tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73209592650407128362024-03-13T21:28:38.998-05:00I, RodiusI, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.comBlogger623125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-89830551096926325252016-05-16T19:46:00.000-05:002016-05-16T19:46:09.696-05:00So Long and Thanks for All the Kind WordsI've been letting this one percolate for a bit to see how transient my feelings on the matter really were, and I think the mental lava has cooled enough to see the shape of the landscape now.<br />
<br />
I posted on Facebook a link to <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2016/05/jabs.html" target="_blank">my pompous meditation on marriage</a>, and received a caustic comment that accelerated my thinking on how and why I use Facebook and this blog. That comment, part of which was "It's possible that every thought you have isn't meant to be thought aloud" didn't start me down this line of thinking, but it did bring it to the front burner of my mind. It did snap me awake to a perspective I hadn't had: that the focus of all my words, which I had thought of as firmly centered on myself, my perceptions, my emotions, my understanding of myself and my world, includes my perception of others, and expressing that perception can be selfish, hurtful, and pompous. Is that OK? Yes. I am not responsible for other people's emotions. And every person who reads the words written here is capable of doing exactly what billions of people around the world do, and even scores of my own Facebook friends do: don't read them. But still. My words do have an impact.<br />
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But what impact do my words have?<br />
<br />
Why do I write this blog? Am I doing it now for the same reasons that I started it 9 years ago? Why do I link to my blog regularly on Facebook now when I didn't when I joined Facebook 7 years ago?<br />
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When I started the blog, I was reading a lot of blogs. I thought it would be fun to think out loud publicly. I hoped, but didn't believe, that mine might become one of the well-known, widely read ones. It didn't. But I still liked it. After the birth of my son, and my embarkation on the stay-at-home dad journey, it became a place to reach out when I felt isolated, to get positive feedback when I felt like a failure as a parent, a place to think out loud about what it was I was doing and how I felt about it. It was a place to write stories that I hoped would make my family and my son's know him and me better and to feel more involved in our lives. I wanted him to be connected to his extended family like I was when I was very young but was not as I got older. I wanted that for him, and I hoped that the blog would help keep him on the minds and in the hearts of his own extended family.<br />
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Now, I'm not writing about parenting. I'm not isolated. In my divorce, in my quitting drinking, in my dating adventures, I do feel like I'm doing something unusual that makes me think a great deal about what I'm doing and why, just as I did with my stay-at-home dad role. So I write about them here and link to them there.<br />
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I have received feedback that the impact of my words has been positive. That my openness about what I'm doing, why, and how I feel about it has inspired others to make changes in their own lives, and that they are grateful for that openness that many people do not exhibit. I made it easier for them, and I made it easier for them to talk about it.<br />
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Mostly the feedback that I get, though, is a balm to my ego. I don't kid myself that this space changes lives. This space feeds my ego. I know that. I post funny snapshots of my life on Facebook, and wait for the likes and comments to roll in. I write a blog post hoping that it's funny or clever enough to prompt someone to tell me how great I am. And some of you do. Thanks for that!<br />
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In thinking of my drinking, though, I know it was an addiction that I used to waste time that I could have and should have been using more productively. It was an excuse to not do something amazing out of fear that I could not do something amazing. I haven't had a drink in approaching a year and a half now, by the way. Please do feel free and encouraged to tell me how great that is. Because it is great! I'm very proud of it. And I'm still going strong. I quit drinking during one of the toughest, most emotional, most ego-crushing periods of my life, and I've not picked up a drink through plenty of difficult periods since then. It's awesome! I'm awesome! I'm kicking ass at not drinking!<br />
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But from that perspective, Facebook and this blog are exactly the same things. Addictions. I'm addicted to the positive feedback that I don't have to work very hard to receive. I don't have to really earn it. Friends and family are often very supportive and kind. That's part of being family and friends for many of us. We're nice to the people we know. And that addiction is an excuse not to commit the time I spend here or on Facebook to something more meaningful. And it's a time suck that distracts me from the fact that I'm not doing that more meaningful thing. If I write here, I don't have to work hard at crafting what I write. I don't have to try to convince someone to publish it. I put it out there, and people say, "Yay! Look at you! Good job!" And I don't write articles. Or short stories. Or poems. Or novels. And I certainly don't make any money at it. And I certainly don't have to face that fear-laden question of, "What if it's not good enough, and no one wants it?"<br />
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My dating adventures have put me face to face with my fears over and over again, and I've come out the other side of each episode still here, still alive, still kicking, still sometimes getting what I wanted and sometimes not, but always pretty much OK. Often more than OK. Often better than I was. So I think I'm ready to face that big fear that I've carried around ever since I first started writing, I think probably around the 5th grade or so. Maybe younger. I don't know. Carrying around fears from childhood, and shame about those fears, right through adulthood is how so many people end up closed off, defensive, stagnated, isolated. Afraid. I'm committed to never doing that again. It's not easy. But I can do it. So as someone I love often says, I'm going to say, "Nope!" And I'm going to say, "Fuck that shit!" And I'm going to write.<br />
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Which means I'm done here.<br />
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Thank you all for reading. Thank you all for commenting. If I know you personally, you probably came here from a Facebook link. The status update that included that link also included personal contact information. If we know each other in cyberspace, let's stay connected in the real world. If we don't, that's OK, too. I know I don't have as many friends as my Facebook Friends list would have me believe. None of us really do, I suspect. But if you want to, you'll know how to reach me. If you want my email address and you're not a Facebook friend, drop me a line in the comments or otherwise reach out. I probably like you.<br />
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See ya in the funny papers!<br />
<br />
<br />I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-16369385888901962792016-05-03T18:24:00.000-05:002016-05-03T18:24:06.665-05:00JobI haven't responded to a <a href="https://thinspiralnotebook.com/2016/04/27/100-word-challenge-job/" target="_blank">100 Word Challenge</a> in 100 years. Last time I looked, it was <span id="goog_1826730848"></span><a href="http://www.velvetverbosity.com/" target="_blank">Velvet Verbosity</a> prompting us to write, but the torch has been passed to <a href="https://thinspiralnotebook.com/" target="_blank">Thin Spiral Notebook</a>, a regular contributor. This week's prompt is "Job." I gave it a whirl for old time's sake and because I need to get back to more creative pursuits:<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"It's not my job to fuck you on your birthday!" She said it with a smile and a wink.<br />
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"Good thing it's not my birthday." I winked back.<br />
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She was hot shit, and used to be she didn't know it. Used to be she was pretty beat down, but she came back from that pure on fire. Tore up jeans, tight t-shirt, and no makeup. She could drop any jaw she wanted.<br />
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"So..." I asked, looking her up and down and grinning. "Whose job is it to fuck you on your birthday, doll, and where do I get an application?"I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-67896687033591308692016-05-02T21:17:00.000-05:002016-05-03T12:37:13.810-05:00JabsI've been thinking about and observing married people a lot lately, for reasons so obvious that I'm going to state them anyway, because that's how I roll: I was married for a long time; it didn't last forever, even though we both promised each other it would; my perception of myself was negatively affected; I'm rebuilding my self-esteem now, and I'm interested in how to avoid that damage in future relationships.<br />
<br />
So I've noticed how often married people pick at each other. They deliver small criticisms with frequency in all sorts of conversation, publicly, in front of friends and relatives. Newly married couples do it. Couples married 50 years do it. Couples whose love and partnership I respect and admire do it. It's surprisingly universal, at least in my relatively small collection of empirical data.<br />
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And me, I internalized that criticism. I took the blame and built up a lot of resentment towards myself for not being able to be the man my wife wanted me to be, and towards her for not being the woman I wanted her to be. And towards her for not being satisfied with who I was. That's what I want to avoid in my future relationships: that moment when the honeymoon phase is over and the stars in the eyes have faded, when we begin to believe that we have the right to behave in a corrective manner toward this person that we love.<br />
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I want relationships with people who are happy with me and aren't focused regularly on ways that I should change. I want relationships with people with whom I'm happy and am not focused regularly on ways that I want them to change. If I'm in a relationship with someone who is not happy with who I am, I'd rather the relationship end than I begin to resent myself or her. I've done the resentment version of marriage. I never want to go back.<br />
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Is that impossible? Is it co-habitation, and not marriage, that makes us all snipe at each other? Is it just at root human nature to focus on the ways in which we want other people to be different from what they are right now? Or is it just that I'm the only one that took all those jabs to heart?I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-12122579352725090802016-04-22T19:54:00.000-05:002016-04-22T19:54:03.063-05:00Continued<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I may have mentioned, I went from a monogamous relationship that lasted more than half my life to living single. From that perspective, dating seems like a strange solution to a strange problem. And the problem is not just physical intimacy, but the natural craving for companionship and emotional intimacy. There's not a quick and easy way to find those things, to find someone who fits well enough to make those things with me. So I make more or less random connections, hoping that one (or more) becomes real, that there's someone on the other end who matches up with me in some meaningful way. Every time I swipe right or optimistically send a message to a stranger, sometimes funny, sometimes earnest, sometimes tired and half-assed, I think of "A Noiseless, Patient Spider" by Walt Whitman:</span><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A noiseless, patient spider,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I mark’d, where, on a little promontory, it stood, isolated;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mark’d how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ever unreeling them—ever tirelessly speeding them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And you, O my Soul, where you stand,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing,—seeking the spheres, to connect them;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Till the bridge you will need, be form’d—till the ductile anchor hold;</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul.</span></blockquote>
<div>
And most of those filament, filament, filaments that I launch forth out of myself catch nowhere at all. There's probably a thorough science made of how attraction works in the various online dating apps. Often my magical words and charm are met with silence. Often my profile photo does not inspire anyone to swipe right on me. It is fascinating to me how different we all are, how different our experiences and likes and fears are. I ain't for everybody, certainly. Sometimes, though, the gossamer thread does catch somewhere. Sometimes I am told that I am "easy on the eyes" or that I "sparkle." I sparkle! Me and Robert Pattinson, we're like twins separated at birth!<br />
<br />
When, now and then, those threads do catch, I'm stupefied by how quickly all my free time disappears. I always thought I had tons of it until I started filling it up. I'm scheduling casual interactions weeks ahead on my Google Calendar. I'm way behind on my blood donations, and I wouldn't be surprised if I've dropped from a Level 5 to a Level 4 this quarter. My weeks with my son are for him and me, so they're off the table for my social explorations, but still, with half my time I thought I had great swaths of evenings to fill. But in reality I have no time to drive for Lyft, my brilliant solution for additional money to afford my social life. So far I've given exactly 8 rides for a grand total of $37. That's not going to pay for many dates. And it was inevitable, but somehow I thought I'd avoid the pitfall of mixing up which plans I had with which women. Happily, when it finally did happen, all parties were already aware of each other and able to express feelings of awkwardness and hurt without making it more awkward and hurtful. Still. Embarrassing. I need a secretary. I make it sound like I have a harem of women clamoring for my attention. That's not at all the case, but I'm still juggling. I don't know how they do it, the guys who maintain two separate families, each completely unaware of the other, for years. I'd need an entire staff to help me keep up with all that.<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
