being a part of this great country. I know I do. And I’m a Democratic Socialist!

Undeserved Friendship

You don’t realize what you’ve had until you’ve lost it. Or at least that’s the way my life has gone. There are plenty of people a lot worse off than me. Yet I find ways to whine about the life I lived. No Ragrets! Why can’t I remember that I wanted this time of my life to be one of contented reflection on a life well lived. No a bunch of second guessing about coulda, woulda, shouldas.

For me what I miss most, and have the hardest time holding on to are friends. Not work friends. Not neighbors that you wave and say hi to but can’t remember their first names. No. I miss the friends you can talk to about anything. The ones that call you on your boloney. The ones that remind you of the person you are and the promises you made.

People change. Hell everything changes. We try to hold on to the now because it’s so precious. But if you hold onto it, it stops being what it was. In fact it kills the reality of it and you’re just left holding the ghost of what it was Friendships can be like that.

I’ve had several best friends through the years. I had good friends in high school. I’ve been married twice. I served 6 years in the navy. Looking back it seems like every friend I’ve made I’ve lost. Usually thrown away. Sometimes intentionally, sometimes stupidly.

Some friends turned out to be rats. Some have just been lost to time and distance. Some friends were more like acquaintances. I could have a shallow-warm relationship with a buddy at work or back in the navy. But I wouldn’t have told them anything personal. I wouldn’t have stated an opinion I didn’t already know we shared.

Out of all of those pseudo-friends I’ve got one left. This friend is someone I could talk to for hours. Unannounced virtual visits. Just a pop sound and we were off on a conversation that could last long into the night. Nobody else would’ve gotten a response like that from me. I screen all of my calls. I ghost my relatives’ texts. But not my friend’s. I wish now I had kept them. It’s been many months since we got to chat last. It doesn’t look like that’s going to change.

But time marches on, things do change, and friendships may fade. I haven’t heard from this friend in a long time and miss the time we shared. Humans aren’t meant to be alone. We’re meant to live with our families and friends. The people we’ve spent our lives with. In many ways the modern world is setup to make that difficult. Somehow by being more connected with social media we’ve become detached from human interactions. They’ve been replaced with memes and talking points.

So my friend, because I forget but then remember my promises, I’ll keep writing because I said I would. I have to trust that you’ll remember your promise to read it. It’s hard without feedback, but I’ll keep trying. I don’t deserve the privilege of calling you my friend. So I’ll accept it as grace.

Age is not just a number

I’m decaying. I can feel it. My mind is failing me. I can’t remember details of memories I know I used to be able to recall. I can’t understand some things at all that I used to grasp intuitively. I can’t even calculate in my head like I used to. I’m only 62. I thought when I turned 60 I’d probably have about 20 years left. Hopefully most of it in good (enough) health. Now I’m wondering if I’ll even know when I’ve turned 70.

I used to love reading about philosophical concepts. I struggled with free will and morality. I read St. Thomas Aquinas’ proofs of god. I read about quantum physics. Now I hardly read at all. Somewhere along the line I quit questioning and decided I knew what was real. It didn’t seem like researching was getting me any closer to the truth. The truth became unknowable. Whatever the truth is, I wasn’t going to discover it in a book. I wasn’t going to find an answer there. Just someone else’s opinion of it. Books became arguments that different sides used to sway public opinion. Or was that me that changed?

There’s something about living 60 years that teaches you things you can never get from a book. I know that’s cliche. I remember how interesting the world was when I was a teenager. It’s not that it was different then than now. I’m different. I can look back and compare my own understanding of something then to what I’ve learned just by being alive for awhile. Here’s an example.

The first time I read The Hobbit, I was in 8th grade. I loved it. It was a great story with magic and dragons. It started a love of fantasy that has continued to this day. I got into D&D as a teenager and had characters called Elrond and Saruman. When I read the LOTR again as an adult, I was moved to tears by the heroic loyalty of Sam for his friend Frodo. What changed? The words were the same. It was me that changed.

So here’s the thing. Why do we pretend we don’t change through life? Why do we try to recapture youth? Why do we stick to old traditions even if they aren’t relevant or even wanted anymore? Why do we fight so hard against change?

I think this is the last one I write. I miss you. I don’t know if you even read this stuff anymore.

Good Morning

Tracy Chapman is “Talking ‘Bout a Revolution” as I stare out the window. It’s a little past 8:30 in the wilds of Wyoming. I’ve had my first coffee and my first vape. I’m staring at a world that is slowly waking up too. The chemicals of the world begin to mix. Gasoline and sin gets a Sunday morning going.

When you just let the world be out there it’s easier to just be yourself in here. Behind my window I don’t have to be polite. On this side of the glass there is peace and serenity. Except my coffee’s cold. Time to make another cup. Might as well enjoy another hit of the vape while I’m up. There’s no judgement on this side of the window. Just a Sunday morning coming into view.

The Beatles have taken over for Ms. Chapman. They’re getting high with a little help from their friends. I used to grow my own weed. You wouldn’t just pick it and smoke it, like you wouldn’t just pick and smoke tobacco. You have to harvest it and let it dry. The stickiness of freshly harvested weed and the smell of rows of drying buds is something I miss.

