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.