So I've had first dates. Not so many seconds. I've been brushed off, blown off, and stood up. Now I'm involved with a woman (she was my second first date, and my first second date) with whom I've gone from "going on dates" to "dating" (we stopped counting after 6). She is exactly the person I was looking for when I started this weirdness: someone who is on board for the open relationship, who values openness and honesty, who derives as much value from this experience as I do. She's learning about herself and pushing her own boundaries, too. It's odd and refreshing and liberating to discover from very early on that it's not just OK, not just acceptable, but downright safe and desirable to be as direct and genuine as possible. About everything. About feelings! Madness!<br />
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Madness because still, with most of the people I meet or interact with online, it's all a dance. All of it. It's a performance. It's a manipulation. It's a test to see if we can pretend to be what we're not in order to attract someone we wouldn't. I was told by one of my first dates that maybe in the future I shouldn't tell the woman sitting at a table at a restaurant with me that one of my goals in life is to pick up a woman at a bar. Nope. I absolutely should tell her that. Because if she's not a willing and informed participant in the adventure as I intend to pursue it, then she should know as soon as possible that this particular adventure is not for her. Fair play all around! I'm not hiding a damned thing, and that's incredibly refreshing.<br />
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It's all much simpler than I would have guessed when I was conceiving of what it might be, and it's all much more complicated than I thought it would be when I actually started doing it. The feelings are real, and not always under the immediate control of the people who are having them. Feelings in general are messy and riotous and rebellious, and they don't listen to the calm and reasoned logic of the brains that they agitate with their messiness. I've more than once been surprised by the emotions passing through me and the physical sensations in my body when they do. I don't think I've ever before in my life gleefully texted somebody to say, "Huh! I think I might throw up!" because I was stunned to feel something that I thought I had logically processed right out of my soul. Nope! Your heart doesn't give a shit what your head has decided, and your body is more than willing to go along with the example your heart is setting, even while your brain is yelling, "Guys! Come on! This isn't what we talked about at all!"<br />
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The beauty of emotions, a beauty I already knew but am now beginning to really understand on a deeper level, is that they are always temporary. Every single one of them, the ones I want to stay forever and the ones I wish would never come back again. They may come and go, and maybe even many times, but no matter what, they will pass through me like a hot or a cold wind, and I will still be here, and still be me, when they've blown on down the road. I'm still here. I'm still me.</div>
I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-49992154768605387022016-03-31T19:03:00.000-05:002016-04-07T15:35:28.073-05:00WhyI haven't labeled what I'm doing much. I haven't put it in my OK Cupid profile. Sometimes I think I should, though I'm going on the assumption that the act of online dating implies non-exclusivity in and of itself. I suppose it's best described as "in an open relationship."<br />
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It gets raised eyebrows sometimes when people ask me about it, and sometimes furrowed brows. I've been on the receiving end of high fives and fist bumps. Some of the conversations I've had are goofy, and some are thoughtful. A couple of people have mentioned the old adage of "If you love someone, set them free..." etc. One person told me, "It's like that old saying, only you're really doing it. Everybody says it, but nobody really does it. You're actually doing it. That's cool."<br />
<br />
And it is cool. But I wanted to verbalize what it is I think I'm doing, and why.<br />
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For me, this is about two things most of all: fear and genuine human connection.<br />
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<h4>
Fear</h4>
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I have been afraid, and I have been dishonest because I was afraid. Fear has done more damage to my interpersonal relationships in the past than anything else. And the greatest fear of all? Fear of rejection. I have not been honest about who I am and what I want because I have tried to be and want what I thought other people wanted or expected. It didn't work. I was insecure because I couldn't know what they wanted, so I couldn't know who to be.<br />
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An open relationship brings that fear of rejection to the front and center of everything. I am reaching out and asking women to meet and interact with me to see where, if anywhere, it goes. Friendship? Romance? Rejection? It was a terrifying idea to me, reaching out. But now, already, only three weeks in, that particular fear is nearly gone, at least in the online realm of dating apps. I still haven't made that leap in person, but I have no fear of messaging women anymore. I have almost no fear or nervousness in meeting them for the first time. I've been rejected twice after first dates now, and even that wasn't the horrifying, embarrassing, or even mildly awkward experience I was afraid it would be. Both times, it was a "Fair enough. Best of luck to you!" sort of experience, and one of them even told me, "You are a gentleman, and you deserve to be happy!" How terrifying is that?<br />
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What I'm learning is that the world is full of an infinite variety of human beings. Some of these may be a good match for me in personality, temperament, humor, and taste. Many will not. If we are not a good match, then what's the harm? None, unless we arbitrarily determine that staying together is more important than being a good match, and then, damage is done to both of us. That's a silly path to take. So peace be with you! Go with God! Fare thee well!<br />
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Jealousy, too, is only fear of rejection. If the woman I love chooses to date other people, what shall I choose? To be afraid that she will find someone she likes better than she likes me? No. I can choose to set aside that fear response and look at it from a distance. She loves me. I love her. If we go on our separate adventures, just like anything else we may do separately, we can come back to each other and talk about it. We can each find in other people human characteristics that we do not find in each other, and that is part of the joy. Each person we meet, interact with, and connect with meaningfully will resonate within ourselves a different set of tones, and by discovering the differences in how we connect and relate with others, we discover truths about ourselves we would not otherwise have had the opportunity to bring into the light and examine. We have new pathways through others toward change and growth in ourselves.<br />
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<h4>
Connection</h4>
<br />
That's the real treasure of this weird scavenger hunt I'm on: human connection. For me so far it's mostly been first dates, which is only the first step in developing connection, a first step with its own challenges, but it's a necessary first step. I've told and listened to tales meant to reveal something of who we are. How we tell and hear these tales is the beginning of a kind of connection that we as humans seem incapable of having with the hundreds and thousands of nameless strangers that surround us. It is the first step in humanizing The Other, in turning a Them into an Us, and it's a joy. And with second and third dates, it's an even greater joy to begin to see how that connection can, with openness, honesty, and a rejection of fear instead of a fear of rejection, begin to blossom and spread into something even more meaningful.<br />
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And the connection with the woman who started all of this for me has deepened, too. Maybe that's a surprise. Maybe not. When we come back together, missing each other and craving each other's company, we talk. And some of what we talk about is what we are learning about ourselves and each other through this process of opening up, reaching out, and connecting. That, in turn, brings a new and higher level of connection between us. And missing each other, by the way, is a wonderful thing. Being apart long enough to yearn for each other's company is far preferable to seeing each other so much that the connection becomes stale and taken for granted.<br />
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<h4>
Bonus</h4>
<br />
The added bonus to all of this is that I'm finding that I really am losing interest in maintaining the relationships I have that don't fit, that provide no real connection, that make me feel bad about myself. And that's a relief. If you don't like me, that's fine. You don't have to. But I don't have to listen to you tell me all about why you don't. That that is a revelation to me says a lot about who I was and who I'm working to become.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-91131254921819852252016-03-24T19:05:00.000-05:002016-03-24T19:05:04.204-05:00SwimminglyI suppose an update is an order, and really I should get that shameful obscenity out of the top spot on my little corner of the web here. So here ya go:<br />
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You may have heard: I'm dating. This is still a mind-boggling turn of events for me, but how many times exactly can I keep telling you that you met me at a very strange time in my life? I started with Tinder. I did communicate with a couple of women through it, but mostly it was silence. It was crickets chirping. It was the sound of one hand clapping. So I deleted my account. A friend told me, yeah, that's mostly for hook-ups. Even though all the women with profiles say they're not there for hook-ups. But notice that it wants your GPS location, and a whole lot of the women have no profile at all. So: current location + picture only = hook-ups. And I wasn't getting any of those. Not that I wanted those. At least, I don't think I did. A few more tests. (That's a reference to <i>Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory</i>, Mom). (Yes, I just spoke parenthetically to my Mom while talking about hook-ups).<br />
<br />
So I started using OKCupid. Because I'd heard of it. And because it also was free. But then I lost my mind and started paying for it anyway? Because I'm easily lead? Because I was in an internet-fueled feverish haze? Anyway, what was I saying again? Oh yeah. Dating. OKCupid. Right.<br />
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I was stunned to discover it worked. I made my profile. I answered my questions. I added my pictures. I browsed my "Matches." I sent messages. I got responses. If the banter went well, I asked women out. Some said yes. A couple even asked me out! It was madness. Pure madness.<br />
<br />
So now I've gone on two first dates, with a third scheduled for tomorrow. I have my first second date on Saturday. I have no idea what's going on here. And that's OK!<br />
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I have to say, my favorite exchanges have been with women who've been on dating apps for a long time and feel qualified and justified in critiquing my approach. It probably has a name, talking about courtin' while courtin'. Meta courtin'? Meta dating? I don't know. It's hilarious. Experienced women love to take me under their wing. I'm a newb. I'm a rook. Ha ha!<br />
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Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. Here's the most amazing part of all of this: I did something that terrified me. And it was fun. And shows every sign of continuing to be fun. And (I notice this is a recurring theme in this blog) the thing that I feared most didn't come to pass. I was afraid that I would be unappealing to women, that I would attract no interest myself and all of my interest in others would be rejected. Looking back over the last week, I see now how silly that is. In the world of online dating apps, where a person is defined almost entirely by his words, I am a man who can use words well. That has appeal. I have appeal. Also, my fellow men have largely set the bar pretty low, as evidenced by the jaded comments women sometimes feel compelled to include in their profiles, like, "Don't message me if your profile pic is your chest or your crotch."<br />
<br />
In the last year, I've had a dear friend with relevant life experience tell me that I would be happy again, when I was sure I would not. I've had an amazing, beautiful woman that I thought of as out of my league demand, "Are you going to kiss me or not?" And now I've asked several women out, and they said yes. I've asked one woman for a second date, and she said yes. My self-esteem has gone from completely bottomed out a little over a year ago to bobbing along at a pretty damned healthy level right now thank you very much, and I couldn't be happier about it.<br />
<br />
If I keep dating, though, I'm going to have to get a second job to boost my disposable income. This social life business is expensive! But if I get another job, how will I have time for dating? Such a conundrum.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-8684829220590117572016-03-09T19:06:00.000-06:002016-03-10T08:56:59.517-06:00Fuck It, I Ain't SkeeredAs long as I'm handing out <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2016/03/be-not-afraid.html" target="_blank">advice about being unafraid</a>, I've decided I'm going to do a few things that I wasn't doing for fear of what might happen. First among these is dating. I kind of stumbled into a new relationship almost as soon as I was available, which I didn't see coming at all. I was suddenly available after being faithfully committed to a monogamous relationship for over half my life, then true story: I was asked, after a few weeks of escalating flirtation, "Are you going to kiss me or not?" So I did. And she did. And the upshot is: I've done some flirting, but I've never really done the whole dating thing. I met my ex-wife in my first year away from home at college. I have never in my life tried, successfully or unsuccessfully, to pick up a woman in a bar. Never. I've never been on any dating websites or used any apps. Never. Never! When I got involved with the woman who was getting tired of waiting for me to work up the nerve to kiss her, I was relieved in part because she's awesome and way more than I thought I deserved at the time, but also in part because the idea of putting myself out there and risking rejection was more than a little terrifying.<br />