America would be much better off if we were all small farmers, handcrafters, artists, or shop keepers. Where the doctor would come to your house when you were sick. Where the baker provides fresh healthy breads, rolls, and sweets so the town can enjoy them. He makes a living, he participates in the economy, and the people eat good food. Small individual transactions and interactions. That’s a real community because everyone actually knows everyone else.

Sorry I’m stoned, so this is going to meander like my mind. I got to spend a couple of days with my daughter and her family. She had intentionally shut me out of her life about 5 years ago. I didn’t know why. Even after talking to her about it, I’m still not sure I know why. But I knew then that whatever she needed to do, it was necessary. I trusted her.

She is so smart. Like, genius smart. I always thought I was smart. Nope, I’m older now but I don’t think I was ever that smart. A brain that refuses to slow down. Thoughts relentlessly force themselves into her consciousness. When she’d share what was going on in her head it came out like a torrent from a fire hose. A powerful stream of logic and knowledge that would annihilate any rebuttal of her understanding. It was zero to a thousand and I was overwhelmed.

Your kids are supposed to surpass you. You put them on your shoulders so they can see farther. You support them when they’re young so they can step up when it’s their turn. You let go so they can become what they’ll be. I was the first in my family to get a college degree. My daughter is preparing to defend her doctoral thesis. She’s a former marine (once a marine always a marine Semper Fi), a gold star widow, a mother of a neurodivergent son, and survivor of SA. Fierce feminist. So self-aware of who she is and what she wants to do. She’s almost achieved her academic goals, then comes social change. She’s going to change the world.

So good morning! The world is spinning, time marches on, and we sit wondering what it’s all about. I get to hear from my sons how the Rush concert went last night. That they went together because they wanted to and not because their dad took them warms my heart. I did something right! We spend our Sunday mornings hanging out playing computer games or watching TV shows/movies together. They’re in California so it’s an hour earlier. I’m up before them and wait for them to get up. I was surprised they wanted to get together online after the concert last night. We’ll see when they actually get up. It’s always understood to be a flexible start time. Sunday mornings are precious.

I wake up on Sunday mornings looking forward to the time I’ll spend with my sons. I enjoy my solitary lifestyle, but I wouldn’t want to be completely cut off from socializing with my friends and family online. Like with my recent conversations with my daughter I can get overwhelmed with face to face interactions. I need to go sit by myself for awhile after a lot of talking with others. I used to hate going to parties. I enjoyed the parties up to a point. Then I had to leave. Like right now let’s go. I guess I’ve always been weird. No wonder I live alone.

So on this Sunday morning I leave you with my sincerest wish for someone I don’t know, that you have the greatest day you’ve had in months. I hope you have great weather and good conversations. I hope you find a reason to look someone in the eye and smile. Smile knowing that this is a great day. Smile knowing some days aren’t. Smile knowing you’re forgiven for what you’ve done. Smile knowing you’ve done the best you could.

One a hour a day

I should at least respond to the daily prompts. Just to write something. To exercise those writing muscles.
I don’t really want to. I do it out of guilt.

One hour a day. Why can’t I spend just one hour a day writing? Because I’d have to force myself to. So I don’t for days. I consider it, but I’m having too much fun doing other things.

I’m retired. I don’t have to do anything. For some people that would mean they can finally focus their time on the things they want to do, but couldn’t because of work commitments. For me retirement has been about answering the question, “What DO I really want to do?”

I don’t have a way to judge the weight of what I want to do with what I should do. If I can do what I want. If I don’t have to compromise. Why should I force myself to do something I don’t want to do, but should do, instead of what I want.

I know it sounds like the dilemma of a spoiled, petulant teenager. That’s the way it usually feels like too. But the sad part is, it can be paralyzing at times.

Deep down I know it doesn’t matter. I climbed out on an existential ledge and I can’t get back. Once you begin to understand just how vast, ancient, and ambivalent the Universe is, and human tragedy is objectively insignificant. Famines, plagues, wars, and other mass human casualties are just part of the process of an evolving universe. A comet wiped out most life on earth at one time. Some day, inevitably, not only each of our individual lives, but all life will end. So if I don’t write a blog entry, it’s not that big of a deal.

So why do I feel guilty when I don’t write? Because I made a promise to someone. Our family motto is Remember Your Promises. It is so hard. But I’m trying sweetheart. I’m trying.

An Intentional Life

For a person who likes to think a lot, I hate thinking about the details of life. I have a hard time making myself do what I need to do. What I should do. Because what I usually end up doing, regardless of my first intentions, is the easy thing.

As someone diagnosed with OCPD, I know that I am prone to obsessing over lists. I’ve found through self-examination that those lists don’t have to be written down. If I have it in my head that A must come before B, then I won’t even really think about B until I finish A. Let me see if I can give you an example.