<br />
So I'm going to do it. Because it's terrifying.<br />
<br />
I made a Tinder account two days ago, and it's already a weird mixture of hilarious and depressing. The profile of every fortyish woman in the Greater Austin Metropolitan Area contains the phrases "outdoors, hiking, and wine" as well as "looking for a partner in crime!" And for some reason, height is really important for a woman's Tinder profile. Should my height appear on my profile? Does it matter for men as much as it seems to for women? I'm 6'2". Does it matter that I'm 6'2"? I used to be 6'3", so I'm shrinking. Maybe that should be on my profile: 6'2" and shrinking. Fuck it, I'm going to go add that right now.<br />
<br />
So I've done a lot of swiping. Which is getting pretty dull. I feel like a heel making straight up yes/no judgements on so little information, but I suppose that's the point. At first I kept screwing it up, left swiping when I meant to browse pictures. Right swiping when I meant to say, "Nope!" I mostly say no when there's no profile text at all. Saying absolutely nothing about yourself is an attraction strategy I don't really understand. I'm mis-swiping less now, but I think I did accidentally Super Like someone. I don't know what that means. I almost dropped my phone when I got my first match notification, then proceeded to immediately make an ass of myself when I messaged her. I think I did pretty well on my two other matches, but I still haven't heard from anyone.<br />
<br />
So there's that. I'm dating. Or will be, if I can get a date. Even though I already have a woman in my life that's very high on the list of Best Things to Ever Happen to Me. Brave? Or stupid? Don't answer that.<br />
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Another thing I did because I'm pretty sure I was afraid of it was to invite that amazing woman to date other people, too, if she were so inclined. When we first got together, I told her that monogamy was important to me. On reflection, I thought I may have said that out of fear of competition, that if she put herself out there again, she'd find someone she likes better than she likes me. But fuck it, I ain't skeered. Who's better than me? I'm awesome! And if she finds someone who makes her happier, then more power to her. I want her to be happy. She's awesome, too!<br />
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Which all makes me solo poly? I guess? I'm Googlin' all sorts of acronyms, abbreviations, and other mysterious shorthand that appears in Tinder profiles. I'd never heard of solo poly until I saw it on my first night of swiping. I get that the poly part is polyamorous, having multiple relationships. I'm not clear on the solo part, though. I guess. Maybe that makes me fuzzy poly? Maybe I should wait until somebody actually responds to a message before I start wondering what all this makes me. Or maybe I shouldn't give a shit what it makes me. The acronyms are fun, though. There are a lot of personality types, like INFP and ENFJ, on Tinder profiles, which are apparently related to Jungian Functional Preference Ordering. I dozed off before I could slog through what exactly Jungian Functional Preference Ordering means, but it does give me a giggle to use phrases including the word "Jungian" in the same sentence as the word "Tinder."<br />
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Another was "6+4+3=2." The woman suggested in her profile that if I knew what that meant, I might have one up on the competition. So I Googled it. She and I were clearly not made for each other.<br />
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My favorite so far, though, was TDTF. I assumed it was another personality type. One profile said, among other things, "Please don't be TDTF." I tend to text in full sentences, so I didn't recognize it as texting shorthand. I Googled it, thinking it would be another of the personality types. Am I TDTF? I wondered. Turns out it stands for "Too Drunk to Fuck." Ah. Well! No problem there then. I have not, in fact, been TDTF in quite some time.<br />
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Next, I'm going to try hitting on a stranger in a public setting. Maybe a bar. Is it weird for a dude who doesn't drink to hang out in a bar trying to pick up women? If I have a Topo Chico in a glass with lime, who's to say it doesn't have a shot of something in there, right? Do fortyish women go to bars to be picked up? Ah, fuck it. I'm doing it. I ain't skeered.<br />
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I'm thinking of trying karaoke, too. And dancing in public. Why not? What's the worst that could happen?I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-22132258400508208372016-03-03T22:05:00.000-06:002016-03-04T11:34:45.034-06:00Be Not AfraidHave you read <a href="http://www.vox.com/2016/3/1/11127424/trump-authoritarianism" target="_blank">"The Rise of American Authoritarianism"</a> by Amanda Taub on <i>Vox</i>? It's making the rounds on social media, at least my social media. It's fascinating. I know nothing about her or the website that published her article, but... wow. Reading it creates in my head the sound of tumblers clicking as they fall into place.<br />
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And as these things do, it clicks because it meshes with recent experience in my own life. Not political experience. Nothing to do with Donald Trump, or immigration. But still, it was an experience of fear of The Other taking from me what I see as my own, my right. My experience has no place here, as it is not my story to tell, for the most part. Let it suffice that my "other" is just a blowhard drunkard (read: douche!), not the specter of a horde of inhuman invaders (read: Muslims, LGBQT, atheists, environmentalists, etc.) whose values are terrifyingly foreign to my own experience. Although that particular douche is, in my mind, inhuman. And his values are as foreign to me as they could be. But still!<br />
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What I noticed in my own experience is this: the fear was more real than the reality. The possible was more real than the actual. As such, it was not a possibility, it was a certainty. And thus it demanded something from me: a response, a prevention. Action!<br />
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Does this make me authoritarian? God, I hope not.<br />
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What my own fear experience taught me, though, is a lesson I should have learned before now, because I've had this epiphany before, particularly when I gave up reading <a href="http://www.whattoexpect.com/what-to-expect/landing-page.aspx" target="_blank"><i>What to Expect When You're Expecting</i></a> about a third of the way through, when little Thumper was still a bun in the oven: the fear experience can be nearly orgasmic. The pomposity of feeling like you're expertly preparing for the thing you fear is also nearly orgasmic.<br />
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But! The thing you fear and prepare for is likely not the thing that will happen, and the thing that will happen is likely not the one for which you prepared. And obsessed. And worried. And drove yourself to ecstatic levels of stress and anxiety imagining.<br />
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Don't read that book, by the way. If you're expecting, don't expect all those worst-case scenarios. Expect joy, instead. Deal with what comes, if it comes, as it comes. But don't read the book first. It preys on fear. It profits by the uncertainty of the inexperienced and their powerful desire to be ready for whatever experience may be coming.<br />
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But! That's the nature of life. You can't be prepared for every possible experience that is approaching you from beneath the curve of the horizon. Besides, if you did know with certainty that the worst-case scenario was actually coming, would that make you any more prepared, really?<br />
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And here's the thing: in some of those cases, the fear itself brings about the very experience of which you were afraid.<br />
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For instance: the military industrial complex, of which Eisenhower warned us, employs over decades the rhetoric of fear of Islamic fundamentalism (which, by the way, is to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity) to help justify and build support for what is largely a gigantic money grab. So for fear of Islamic fundamentalism spreading across the globe and attacking us at home, we approve of putting boots on foreign ground and everything that entails, which engenders a deep hatred of us globally even beyond the existing Islamic fundamentalists and fuels the growth of fundamentalism, providing new motivation for exactly the kind of attacks on American soil of which we were originally afraid. Which makes us more afraid.<br />
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Oversimplified? Yes, of course. But to some degree, we fueled, because we were terrified, the growth of the very thing that terrified us, and now we're even more afraid.<br />
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So is fear the answer? Is voting for Trump going to make anything better? Instead, be not afraid. Be not afraid of the Mexican immigrant. Be not afraid of the protestor who wants only for his child to have as little chance of being murdered as your child does. Be not afraid of the woman on the bus who has covered her hair out of the same kind, if not the same flavor, of piety that motivates you as a good Christian church-goer. Be not afraid of the sex lives of those that aren't having sex with you. Be not afraid of those who suggest that unrestrained consumerism may, in fact, be ultimately destructive. Be not afraid that the weed will lead to the heroin will lead to the children dying in droves, impaled on the pikes of syringes on every street corner. Do not dehumanize the other, nor fear his values, though they seem on the surface foreign to your own.<br />
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Please don't vote for Trump. Forgiving for the moment that he speaks in sentences and thinks in patterns far less complex, sophisticated, and nuanced than even my 8-year-old does, remember always that a political leader cannot defeat your fears. Only you can. Instead of fearing, live. You do you. I'll do me. Let each of us be calm. Take deep breaths. Meditation is good for that. So is yoga. But hey, I'm not militant, so if that's not your thing, that's cool.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-38298969306550340372016-01-14T19:47:00.000-06:002016-01-15T09:55:27.109-06:00Age, Wisdom, and Radio PopI woke up this morning with the phrase "grammatical relativism" in my head, which makes no sense at all because I had a dream about samurai, with lots of fleeing and hiding and beheadings and blood, and katana that moved through the air like seaweed swaying in an ocean current. Which also makes no sense. But I'm determined to work "grammatical relativism" into conversation at some point today.<br />
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If you're keeping score, the blog post proper begins here:<br />
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I am grateful that Adele's "Hello" has been supplanted on the radio by her "When We Were Young" not because I don't like the former and do like the latter but because radio repetition can make me react to even the best of songs the same as I might nails on a chalkboard. Not that "Hello" is the best of songs. Or the worst. I'm just saying, Jesus, do I have to hear it ten times a day? Similarly, why can't they play more Nathaniel Rateliff and the Night Sweats songs? That whole album is great, but all we get, over and over and over again, is "S.O.B." Why? Why you damned, rich music industry fat cats, with your pinky rings and cigars and...<br />
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Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. For someone who famously names her albums for her age, and whose latest is <i>25</i>, she uses a lot of phrases like, "after all these years," "we ain't kids no more," "when we were young," "that was a million years ago," etc. At first, I was like, "Girlfriend, please." Because, you know, I'm a 43-year-old white man from the suburbs who likes to appropriate as my own outdated pop culture tropes that I have no business using.<br />
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Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. Today it occurred to me: no matter how old we get, there will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great or as extensive as their own. I imagine in the nursing home, there will always be a 95-year-old looking at the 75-year-olds and thinking, "Punk ass kids. Think they know shit about how things really are..." Hmm. Wait a minute. "Someone" is singular. "Their" is plural. Therefore, my '80s public school education tells me that there is no agreement among my pronouns. I should have used "his," because it is the correct choice both for masculine antecedents and those of neutral or unspecified gender. The judgmental 95-year-old in my imagined scenario is not described as either male or female. I should have said, "[t]here will always be someone older, devaluing our age and experience because they are not as great as his own." But I recall vaguely somewhere some discussion that we are living in a non-binary world now, and assignment of the masculine pronoun when the gender of the antecedent is undetermined is a construct of the patriarchy, meant to keep women and the LGBT (LGBTQ? Are we adding a Q to that now? Sounds familiar...) population oppressed, silent, under-represented. Traditional notions of grammar be damned, much like the rich music industry fat cats! Singular/plural agreement isn't as important as human equality! So bam. Grammatical relativism, right there. Done and done.<br />
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Wait, what was I talking about again? Oh, yeah, Adele. You go on and be jaded and world weary, young lady. Your (or perhaps your songwriter's? Do you write your own lyrics? I don't even know) life experience is as valuable as my own. Hell, more so, because the older I get the only thing I know with more and more certainty is that the scope with which my knowledge and experience can be applied to real life situations becomes more and more narrow with every passing day, week, month, year. Perhaps by the time I'm a 95-year-old in a nursing home, I'll know that it doesn't actually apply to anything in the present or future at all, only the past. Which is pretty damned (like traditional notions of grammar and rich music industry fat cats) useless, actually.<br />
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Wait, What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, Adele. I give her my permission to sing about the passage of time and the lessons it imparts, even though she is young. Also: I like Taylor Swift. There, I said it. "Blank Space" is a good song, I don't care what you say.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-41894277307658578672016-01-03T23:20:00.000-06:002016-01-04T12:47:08.078-06:00Divorce, Sobriety, and New BeginningsOne year has passed since Mrs. Rodius told me she wanted a divorce. About 2 1/2 weeks have passed since we signed and filed the Final Decree of Divorce. In about a week, it will have been a year since I had my last drink. 2015 was a helluva year.<br />
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In that year, I lost a wife. I lost about half of my time with my son. I lost my financial security. I lost my identity as a full-time stay-at-home dad. I lost my home, and my neighborhood. The best of my losses was the 50 pounds or so I shed, mostly because I quit drinking and spent a lot of time in the first half of the year angry walking, roaming for miles and hours every night after Thumper went to bed, stewing and avoiding fights with my future ex-wife. I put a lot of miles on my shoes in the spring of '15.<br />
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At the same time as all those losses, I had many gains, too. I gained a new relationship with my son as we navigate all these changes together. I gained independence and responsibility. I gained a new identity, returning to full-time employment after an 8-year hiatus. I gained a new home, a space of my own, something that I've never had. And most surprising, because I was certain that I wanted nothing to do with long-term romantic relationships for at least a couple of years, I gained a girlfriend.<br />
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I don't think I'll blog much about her. I'll tell you now that she lifts me up in ways that I didn't know I needed. She was a dear friend who mentored me through the early days of the implosion of my marriage, who told me often, though I didn't believe her, that I would be happy again. She is an amazingly down-to-earth mother who regularly talks me down from all of my intellectual flights of fancy and over-analysis of everything I do and think when it comes to Thumper and to myself. It was a surprise when that treasured friendship evolved into something more. She likes to give what I like to receive, and she likes to receive what I like to give. She is a gift. She is a gift that I don't want to share with you. So you may never hear another word about her. Though who am I kidding? I talk a lot. She'll probably come up again.<br />
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Something else I gained that I didn't think I would, though I wanted it very much for a very long time, is my sobriety. I drank. Too much. Through most of my adolescence and all of my adulthood. Most people who know me, or knew me, would be surprised, I think, to know how much I drank. I was good at hiding it and at functioning well enough. But it was a lot, and it would have killed me eventually, I have no doubt. Now I'm sober, and I don't even miss it. Sobriety is yet another thing that 2015 brought me, including divorce, and happiness, and a new and very different romance. If someone had told me a year ago that these things were coming, I wouldn't have believed any of it.<br />
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If you are here looking for advice on how to quit drinking, I don't really have any. I went to one AA meeting. The people there were kind and welcoming. I participated. I stood up and called myself an alcoholic. I cried. I got a hug, and a desire chip, and someone bought me a copy of The Big Book, though I don't know why they call it that. It's really not that big. I read every word, and some of it twice. I never called the number that the person who bought it for me wrote on the inside cover, and I never went back to another meeting. AA just didn't speak to me. I wanted to be done with alcohol, not spend much of my life talking about it. I had no stories to share of waking up in jail after a three-day blackout bender. I hadn't lost everything to alcohol. I don't even believe that alcohol killed my marriage. If anything, alcohol kept my marriage stumbling along long after it should have lain down and died. Most of all, though, I couldn't see myself ever getting past steps 2 and 3. For many non-religious people, the phrases "a power greater than ourselves" and "God as we understand Him" make it possible to reconcile a lack of faith in God with the faith necessary to work the steps. One person even told me that I could make that power and that God entirely symbolic, substituting something as mundane as a doorknob if I chose. But I still couldn't do it. I couldn't conceive of the power and I couldn't admit powerlessness. But reading the book helped, and knowing that I really never wanted to go back helped, too. I'm not denigrating it. It's a stunningly powerful and effective program, and its grassroots development from a handful of people to a worldwide movement is virtually unprecedented. It's famous because it works. It will work for you if you work it, as they say. I just didn't work it.<br />
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But I haven't had a drink in a year, and it hasn't been that hard. Outside of the first couple of weeks, especially the sleeplessness, it's even been easy. I don't want to drink any more. I don't know why I don't, but it's a huge relief. Some people I drank with seem puzzled, maybe even baffled that I would never drink again. Like Andre 3000 in Outkast's "Ms. Jackson," they wonder, "Forever? Forever ever? Forever ever?"<br />
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Yes. Forever ever. That idea was scary to me before I quit. To never drink again? Unthinkable. But now, it's more than fine with me. It took from me, but it didn't give anything back. What I thought it gave me was truthfully just another way it took from me. I don't want it back. I'm free. You can drink. You can drink when I'm around. It doesn't bother me to be near it. I'm just done. Don't know why. Just am.<br />
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And yes, I know the Big Book is full of stories of people who quit, and were sure, and started again, and never truly made it until they did steps 2 and 3 and the rest. And I haven't. And maybe that puts me in jeopardy. We'll see. Right now, I'm fine. I'm better than fine.<br />
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And that's pretty much the sum total of my life philosophy as I move from 2015 to 2016. I don't know about next week. I don't know about next month. I don't know about next year. But right now? Right now is good. And that's more than enough. I don't really have any resolutions for the new year. I don't know that I need any. I do have a goal: run <a href="http://www.cap10k.com/" target="_blank">the Cap10K</a> in under an hour. That's a pretty big one. I'd have to check the race bibs on my wall to see if I've ever done it before. I've done 10Ks in under an hour, but maybe not that one. It's all uphill for the first half. But I want to keep my weight loss going, and I want to get back the sense of accomplishment that running gave me in 2010, 2011, 2012. I don't know if running will ever again be for me what it was. I don't know anything, really. And I'm keeping my focus right in front of my feet for now. But if 2015, the worst year of my life, brought me so many unexpected and truly priceless gifts, who knows what 2016 will bring?I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-51261810561566418312015-12-14T16:09:00.001-06:002015-12-14T20:18:57.978-06:00The Last Day of My Previous LifeTomorrow, my wife and I are on the "Uncontested Docket" at something something District Court to have our Agreed Final Decree of Divorce blessed by a judge, or whatever it is exactly that they do. Sprinkle water on it and thumb the sign of the cross into the header? Burn some sage? Sacrifice a goat? I don't know. I hope I'm not expected to bring the goat. But this time tomorrow, God willin' and the...<br />
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Hey, have you ever heard that phrase? I have a co-worker who has said for the entire 16 years I've known her, "God willin' and the creek don't rise..." I always took it to mean, "with a little luck," as in "if God is willing for this to happen, and also the rushing body of water between us and our goal doesn't rise under extreme weather conditions."<br />
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But last month, said co-worker told me that someone had told her that she should be careful with that phrase, as it's actually racist. As in, the word "creek" in that saying should be capitalized. As in, it's not "so long as the creek does not rise under heavy rain and wash out the road" so much as it's "so long as those pesky Creek don't rise up in armed revolt."<br />
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As with most things, consulting with the mighty oracle at Google will tell you that it most definitely is true that the saying refers to the North American aboriginal people and their violent resistance to the oppressive conditions under which they found themselves to be living, and also that it most definitely is not true and is in fact related to the phrase "come hell or high water" in meaning and intent.<br />
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I did not bother Googlin' the origin of that one or attempt to ascertain whether or not H E Double Hockey Sticks should or should not be capitalized in the context in which I used it. Though I did capitalize in that context. But not the previous context. I don't know. I'm unpredictable. I'm an enigma wrapped in a something something.<br />
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Anyway, what was I saying again? Oh yeah, God willin' and the river don't rise, I'll be a divorced man in 24 hours or less.<br />
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How do I feel about this? I've said it before, and I'll say it again: you met me at a very strange time in my life.<br />
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On the one hand, it's been less than a year from her uttering the words "I want a divorce" to (presumably) a judge uttering the words "by the power vested in me by the great State of Texas, I now pronounce you as done with each other as can reasonably be expected when you're raising a kid together. Go forth and multiply. Wait, no. Live long and prosper?" It's been a long, awful, fast, wonderful, bizarre, mundane, thoroughly aggravating, fascinating, amazing, and shitty year. We've been endlessly amicable and relentlessly bitter and vicious to each other. I'm thrilled that the year is almost over, though I spent the first 4 months of it trying like hell (not capitalized?) to change the direction this ship was sailing. I'm thrilled that it wasn't more than a year. I'm thrilled that we were able to come to a (more or less) amicable agreement on terms.<br />
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On the other hand, I suspect the emotions are going to hit hard tomorrow or some time shortly thereafter. Even though this is what I wanted (at least since some time in April), and at times wanted so desperately that I was screaming to the heavens "let it be over already!" I hear from others who've gone through it that there will be baffling feelings of grief and loss that the marriage of 20 years, the marriage that was the center of my life for over half my life, is truly dead. I am excited at the prospect of finally moving forward with the next phase, leaving behind the scorched ruin in which I've been living and finding my happiness in some new metaphorical place, wherever that may be. But I can see how it might be possible that the finality of a court agreeing that we are now to fuck right off out of each other's lives, to the degree that's possible for co-parents to do, will stir up afresh all of the feelings of loss and failure that I suffered through for the first 8 months of the year.<br />
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2015 has been a helluva year. I'm not at its close the man I was at its opening. While that's certainly true for any year in anyone's life, it is most acutely obvious for me, for this year.<br />
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So let tomorrow come. Let the marriage be over. Let the custody arrangement be set in stone. Let us let go.<br />
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Happy New Year, errby!I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-42585331834454969602015-11-18T13:59:00.000-06:002015-11-18T14:20:21.867-06:00Traffic as a Metaphor for LifeNow that I've been back in the full-time workforce for almost half a year, driving in rush hour traffic a couple of hours a day five days a week, except on those days when I can blissfully take the train because I don't have to drop Thumper off at school, I find myself thinking about <a href="http://www.amasci.com/amateur/traffic/traffic1.html" target="_blank">this article</a> almost every day. It uses flowing liquid as a model for how traffic behaves and makes some conclusions on how we can improve our lot in heavy traffic. Actually, it concludes that we can't do anything to help ourselves, but we can help those poor suckers stuck behind us.<br />
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It goes on and on and on, and I know none of you are going to actually read it, but the gist is: leave large following distances. Even in slow traffic. Even when that guy is passing on the right and merging left just before the lane closure, the lane closure that you saw signs for 2 miles back and changed lanes to avoid, but he kept right the hell on going and now he wants in front of you after speeding up the right lane, like the rest of us jerks don't matter at all. Even then: large following distances. For each of the problems that heavy traffic presents (spikes of hard acceleration/deceleration, closing lanes, blocked lanes), the solution is the free movement of cars from lane to lane, which in practical application is: large following distances.<br />