I have been in this apartment now for a year. When I first signed the lease, my intentions were to live in this cheap apartment while I paid off my credit card. Well, here I am a year later and my credit card balance hasn’t changed. I’ve used as much as I paid. I did pay off some other debt, but for the most part the last year has been a wash financially.

During that year I did not keep that original intent in mind. That has been a constant issue in my life. Here I’ve been around since the 60s and I still don’t really feel in control of my life. Oh sure I’ve got freedom and liberty out the wazoo. But when it comes time to making an actual choice, ease all of a sudden becomes a primary attribute. Instead of keeping in mind my original intention of saving money, I order DoorDash because I have money in the bank and I don’t feel like cooking. There I said it. I got it off my chest. I’m lazy and will never have nice things.

I just got back with the last load of items I had in storage. This is an A before B thing. I’ve had what little earthly possessions in storage 1,000 miles away during this year. It was mostly old books I’ve already read or will never get around to reading. There was a TV stand I’ll put to use. Some knick-knacks I forgot I still had. A propane/gas powered generator. That was really the only thing of value. It cost over $1,000 for gas and hotels. Was it worth a year’s worth of storage and the time and cost of retrieving them?

When I got back I started unloading them. Then I started classifying the books and making stacks. I love making stacks. I had a couple of bookshelves in storage, but they were too big so I just broke them down and disposed of them. So now I have rows of books on the floor waiting for shelves. I’ve got stacks of clothes waiting for a dresser. I’ve got stacks of plastic boxes full of computer equipment in the front room waiting for a place to put them.

When I got back I felt like I was coming home. Not just my apartment, but my home. Unloading the books and knick-knacks have really helped me feel like this is my home. So yeah, it was worth it. Too me.

While I was coming back, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I live my life. How auto-pilot I’ve lived for decades. I let my wife handle all of the details of life. She paid the bills. She did the shopping. She brought home clothes and I wore them. She picked out the food and I ate it. She planned our vacations and I went there. The divorce has been final for years, but I’m still drifting.

I’ve kept a host of plates spinning in my head of “things I’d like to do someday”. Writing. Streaming. Video Production. Guitar Playing. Camping. Chess. And because they’re always spinning I can go from one to another depending on my mood. But I never get around to actually doing them. I just keep the idea spinning in my head.

How can I live the life that I intend? It seems to come natural to the winners in the world. Elon Musk is notorious for sleeping onsite at Tesla or SpaceX until problems were solved. There are some things I need to practice in order to develop fluency. Things I need to learn before I can pull of the advanced ideas I have. So I know what I need to do. I need to make a list.

The fog clears when the Muse appears

Hi. It’s been way too long. I’ve been recuperating. I’ve been obsessing. Every once in a while, I’ll check online compulsively. Hey, I’m neurodivergent in so many ways, you’d think I shoulda been committed. I wonder about how much the few people I’m close to put up with me more than they accept me. I can’t blame them. I wouldn’t hang out with me if I was someone else. But I’m stuck with me, so I’ve learned to accept that I am going to put a severe strain on any close relationship.

That’s a lot of Is. Not is. The plural of I, however that is written. I guess I really do like talking about myself more than anything. Look, more Is. This is getting ridiculous!

Here’s a good example of my biggest problem lately. It’s a form of procrastination. It’s being paralyzed into doing nothing because the choices of what I could do/ should do overwhelm me. I started writing this because I was overjoyed to see my old friend had liked something I wrote a year ago. I wanted to write directly to let them know I saw the like, but knew that would probably break the fragile thread of connection. So then I had to decide what should I write to let them know that I saw the connection and wanted to respond.

My first impulse is almost always a bad one. I don’t trust myself to do the right thing, because I’ve failed at it so many times in the past. First I was going to like something back. I read some of what they’d been writing and was in the process of clicking like, when I saw the list of others who had liked it. Yep, there was The Other. Ok, glad I didn’t do that.

So my next thought was to write something over there. But The Other would just see that and cut the thread. So here I am. Writing to hopefully maintain the connection without bringing attention and eventual breaking of said connection.

The title is a little misleading. The fog hasn’t cleared. It’s still swirling around keeping me from seeing any path forward. Just glimpses of possible future intersections of fate. I can’t keep the fog from obscuring my long term sight. It hems me in with whisps of ideas that coalesce and then disperse, never to be seen again.

My attempts at self-regulation are pathetic. As soon as I try to organize around a concept, I skip to another and lose my focus. Why haven’t I written? I can’t keep focused on an idea. I could write my memoir. I could write a sci-fi story about the collapse of our satellite infrastructure. I could write opinion pieces on politics, religion, and society. Every day ideas for these topics come and go in this decomposing brain.

It limps along trying to keep me solvent, healthy, and fed. It has to fight itself though for any gains. The constant complainer-in-chief, the self-assessing eye that never sleeps and never misses a mistake. The choir of ghosts in my head that watch what I do and mumble about what the others must think. And their gasps when I trip. It’s weird to be me. It must be even weirder to know me.

Thank you my friend. I’ve missed you. I’ll try, really I will, to write so you have something to read that you didn’t expect. You didn’t look for it. But it was there anyway. Waiting