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<a href="http://www.irodius.com/2007/07/few-thoughts-on-traffic-buddhism-and.html" target="_blank">I blogged about this article before</a>, and what I like about this philosophy is, regardless of whether its application actually makes things better, it removes the urge to drive competitively, to teach that other guy a lesson by sticking as close to the bumper of the car in front of as you can and not letting him in. Despite that urge, you and I both know in our hearts that that guy doesn't learn any lesson. No one learns any lessons about cooperative action by having that cooperation withheld. He just calls you names and moves on with his day, probably forgetting all about you long before you've forgotten about him.<br />
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So in summary:<br />
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Stop worrying about what the other guy is doing, and stop trying to take away his ability to do it. We all benefit.<br />
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The end.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-19985903782576824752015-11-12T10:46:00.000-06:002015-11-12T10:52:07.037-06:00Perspective<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wmFsiRWAeZg" width="420"></iframe><br />
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"Tonight, we not only speak to the members of the Greater Jerusalem Baptist Church. We not only speak to Baptist people tonight. We not only speak to the Methodist people tonight. Church of God in Christ, Catholics, or no particular denomination. No particular city. But tonight we speak to the whole nation. Tonight, our message: Drop the hate! Forgive each other!"<br />
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I've been thinking about my problems lately, and sometimes feeling sorry for myself for the hurts done to me, and sometimes feeling guilty for the hurts I've done to others.<br />
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And then I think, really, things are pretty fuckin' good.<br />
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To the best of my knowledge, there is no one actively working to end my existence because of who I am or what I believe.<br />
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I'm surrounded by people that I love, who make me smile and laugh out loud almost every single day.<br />
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I have such an abundance of clean drinking water, that I expel my bodily wastes into it all the time.<br />
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I have such an abundance of food, that I track my consumption with a handheld computer that sends data to and receives data from space just so I don't eat too ridiculously much.<br />
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My greatest health concern is trying not to get sick from too much pleasure.<br />
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I have a job with health benefits and a salary that allows me not only a nice home and all that food and water, but also the ability to do almost anything I want, almost any time I want.<br />
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And virtually everyone I know has all of these things, too.<br />
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Clearly, some of these ideas I owe to the incomparable Louis CK:<br />
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"You're in a chair in the sky!"<br />
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"But, it doesn't lean back very much..."<br />
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Ha. Anyway. What was I saying? Oh, yeah.<br />
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When I look around, I'm baffled to see so many people so determined to be angry and unhappy. At work and in my private life, there are several people that seem to work very hard at being mad. They look closely for new injustices that have been heaped upon them by cruel circumstance and cruel people.<br />
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I hate being mad. I want it to end as soon as possible. I hate lying awake at night going over and over in my mind how angry I am. I'd rather sleep peacefully and wake up rested and refreshed. So I wonder: are there physical differences in our brains such that some people experience anger as a pleasurable sensation? I've always said of some people, "They're not happy unless they're mad," and now I'm wondering if it's literally true. Is anger akin to joy in the brains of some people? Are there studies on this, complete with colorful images of parts of the brain "lighting up" at the opportunity to tell someone else that they said or did the wrong thing, or said or did it the wrong way, at the wrong time, for the wrong reasons? And to tell them over and over again, with white-hot rage?<br />
<br />
The phrase "righteousness orgasm" popped into my brain the other day to describe the apparently climactic joy in expressing outrage at perceived victimization of a just or innocent person, and we all tend to think of ourselves as at least mostly just and innocent. It can be seen in comments sections all over the internet, and I think it's what Lenore Skenazy noticed in <a href="http://www.freerangekids.com/a-man-photographed-my-kid-at-the-playground-smash-him-in-the-face/" target="_blank">this post</a> on Free-Range Kids. It's an outrage that seems easiest to express in writing, because face-to-face communication allows too much humanization of the offending party, too much explanation of extenuation, too much give and take, to really allow a good orgasmic buildup of righteous indignation.<br />
<br />
I know I've indulged in the righteousness orgasm now and again, and even recently. I'm trying though, Lord. I'm trying.<br />
<br />
Anyway, now I'm going to go turn my Pandora from Rage Against the Machine back to Lyle Lovett. And tomorrow, I'm told, is Aloha Friday. I've never been to Hawaii, but I have no doubt I can only benefit from more ukulele in my life.<br />
<br />
Aloha, fuckers! Namaste, bitches!I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-72039472331505620062015-11-05T09:33:00.000-06:002016-03-23T11:45:59.020-05:00Yep, Still Me to a TYep. I'm still over here proving that truer words were never said of me than, "You never could keep your fuckin' mouth shut." I'm feeling down and out because of my mistakes, but I'll be back on top and whistling a jaunty tune soon because I'm finally getting to accept and like myself and my quirks, and my foibles, and yes, even my utter failings. Not everyone thinks so, but I'm a good man doing good things. If I love you, I'll do anything for you, and there's a bunch of you out there that I love. You keep me going. You keep me from slipping in the pitfalls. I'm still going, y'all. This is just me on the regular.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Lp9GgdCgMXk" width="560"></iframe><br />I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-26967574482900100892015-10-18T23:40:00.000-05:002015-10-19T11:46:40.156-05:00It's Different for Me NowDriving to work this morning, I heard <a href="http://www.utexas.edu/cola/psychology/faculty/profile.php?id=bussdm" target="_blank">Dr. David Buss</a> on <a href="http://www.kgsr.com/" target="_blank">KGSR</a> talking about dating in the modern age. The gist was that modern technology and communications do not make it easier to find a long-term mate.<br />
<br />
I'll be completely, officially divorced soon, probably some time in November, so I've been thinking about dating and mating and finding a match that works in the long term. I thought I'd found The One two decades ago. I was sure of it. But The One is now as foreign to me in heart and mind, as inscrutable, as an alien. I'm sure I am to her, as well. We simply do not speak the same language. It's not her fault, and it's not mine, or if there is fault, it belongs to each of us. But I think fault is meaningless in the end of our marriage. There was no infidelity. There was no abuse. There was the long, slow accumulation of resentment and the inevitable separation of what was once, truly if briefly, a close union of souls. Some of that foreignness comes from the pain of The Breakup itself, the cruelty we inflicted on each other while finally, irrevocably snapping that bond between us. But I also think most of our marriage was the desperate attempt to return to what existed for a few years and was lost through the vagaries of time and circumstance, mostly because we were at our cores incompatible in our personalities and desires. We were friends for a long time, even good friends, close friends. But we stopped being mates, I think, probably some time in the 20th century. We fell in love quickly at the age of 20 with the people we had the potential to become, and we fell out of love slowly over the next 20 years with the people we actually became.<br />
<br />
Anyway, that's my paragraph-long <i>post mortem</i> on almost 23 years of daily interaction.<br />
<br />
All of which begs the question, whether you call what came before a failure or an indispensable life experience, how does one go about making a new match that lasts and uplifts and continues to uplift over the course of years?<br />
<br />
I don't think it's on Tinder. Or Match. Or eHarmony. Or OKCupid. Maybe. I don't know. Dr. Buss pointed out that each of these, and especially all of them in combination, give the illusion of infinite choice, infinite possibility, which leads to a paralysis of choice. It's a world where the next possibility is always better than the current reality.<br />
<br />
A friend told me I'd have to go through my "divorce crazies," to go crazy and date lots and lots of people over the next couple of years. To step out of my comfort zone and go wild would be the only way to find out who I am in relation to other people, to find out what I liked and what I wanted. While I can see its value, that idea kind of gives me the heebie jeebies. I said in June or July, shortly after I moved out of my marital home and established for the first time in my life a space that was my own: I don't want to date. I wanted to live on my own, making my own choices for my own sake. I wanted to spend at least a year or two discovering who it is I am alone before I try again to discover who it is I am in cooperation with another person. And it was true when I said it. And it's still kind of true now. But I can see that a time will come, and maybe sooner than I thought when I was just beginning to believe that the end was in sight, the end of something that had become destructive, that I will want to find someone. Someone to spend time with. To talk to. To cuddle with. To help and to be helped by. To uplift and to be uplifted by. And yes, to bone. Bonin' is fun, after all. And making love is an expression of, an extension of, and a reinforcement of emotional intimacy. But more than sex: I will want someone to show my intricacies and to discover her intricacies, with all of the joy and fear and frustration and giddiness and fever and love that comes with that openness and discovery.<br />
<br />
Who do I want? The more important question is who do I want to be? I think it's answering the second question that will lead to the answer of the first.<br />
<br />
What I will not do is hold on to the past. I have friends who model for
me exactly the behavior I refuse to engage in. I will not dwell daily on
what I had and lost. I will not dwell daily on what she did that
brought about the end, or what she did in ending it. I will not remain mired in the muck of what went before. I can't see anything of
value in fighting any longer to keep or regain what is gone. I can't see
anything of value in hating her or pitying myself. If you are one of my
friends who thinks now that I'm talking to you, then hear this: let it
go. It's over. You are only hurting yourself and your kids. Find a therapist. I have a recommendation for you if you want it. She was instrumental for me in seeing things differently. But you have to stop it.
There's no point. There's nothing to be gained, only everything to be
lost.<br />
<br />
That's what I won't do. What will I do instead? I will be honest. Trying to be someone I wasn't didn't work. Pretending to want what I didn't want or to be happy when I wasn't didn't work. That staple of couples counseling and Alcoholics Anonymous, "fake it 'til you make it" only goes so far. Eventually the faking is as destructive to the self as the not faking was to the relationship. So I will tell the truth, even when it's difficult or awkward. I am who I am, and I'm a lot more comfortable with that at 43 than I was at 20.<br />
<br />
I will be kind. Bullying someone to make them become someone else is a stupid strategy. It didn't work for her, and it didn't work for me. If I'm dating someone who turns out to have very different priorities than I do, it'll be OK to end things and move on. Better now than later. The ending can be as much of a kindness as anything else.<br />
<br />
I thought it would be a long list, but I think that's it. I will be honest and kind. I think everything else is a subcategory of one or the other. Is it possible that the next great love of my life will appear, will draw me to her and be drawn to me, by living my life and endeavoring always to be honest and kind?I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-69368922266888511852015-09-29T21:59:00.000-05:002015-09-30T16:01:21.587-05:00On Being the AdultI'm bad with details. And I don't care about money. And I'm kind of like that dog in <i>Up</i> who's easily dis... <i>squirrel!</i><br />
<br />
When I was a lad, I was a scout from Bobcat (they didn't have Tiger back then) to Life. That's one rank short of Eagle. I earned many merit badges. I met many requirements. I camped. I did survival training. I completed leadership training. I was selected for Order of the Arrow. Two things stood between me and earning the rank of Eagle Scout: the service project (coming up with an idea, pitching it for approval, and organizing and leading a team to execute it all seemed like a lot of work to me) and just one more merit badge: Personal Management. In hindsight, it was telling that I never completed the merit badge that would teach me how to balance a check book, to create and stick to a budget, and presumably several other valuable life skills.<br />
<br />
Anyway, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah, being a responsible adult. This, the Year of Divorce, has been a roller coaster time in my life emotionally, and a time when new experiences are popping up practically every week. When I was 19, I moved out of my parents' house and straight into student housing, which they paid for, while attending my first year of college. Which they also paid for. At new student orientation, I was offered a credit card by the local bank, despite having no job and no demonstrable means of repaying any accumulated debt. Predictably, I immediately began a long campaign of spending money I didn't have.<br />
<br />
When that year of college was up, I had to find a job, and an apartment, and a roommate. The next year was the only time in my adult life when I was entirely responsible for myself and my bills, and I continued with vigor my campaign to increase my credit debt.<br />
<br />
The following year, I moved in with Aerie, and she, being the person she is, took responsibility for our finances. She swore when she moved out of her parents' home that she would never be dependent on anyone again, and she meant it. She was in charge. For the next 23 years, I paid little attention to things like "income/expenses" or "budget" or anything else related to our financial situation, except for a brief period when, because her stress levels were high, I took over responsibility for paying bills. Unfamiliar with timing bill payments to work in harmony with payroll deposits, I immediately overdrafted the checking account, and she immediately took back responsibility. It wasn't a learning opportunity, it was just more in a growing pile of evidence that I was not capable of being a responsible adult and an equal partner to her in the business of our family life.<br />
<br />
Of course, in my defense, there were other ways that I contributed, ways that were uniquely valuable and perhaps would not or could not have been made by anyone other than me, but... Well, bygones, as they say.<br />
<br />
So, my point, really, is that now I'm the only responsible adult in my household, and learning how to do that, how to be that, is a challenge for me. I still don't care about money, and I'm still bad with details. I forget things easily unless I write them down, and I usually forget to write them down. I'm constantly forgetting and resetting the passwords associated with pretty much all of my online accounts, including those that let me do things like check balances, pay debts, transfer funds, and other useful adult activities. The modern world is a wonderful place, with the convenience of autopay and electronic payments and transfers, but Jesus, the passwords. The passwords!<br />
<br />
In my work life, I have systems in place to help me keep track of details and schedules, some of which I inherited and some of which I created, but for some reason, it's taking me a little while to learn to create and adhere to systems in my personal business. It's possible, I know, and I already have the skills to make this work. I've just never had to before. At 43, I'm finally learning how to be responsible outside of a work environment. I'm making mistakes, and I'm learning from them, and what's most exciting is: I don't have to answer to anyone, or apologize to anyone for those mistakes. I don't get chastised or criticized. My mistakes are all mine. I am my own boss. It's a little scary, but exhilarating, too.<br />
<br />
And yes, I'm aware that the fact that this is how I feel about it is a strong indicator of at least one place where I went very wrong very early in my marriage.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-81591977159883273532015-08-18T21:37:00.000-05:002015-08-19T15:40:57.132-05:00Fluctuations in My State of Mind Over the Last Few Weeks, As Illustrated by the Lyrics Searches Found in My Browser HistorySo you treat your love like a firefly, like it only gets to shine for a little while.<br />
Catch it in a mason jar with holes in the top and run like hell to show it off.<br />
Oh, promises were made when we'd go walking; that's just me and Charlie talking.<br />
<br />
Just hoe your own row, and raise your own babies.<br />
Smoke your own smoke, and grow your own daisies.<br />
Mend your own fences, and own your own crazy.<br />
Mind your own biscuits, and life will be gravy.<br />
<br />
I’ve been man enough to tell you that I’m sorry when I’m wrong;<br />
You never will admit it when I’m not.<br />
Maybe you will finally forgive me when I’m gone,<br />
But I won’t be there when you apologize.<br />
Heads, you win; tails, I lose.<br />
I can’t get the upper hand no matter what I do.<br />
You’ll always be the winner, and I’ll always be the fool.<br />
Heads, you win; tails, I lose.<br />
<br />
You've seen your future from your present state,<br />
And filtered through your past, it may not look too great.<br />
If you could have your future generate your now,<br />
You'd probably sit back, relax, kick off your shoes,<br />
And just allow.<br />
<br />
'Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me.<br />
And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free.<br />
I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet.<br />
My hands are on the wheel so I'm driving to Idaho,<br />
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty<br />
In Idaho.<br />
<br />
So I play my hopes and play my dreams<br />
Just like two coins in a slot machine.<br />
Sing "Glory, Hallelujah!" if everything works out fine.<br />
My life is like a lemon drop;<br />
I'm suckin' on the bitter to get to the sweet part.<br />
I know there are better days ahead.<br />
Lord, I know there are better days ahead.<br />
Thank God!<br />
<br />
Imagine your best friend and your worst enemy<br />
Begs you to stay and then wishes you'd leave.<br />
Like Marilyn Monroe, she can be who you want her to be.<br />
You can't change her mind (even if you wanted to).<br />
You can always try (she'll see through to you, she'll see through you).<br />
If you think you're the only one she'll want in this world,<br />
Then you don't know nothin' 'bout girls.<br />
<br />
I set my sails for a new direction, but the wind got in my way.<br />
I changed my course, but my definition of change just ain't the same.<br />
I'm gonna sit right here, stay away from there.<br />
I'm gonna make pretend I just don't care.<br />
<br />
Motherfucker, I’ll be back from the dead soon.<br />
I’ll be watching from the center of the hollow moon.<br />
Oh my God I think I might’ve made a mistake:<br />
Waiting patiently was waiting taking up space.<br />
We are waiting taking up space.<br />
<br />
You’re too mean, I don’t like you, fuck you anyway.<br />
You make me wanna scream at the top of my lungs.<br />
It hurts but I won’t fight you.<br />
You suck anyway.<br />
<br />
Never would've seen the trouble that I'm in, if it hadn't been for love.<br />
Would've been gone like a wayward wind, if it hadn't been for love.<br />
Nobody knows it better than me;<br />
I wouldn't be wishing I was free<br />
If it hadn't been, if it hadn't been for love.<br />
<br />
I backed my car into a cop car the other day.<br />
Well he just drove off; sometimes life's OK.<br />
I ran my mouth off a bit too much, oh, what did I say?<br />
Well you just laughed it off; it was all OK.<br />
And we'll all float on OK. And we'll all float on anyway.<br />
<br />
Sometime, can you feel the pressure does unwind, sometime?<br />
Sometime, through the day and through the night, sometime.<br />
Sometime, you can make the pressure does unwind, sometime.<br />
Sometime, it's for your spirit and your mind, sometime.<br />
<br />
I walk and cry while my heartbeat keeps time with the drag of my shoes.<br />
The sun never shines through this window of mine; it's dark at the home of the blues.<br />
Oh, but the place is filled with the sweetest memories, memories so sweet that I cry.<br />
Dreams that I've had left me feeling so bad, I just want to give up and lay down and die.<br />
So if you've just lost your sweetheart, and it seems there's no good way to choose,<br />
Come along with me. Misery loves company. You're welcome at the home of the blues.<br />
<br />
She loves to tell me she hates the things I do.<br />
<br />
Sometimes you've got to bleed to know that you're alive and have a soul.<br />
<br />
Just remember to fall in love. There's nothing else. There's nothing else.<br />
<br />
And they’ll be quick to point out our shortcomings,<br />
And how the experts all have had their doubts.<br />
Ain’t it like most people? I’m no different.<br />
We love to talk on things we don’t know about.<br />
<br />
It's been so long since I've seen her face.<br />
You say she's doin' fine.<br />
I still recall a sad caf<span class="st">é,</span><br />
How it hurt so bad to see her cry.<br />
I didn't want to say goodbye.<br />
Send her my love; memories remain.<br />
<br />
How 'bout me not blaming you for everything?<br />
How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once?<br />
How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you?<br />
How 'bout grieving it all one at a time?<br />
Thank you, India.<br />
Thank you, terror.<br />
Thank you, disillusionment.<br />
Thank you, frailty.<br />
Thank you, consequence.<br />
Thank you, thank you, silence.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-59313301652063930602015-08-07T09:26:00.000-05:002015-08-07T09:26:56.648-05:00High Brow Literary AllusionsSo Thumper was watching Cartoon Network the other day, joyfully. We dropped digital cable awhile back because the content is generally awful and the cost is ridiculously high. But somehow, when I moved into the new apartment and I was activating internet service, I lost my mind and allowed myself to be lead by the nose into the land of "we're a bundling company, so it'll be a better value for you if you get all of our services rather than just one!" What can I say; I wasn't thinking clearly then. I'll rectify it soon, but in the meantime, the boy gets spectacularly awful Cartoon Network and Disney Channel and Disney XD shows.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, if Disney is a premium American entertainment company, producing, especially with their acquisition of Pixar and the Muppets, high quality works of contemporary pop culture art and children's programming, how on earth can they wake up in the morning and look themselves in the collective face knowing that they are cranking out an incredible volume of the lowest quality schlock and feeding it directly into the brains of millions of children worldwide? Have you watched any of those "sitcoms" on Disney Channel or Disney XD? The writing is awful. The premises are ridiculously half-formed ideas. The humor is so formulaic that you could mix and match virtually any of the characters and settings and the storylines would be indistinguishable. And they use the laugh track like a sledgehammer. The number of those shows that the same stable of child laborers, er, actors, appear on would lead one to believe that Disney Studios is a sweatshop, and those same kids are probably the ones writing and producing this awful canal of sludge that's flowing steadily into my home.<br />
<br />
So, anyway, what was I talking about again? Oh yeah. How I see metaphors for my life everywhere I look. I realize I hadn't gotten there quite yet, but that's where I was going with this.<br />
<br />
Cartoon Network, which does produce some of my favorite kids' television programming, including "Adventure Time with Finn and Jake" and "The Amazing World of Gumball" (both of which, incidentally, may be less "kid's television programming" and more "programming for dope-smoking teens and young adults") has apparently completely given up and decided just to air "Teen Titans Go!" 24 hours a day. It's so bad, this is video Thumper took of me one of the times that he asked, "Can I put on Cartoon Network?" and I said, "Sure," and it was frigging "Teen Titans Go!" again:<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/31g0YE61PLQ" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
So in this episode, which shockingly I had not seen before, Beast Boy gets frustrated that he's not as smart as the other Teen Titans, and he steals Raven's spell book to cast a spell to make himself smarter. I'm not sure why every spell she utters is the same: "Azarath... Metrion... Zinthos!" But anyway, he steals the book, casts the spell, screws it up, then tests his results with "The Ultimate Test of Smartness," a box with various shaped pegs and holes. As he's doing his best to jam the round peg into the square hole, Thumper says, "Everybody knows you can't fit the round one in the square one. Everybody knows that!"<br />
<br />
And it hit me in that moment that I, like Beast Boy, spent a lot of time and energy thinking that if I just! Shoved! Hard! Enough! that fucker would finally slide right in there. Ha. Everybody knows that.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-19987274176833263402015-08-03T21:39:00.000-05:002015-08-04T11:40:20.466-05:00Can't Argue with ThatI've said it before, and I'll say it again:<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LTnPjHh8fZ0" width="560"></iframe>
Change seems to happen so quickly now. When, on Monday morning, I look back on Friday, I think, "It seems so long ago, and I was a different person then." It's hard to grasp how long 23 years is, and how long I lived as that person, that Husband, and how strange it is, now that I've been out for a few months, stumbling back into that house again, that house where I was Husband, and finding it so foreign and inscrutable.<br />
<br />
So I thought I was going to tell you about my weekend, but I don't want to now.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you about me.<br />
<br />
I want to tell you about the things I'm learning.<br />
<br />
It's been 7 months since the word "divorce" was first spoken aloud. Within days, I quit drinking, and I haven't had a drink since. Not because the drinking was the reason the word was spoken, but because I knew for years that it had to be done, and instead I had put it off. Suddenly, it felt like there weren't years left. That word, "divorce," was a big part of the push that let me finally stop. I also sought help, most importantly and lastingly and profoundly from my friends and family, whose outpouring of love and support has overwhelmed me and changed me in its own ways. But also from a professional. I found a counselor that I loved, and who was damned good at her job. She listened well and asked the right questions at the right time, helping me find my own way to the path I'm on now. We parted ways with a hug, in full agreement that it's a great path to be on. I also went to my primary care physician to talk about medication to bust me out of the depression that led up to that word, a depression that oddly didn't evaporate on the destruction of my marriage. I'm off those meds now, and moving forward, thinking and talking and writing a lot about who I am. There's nothing more exciting for me than finding out who that is since it's not who I was for all of those years.<br />
<br />
That in itself is a difficult thing to understand, how I am and am not the same.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking of the negatives about myself that I've lived with for decades and struggled unsuccessfully to change. They were key to the failure of the marriage, character traits of which I was ashamed, but never enough to really change them. Now that I've seen that which was most important to me detonate, in part because I would not or could not change, I'm beginning to see those traits as central to my character, and not as hated flaws.<br />
<br />
We were married young, and neither of us knew who we would be 20 years later. I, and perhaps she, saw the struggle as an act of love, trying hard always through the years to be what she seemed to want, and always, or almost always, failing. And trying more and more, especially through the last half of the marriage, and definitely always failing, to get her to be what I wanted. I failed to love her enough to be the person she wanted and deserved, and I thought she didn't love me enough to be what I wanted and deserved.<br />
<br />
But now, I have deep and profound gratitude to her for seeing that it had to end and for having the courage to persist through all of my objections and efforts to save it. It wasn't salvageable, and that's OK. She set me free to begin the journey that I'm on now, and I will forever owe her a debt of gratitude for that gift she gave me.<br />
<br />
It hurt like a motherfucker, though, and it still hurts. Not because I'm sad that I'm not with her any longer, but because there is so much history and emotion piled up that it's hard to sort through. And because we both said things intending to hurt each other, and the memory of the hurt is almost as painful as the hurt itself. I don't always understand what it is that I'm feeling, just that I'm feeling it on all cylinders and can't do anything with it but to cry.<br />
<br />
I couldn't think of the word I wanted, so I consulted the Oracle at Google, and found myself at <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reappropriation" target="new">the Wikipedia entry for the concept of "reappropriation."</a> I'm sure that it's terribly racist and sexist, and probably other ists too, for a heterosexual middle-aged American white man to apply reappropriation to his own situation, but fuck it. I'm doing it. That's one of probably several hundred new mottos and maxims and philosophical tropes that I've adopted as guides to my new life: "Fuck it. I'm doing it." Or, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hpM8FjO4Vko" target="new">"Kiss my ass, I bought a boat."</a> I am reappropriating these hurtful definitions of me, and making them my own. I suppose it may seem like venom, repeating the words that were said about me out of anger and frustration, but it's not. It really isn't. I'm done feeling venomous.<br />
<br />
<h3>
I never could keep my fuckin' mouth shut.</h3>
<br />
I've decided what I want most of all in the world to be is honest. Simple. Straightforward. Direct. I want always to seem to be what I actually am. I certainly can't control other people's perceptions of who I am, but I'm telling you right now: if you have interactions with me, believe I'm not working you. I'm not playing any games. I am not manipulating. I'm not acting in such a way that you will be forced, tricked, or otherwise induced to respond in a certain way. I am being me for my own sake. If I want something from you, I will say it out loud, probably using too many words. If you want something from me, just straight out ask me, because I'm not committing any more mental resources to trying to figure out what you want, and if, when you did this, you were actually trying to say that. That shit's exhausting and not good for my self-esteem, so I'm not doing it anymore. I'm just going to be me and expect you'll be you.<br />
<br />
And I will talk about it. Best believe. I will always overthink it, and analyze myself in endless circles. And Facebook it. And blog about it. I'm not secretive, is what I'm saying. I think. I am. I do. And I talk about it. A lot. I think out loud. This is who I am. If it's not something you particularly like about me, well... Sorry (not sorry), as the kids say today.<br />
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I do want to be better at keeping secrets, though, and not talking other people's business. Because I do that, too. More than I should. I will be talking my business though. And if yours and mine overlap, you might want to know that from the start. And don't confide anything to me unless you make it really, really clear that you want me to keep my mouth shut about it. I mean, I told a kid once what my brother was giving him for his birthday, and I haven't really gotten any better at it since.<br />
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<h3>
I'm a lazy piece of shit.</h3>
<br />
OK, not the piece of shit part. I know with certainty that I'm not a piece of shit. I'm an amazing guy, and the more I get to know that guy, the more I like him. But it's a fact. I'm lazy. At least when it comes to things that I don't care about, which I'm thinking of less and less as a character flaw and more and more as just pretty normal, actually. I do not prioritize housework above very many things. I cook and wash dishes and do laundry and such, so that the household operates just fine, but I do not choose, for example, to sweep and mop the kitchen floor over, for example, going kayaking. Or reading a book. Or playing video games. Or sitting on the porch listening to music. Or staring off into space. Or anything else, really, until it reaches the point that it draws my attention every time I go in the kitchen.<br />
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This used to make me feel like a terrible person. This used to be a constant struggle, to transform myself somehow into a person who wanted to sweep and mop the kitchen floor. I made schedules for myself that I didn't follow. I set up Outlook reminders. I put a dry erase board on the kitchen wall. And then I wouldn't do it anyway, because there was always something else I'd rather do. I was angry at Aerie that it seemed to matter so much to her when it didn't matter to me, and I was angry at myself that it mattered so little to me when it seemed to matter so much to her. Now, I have my own space, and it's a source of joy. I walk around naked when Thumper's staying with her, and I clean when I find myself thinking, "Gross, dude." As a parent, I will have to balance this with teaching Thumper to take care of business, because ain't nobody 'round here his servant. But my own standard of acceptability is just fine.<br />
<br />
Re-reading this, I realized that the fact that I walk around my apartment naked when no one else is there has nothing to do with anything. But like I said, I overshare. You're welcome.<br />
<br />
So there you go. That's what I'm thinking about today. I am who I am. I will continue to work to improve myself, especially as it relates to diet and exercise, because I want to and not because it will make me who I should be instead of who I am. I like me a lot these days. I don't hate me for not being someone else. And I don't hate her for wanting me to be someone else, for marrying me before she knew who she was, or who I was, or what she wanted from herself or from someone else. That's what I'm learning. That's what I wanted to tell you. I'm a lazy piece of shit of who never could keep his fuckin' mouth shut, and I'm pretty happy with that. Is that the wrong thing to say? Fuck it. I'm doing it.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-41328330910368309592015-07-22T19:04:00.000-05:002015-07-22T19:38:12.144-05:00Songs About the New WorldAerie and I arranged to get together last night and talk details for our divorce decree. We're doing our best to make this transition as amicable as possible. I've been saying and thinking that word a lot lately. Amicable. Amicable.<br />
<br />
And now that we're not living together, and we're navigating our new lives apart and our new schedules as Joint Managing Conservators instead of, you know, whatever we were before, things really are fairly amicable. I look around me at the divorce stories that suddenly seem to be everywhere, and if divorcing well is a competition, I think we're winning. She's not taking out a Protective Order against me and fighting in court for full custody. We're not pitting our friends against each other or making them choose sides. She's not hiding money from joint accounts. I'm not stalking her, or playing mind games or threatening her with dastardly deeds. Neither of us is telling Thumper that the other parent is awful. He's not a pawn in some jacked up game between us. We're just... you know... amicable.<br />
<br />
But with all this amicability flying around everywhere, and with the excitement of exploring my new life outside of all of the old roles and patterns I'd been living under for so many years, I thought that I was past the point of getting upset. Yes, I really thought that after 23 years, I was emotionally over the hump, just six months after the word "divorce" was first uttered. I wasn't.<br />
<br />
I've picked Thumper up and dropped him off at her house, that used to be our house. I've driven through the neighborhood before and been inside the house picking up clothes and furniture and piles of stuff. But last night, for some reason, it hit me harder. I saw neighbors walking and jogging through the neighborhood that used to be mine but isn't now, that I used to walk and jog through but won't anymore. The loop that I used to push a stroller around, past <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2007/11/maybe-playgrounds-not-such-good-idea.html" target="_blank">that playground</a> we've been going to since Thumper was a brand new baby and I was a brand new stay-at-home dad. I stood on the porch and rang the bell. I didn't make myself at home and get a soda out of the fridge, or plates from the cabinet for the sandwiches I brought for us to eat while we worked. It's her house now, her stuff, her kitchen. I used the guest bathroom, not the master, and when I came out and sat down at the kitchen table to start working with her on details, I was a little shocked to find myself crying. The anger, the sorrow, the regret, the loss, they are all still real, no matter how much I want them to be memories now.<br />
<br />
I hadn't been on the blog in quite some time. I saw I had an unpublished draft post from January, about the time the d-word first came up, that was entirely the lyrics to "Love's Recovery" by Indigo Girls. At the time, there still seemed a slim chance, but now our storm has passed and that slim chance is gone. A lot of the words fit, including the friends we thought were so together. So I'm sure I'm a cliché, 43 and divorcing, but the emotions don't feel so cliché now that I'm in them.<br />
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But now I'm just getting maudlin. <br />
<br />
It's funny how things come to us sometimes all at once. I've never been much of a country music fan. I have a dear friend who's let me borrow her truck a few times through all of this moving of stuff, and a good many of her stereo's presets are country stations. Not wanting to jack with her settings, I listened to country music while I drove. I also worked a country music festival at my beloved arena not too long ago, and I thought some of those songs were downright toe-tappable. But still, I think of myself as too good to listen to country, really, and complained about having "Rock me, Mama, like a wagon wheel" stuck in my head. I think I'm too smart, I suppose. I have an ugly bias against it where words like "hillbilly" and "redneck" and "Deliverance" pop into my mind.<br />
<br />
Then a friend posted a photo of what she saw as "a cool cat," and I was transported instantly back to 1979, when Hoyt Axton appeared on my favorite TV show, <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0742632/?ref_=ttep_ep19" target="_blank">WKRP in Cincinnati</a></i>. I still remember the hooks to "Jealous Man" and "Della and the Dealer" from that show, though honestly, I must've seen them over and over again in syndication throughout the '80s for me to have memorized them like that. But I instantly commented on my friend's picture, "If that cat could talk, what tales he'd tell about Della and the dealer and the dog as well. But that cat was cool, and he never said a mumblin' word." She probably wondered what in the hell any of that had to do with a cat she saw on a street in Italy.<br />
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<br />
Later, I read <a href="http://birthmoviesdeath.com/2015/07/20/hulks-favorite-movies-disneys-robin-hood-1973" target="_blank">Film Crit Hulk's article</a> about Disney's <i>Robin Hood</i> that mentioned Roger Miller's original songs, and I found myself again inexplicably contemplating a master of '60s tongue-in-cheek country storytelling. So today, while spending the rest of my lunch hour walking around and around the concourse of my beloved arena to burn off the brisket and sausage I ate, I plugged "Hoyt Axton" into Pandora on my phone and spent a little bit of a while with Hoyt, Roger, Willie, Waylon, Johnny, Hank Jr., Merle, Jerry Reed, and Jimmy Dean. I don't know why I'm on a first name basis with everybody but Jerry and Jimmy, but there you go. I didn't even know Jimmy Dean was a singer. I thought he just sold sausage. My mom met him in an Eckerd's drug store once. Or so my faulty memory tells me the story goes.<br />
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So I was smiling as I walked, 'round and 'round, both at the music and at my own folly. I've always known so many things that it turned out I didn't know at all. Like that my marriage would last forever, and that I hated country music. That the end of the marriage would be the end of the world. But nah. It's working out. I've always been crazy, but it's kept me from going insane.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xI2MhAGtZgE" width="420"></iframe>I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-71934663697986903282015-07-16T11:07:00.000-05:002016-03-23T12:28:23.874-05:00New BeginningsIt's been a strange and difficult couple of years here in Rodiusland. I went through a period of depression and lethargy stemming largely from my fear and uncertainty over my changing role in my family as Thumper moved through his early elementary school years. I didn't feel necessary as a full-time stay-at-home dad, but I didn't know how to re-enter the workforce or how to sell myself as a valuable addition to an employer's team after so long in a mostly domestic role. I didn't know what to do with myself, so I spent too much time doing nothing. It took me a little bit of a while to recognize that the feeling of being stuck, of not wanting to move, was a symptom of depression and that I needed to get help.<br />
<br />
I'm coming out of that depression now, with the help of therapy, medication, and a full-time job that redefines my role significantly. I'm weaning off the medication, and I've moved on from my therapist with her blessings. She and I agreed I'm on the right path now, approaching my life and its difficulties and its opportunities with a new attitude. Aerie and I are divorcing, a further redefinition of my role. We have not been a happy or effective partnership for some time, but we're working on breaking up that partnership as amicably as we can. Both of us are focused on Thumper and what's best for him as we move forward into an entirely new stage of our lives after nearly 23 years together.<br />
<br />
I've missed writing about my life, but I didn't have much to say, and frankly much of what I had to say over the past 6 months was best said privately. I live my life visibly here and on Facebook, some would say too publicly for my own good. But, as has been said of me, I never could keep my f***in' mouth shut, so I couldn't stay away from this blog forever. I'm going to try to continue to use this space as a place where I can think aloud, talk about my life and my understanding of it, and keep my friends and family aware of and involved in what Thumper and I are up to and how I feel about it. I will also do my best not to talk publicly about things I shouldn't, especially as the divorce proceeds.<br />
<br />
Honestly, though, for anyone out there who has wondered what became of me, I am finally in a really good place. I'm working at a place that I love and as part of a team whose purpose and goals I find valuable and worthwhile. I have my own apartment, and Aerie and I are splitting custody 50/50. We alternate weeks, which means I get lots of time with my my favorite person in the entire world. On our off weeks, we each have dinner with the little man one night, which means it's never more than a few days before he sees the parent he's not staying with that week. It's a great arrangement, giving me time to focus on him and time to explore my new life away from the woman who has been my wife, fiancée, girlfriend, and/or roommate for more than half of my life. It's a strange transition, but also an exciting one. There were plenty of hurt feelings, anger, accusations, and general unpleasantness through the first half of this year, but now, I feel like things are finally truly getting better for both her and for me, which can't help but make things better for Thumper. That we both love him and want what's best for him, I have no doubt.<br />
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So, uh... What'd I miss? What's new with you?I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-15581236739913225772014-02-13T23:39:00.001-06:002014-02-14T00:28:13.075-06:005 YearsI realized today that this month marks 5 years since Thumper and I <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2009/02/thatll-work.html" target="new">started driving for Meals on Wheels</a>. Much has changed in those 5 years. He almost never comes with me now that he's in school. We're on our third Director and our second route, and we don't get to see our old friends any more, the clients who made a big deal over him, who let him play with their collectible model tractors, and their grandkids, and their dogs.<br />
<br />
Most of our new route now consists of an "independent living facility," a giant apartment complex for seniors where resident volunteers take the meals from me and deliver them to the individual clients. The volunteers are incredibly nice, and friendly, and they're always happy to see the boy when he comes, but we don't get to interact with the clients any longer. When <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2009/01/volunteering-possibilities.html" target="new">we were looking for a volunteer opportunity</a>, and we were <a href="http://www.irodius.com/2008/12/huh-wow-bleak-merry-christmas.html" target="new">failing to find something that felt just right for us</a>, I doubted that I would do well talking to strangers. We were still dealing with nap times, and we were at the very beginning of our playground adventures where he made me talk to people, and as always, my expectations were nothing like reality. Thumper helped to drag me out of my shell, and I quickly learned how to stand on the front porch of an 83-year-old woman and have the same 45-minute conversation with her this week as I'd had with her last week, and to cheerfully change her light bulbs and talk to the cable company for her. I learned to accept that she would drop off the list, as most of the clients do eventually, without explanation, her story never finished, at least for me.<br />
<br />
It's still a satisfying part of my week, Meals on Wheels, but things are different now. The women at the Senior Center where we pick up the meals, those women he still calls "the dominoes ladies" because they play every day while they wait for lunch, are still so kind. They always ask me about him, and always make a big deal when he does come with me. When he was a year-and-a-half, they clapped and cheered for him when he banged on the old piano (the one that disappeared after the renovations from the kitchen fire a few years ago), and they gave him candy every week (he still asks me if Ms. Celia sent me home with anything for him if I mention that I drove Meals on Wheels today), and they gave him stuffed animals at Christmas and Valentine's Day. But the people have changed, again and again, and with Thumper at the ripe old age of 6 1/2, there's almost no one left who remembers when he first toddled through the door and helped me reach out and connect in a meaningful way.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-69998646379221892722013-11-22T14:16:00.000-06:002013-11-22T14:16:44.446-06:00ProfanityAerie and I have been working on a reasonable profanity policy for Thumper. Or should that be capitalized? Profanity Policy? I don't know. Anyway, we want him to understand not only that they are just words, just sounds that our mouths make that stand for ideas, but also that they have powerful potential to affect people's emotions. It comes down to knowing your audience and knowing that some words will deeply offend some people, so it's best not to use them all willy nilly. Complicated stuff for a 6 year old. Mostly he just loves the thrill of being allowed to say forbidden words out loud in front of his parents.<br />
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Case in point: while driving 20 minutes to the cool toy store (that's the new, second location of <a href="http://allthingskidsusa.com/" target="new">All Things Kids</a>, for those of you keeping score) to buy a birthday present for a friend, we listened to my iPod on shuffle. iPod on shuffle often leads to interesting conversations. Today, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xd8tOAJMA8Q" target="new">"Little Lion Man" by Mumford & Sons</a> popped up.<br />
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"Did he say a bad word?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
"Did it end with 'ck'?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
"Did it start with 'fu'?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
<br />
"Did it have four letters?"<br />
<br />
"Yep."<br />
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"Oh, like [neighborhood kid] said. His mom got really mad, and I had to come home so she could yell at him some more."<br />
<br />
"What did he say?"<br />
<br />
"He said, 'What the fuck did you do to your face?'" [This after Thumper spectacularly wiped out jumping off the furniture and gave himself an angry red rug burn on his chin.] <br />
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"Yeah, that's why you have to be careful with words like that. You should always assume it's going to make somebody mad, unless you know ahead of time that it's not. Like you should never ever sing this song at school, OK?"<br />
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"I would NEVER do that!"<br />
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But he does get an incredible electric jolt of excitement out of being able to say to his dad, "He said, 'What the fuck did you do to your face?'"<br />
<br />
Then <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf_l3EGQvL8" target="new">"Andrew in Drag" by The Magnetic Fields</a> came on, and things got even more complicated. Did you know that "shag" means some of the same things that "fuck" does, but people in this country don't use it very much and don't really consider it a bad word? I know! Language is weird!I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-80421413893917639632013-09-19T21:30:00.001-05:002013-09-19T21:41:27.857-05:00ComplexityDon't tell me how it ends, because I'm listening to the audiobook of Gillian Flynn's <i>Gone Girl</i>. At first, I didn't think I'd get very far through this book because I have an unsophisticated desire to like somebody, anybody, in any given book. If there's no one likeable, I don't see much point in carrying on, and through the first hour or so, there was no one to like at all. Nick was unpleasant; Amy was unpleasant. But the more I listened, the more I realized that Amy was really only unpleasant as portrayed through Nick's eyes, and as we get to see more of her through her own diary entries, she's actually funny, charming, kind, and a generous and understanding girlfriend and wife.<br />
<br />
Still, though, this book is depressing the hell out of me. Its depiction of marriage, even a marriage barely five years old that was born in head-over-heels, giddy, let's-drive-to-Delaware-to-have-sex-just-because-we've-never-had-sex-in-Delaware romance, is bleak. Its depiction of life for educated, east coast liberal young folk who end up through unplanned circumstances in a small Midwestern town, whose culture is essentially American suburbia, is bleak. Middle-class American married life in suburbia is the very definition of my life at this moment.<br />
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What disturbs me to the depths of my secret soul is Nick and his (mis)understanding of his wife. He attributes to her all of his own worst insecurities about himself and then resents her deeply for what (he supposes) she feels about him. She is baffled by his anger because she does not feel any of those things about him. She works hard not to be the nagging, needy, manipulative wife that she sees some of her friends become. And still, he sees her as exactly what she refuses to be, and his anger and neglect forces her to become, in painfully awkward moments, just that. Seeing each character through the first person, it's agonizing witnessing their complete failure to understand or even to try beyond a superficial level to communicate meaningfully with each other about that failure to understand. Amy says more to her diary about how she feels than she does to him; Nick says more to the reader as narrator than he ever says to her.<br />
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All of which reminds me painfully of the early- to mid-2000's. I was Nick. I saw my wife as Nick sees Amy. I thought we were engaged in some sort of competition or battle because she absolutely refused (refused!) to concede any victories to me. So in turn, I refused to concede any to her. And things fell apart. And things got bad. And now, years later, they're much, much better, but the reminder of how quickly and easily even the best fairy tale love story can turn into a murder mystery (no, I never wanted to kill my wife, and no I don't know if Nick killed Amy! Don't tell me! I haven't read that far yet!) is a hard one to read.<br />
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So I remind myself by telling you this marital advice that should have been obvious to me much sooner than it was, and which should be easier to remember through the years than it actually was or is:<br />
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First, be nice. Be nice to each other. Behave as if you are in love, even if you're not feeling particularly in love right now. Acting as if you're in love can lead to feeling more in love, while waiting to feel in love does not necessarily lead to acting as if you're in love.<br />
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Understand that the only person whose behavior you can change is your own, and changing your own behavior can inspire a change in your partner. People are nicer to those that are nicer to them.<br />
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No one ever brought anyone over to their own side through passive-aggression, sarcasm, and open hostility. A clever retort in a heated moment wins you nothing.<br />
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I suppose I'll keep listening so that I can find out where that Gone Girl ended up, but it hurts me to think that Amy deserves better than Nick, because it hurts me to think that my wife deserves better than me, and that I've misinterpreted the sweet, loving, generous, and forgiving woman that she is, seeing her instead through the distorted lenses of my own self-criticism.I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7320959265040712836.post-84303962275300811322013-08-08T23:24:00.000-05:002013-08-08T23:24:35.984-05:00PeopleToday, we went swimming with old Austin Stay-at-Home Dads group friends that we haven't seen as much since Thumper started school last year, then went to their home to hang out and make s'mores. We saw them at a playground play date yesterday, and as we stood on the bridge over the pond throwing expired baked goods down to the ducks, Thumper told his longtime friend, "I'm so happy to see you again." So we made arrangements to go swimming together today, and he loved seeing those kids again, and meeting their new dog, and I loved chatting with their mom and catching up again.<br />
<br />
After that, we went to another ASAHDs family's house for a multi-family pizza party. My kid ran around and around and around their circular layout apartment (that, apparently, LBJ and Ladybird occupied in the '30's), and danced, and played, and I sat around talking, and drank a beer, and everybody ate round after round after round of incredible little pizzas with carmelized onions, rich cheeses, tomatoes, peppers, and a crispy homemade crust. We talked, and laughed, and reminisced, and shared experiences, and enjoyed the kids enjoying themselves.<br />
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And it occurred to me that this has been the summer of reaching out for us. We're doing much with many people, and it's been very satisfying for both of us.We've been reconnecting with dads' group friends that we lost contact with over the school year. We've been discovering new friends, for both him and for me, and for Aerie. We've been swimming, and going to birthday parties, and exploring new places. We've been camping, and climbing, and jumping off of high places, and as much as I thought I was fine with my own little world, I've deeply appreciated the degree to which it's expanded this summer. You people, you're all so special. I've loved how much you've made me push my own boundaries and reject my own shy, introverted social awkwardness. Thanks so much for this wonderful summer, and I hope it keeps on keeping on, right through the new school year. Smoochie smoochies!I, Rodiushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08199985322178825076noreply@blogger.com0