Observations

My parents are capable of having a Christmas that does not involve tears, and, like so many other important events in my family’s existence, I missed it. I am resentful of God, and find prayer an exercise in futility. Singing in the car drives me crazy. My parents-in-law are better people than I give them credit for. Anthropologists scare me. The holidays bring out the worst in me. I miss my brother. My sister needs to speak to someone who knows what they are talking about, and my family and I are not the answer. I am overly argumentative. Sister-in-laws boyfriend is a solid man and would be a fantastic addition to the family. A sense of family pride is invaluable, and too often overlooked. I can go months without drinking, unless told I am not allowed to do so. I lack control around food. Regardless of how we feel about the war, the men and women spending these days overseas deserve our utmost respect. And last, but not least, this Country is ready for either a President of color, or of a different gender. Happy holidays!

Sad. . .

How do you tell your little ones that mom and dad aren’t going to live together anymore? I was younger than he is now, about his sister’s age, so I don’t remember what my mom told me. Luckily, their mom was. Maybe she recalls the conversation and knows exactly what to say. Perhaps she comforts herself with the knowledge that we turned out okay, so they will do the same. I can only hope that she knows what she is doing, and that those children have the constitution to fight through this, and understand, without hatred, frustration and regret, that sometimes, life is just destined to repeat itself.

Relationships

“Relationships either work or they don’t”

I cannot accept this as a general proposition, can you? Are relationship just supposed to work? If so, please let me know – kill the skeptic in me. Let me know that it isn’t work, a struggle.

My feeling is that the constant back and forth – the grind if you will – is what makes it worth while. Without the pain, doubt and worry, relationships fade, get taken for granted, and eventually, forgotten. Don’t get me wrong, I do not think cycles of misery necessarily lead to lasting and fulfilling bonds . . . but they can aid in that process.

There is a reason that humans, as a default, look for excuses to create conflict; we need to know that the time is worth it, that there is something worth a struggle. Anything easy is just that, easy, and we all know how that turns out (or am I wrong?).

Every great relationship I have ever had was worth fighting for, and it took just that.

My Wife: She is everything I have ever wanted. I loved her the moment I saw her, I knew that she was it – and we had never spoken. After months of perpetual flirting, she informed me, with some trepidation, that she would never date a man who was not of her race (and, preferably, religion) – a challenge. She faltered, I fought, and, to the best of my recollection, her parents cried. Upon meeting them, I knew what she was fighting against, and it was for me. Since that time, we have battled, screamed, and doubted, but we have persevered – seven years on, and our heads are still above water. During that time, we have come to understand that we are different people, with separate passions, goals and desires. She is religious; I question the existence of a G*d who subjects so many to so much. She believes; I am a skeptic. She is honest; I have more secrets than I can admit to myself. She loves to talk; I prefer silence. I drink; she lacks the desire to mask pain. I am angry; she is happiness in the human form. In sum, we are different people, and that causes tension, confusion and questions. Out of that, we probe and attempt to understand. In sum, we don’t always see eye to eye, but we understand that the fight is worth the end game. It could be easier – she, with someone of like color and beliefs; me, with someone lacking good judgment and morals; but why, where is the fun in that?

Partner in Crime (a/k/a Best Friend): I hated him at first glance, and wished him ill will, and he to me. How we worked past that, I don’t recall – but he is the only person I have ever been honest with. He knows my pains, thoughts and understands the deviousness of my soul. When my brother passed, many disappeared, never to be heard from again. He forced me to face reality. Instead of heeding my call to back off, he talked with his parents, paid for a counselor and demanded that I deal. He may have saved my life. For that, he will always be worth the fight – I would walk away from life as I know it if asked. But, as easy as that sounds, we differ. I walked away, left him to fend for himself. Eventually, he moved on, out, and is experiencing a life you only read about. Through it all, we fought to make it work, maintained contact, and refused to give up. It would have been easy. I hate the phone, he has an active social calendar. Yet, never lost contact. He is my support system. My brother. My best friend.

There are others: my Twin – getting past your tough exterior was not easy, but one of my greatest joys, a life without your companionship would be a life lacking. My Sparring Partner, a difficult wall to climb (and I am not sure I have scaled it). You keep me on my toes, and make me sad. One day, hopefully soon, you will recognize that you are an amazing, talented, intelligent person and worthy of so much more.

If I had accepted the above as true, I would have missed out on all of this. I would have bailed, as none of these relationships “worked” from the get go. Truth be told, if relationships just “worked”, I would be moving aimlessly through life, never understanding what it meant to love. So again, I ask, are there relationships that just work – no struggle involved? If so, are they strong? Do they make your heart hurt when you feel a blip? No judgments, just curious.

Lifetime of fun

It was an honest conversation.

It started innocently enough with me mentioning -- in passing -- that I had spoken with my Partner in Crime, and that his life was crazy (fun) at the moment. I should have known. After a few probing questions, it quickly spiraled into me explaining that, if I were single (i.e., not dating and/or married to the love of my life), I would be a completely different person. I would be an animal.

She played it off, but I think I hurt her. I think she believes that I feel caged, that I would rather be overseas, lusting after nameless, faceless women.

Truth be told, while part of me will always envy my single friends, I would not trade my place in the world for anything. The past six years have been the best of my life. While my friends are out struggling to bed models, I have perfection, at my finger tips, on a moments notice. No clubs, no awkward moments, no drunken fumblings. I know what she wants, what she requires, and that brings me untold peace.

Let those guys have their momentary fun, for mine, while seemingly mundane and repetitive, is real, and will last a life time.

Details

I started reading American Psycho yesterday, and while obnoxiously thorough, it got me thinking -- what happens to the details?

Looking back on my life, I recall the who’s, what’s and when’s, but the details are gone, lost to my subconscious. I remember the first and last name of almost every person I have ever done anything with, but the intricacies of the moments are gone.

Without these seemingly minor memories, it is impossible to accurately reconstruct my life -- it is nothing more than a seemingly endless string of actions. I haven’t had enough alcohol, drugs, or hard hits to the head to justify this outcome. Since I don’t have an answer, I am going to blame it on my complete and utter lack of an attention span – if only I focused for an entire conversation, sexual experience or show, it would be different.

Accordingly, I am going to spend a week trying to appreciate the smallness of my day, actions, and statements. I am hoping that if I operate on the micro level, the macro will take care of itself.

Simple request

By all measures, I have a perfect life -- great job, beautiful wife, three loving families, and money in the bank, but I am scared. I am scared because no matter how much I achieve, or how many “goals” I check off my list, I am still the kid at the back of the class wondering what the fuck is going on. I just don’t see it anymore. I lost my voice.

When I get excited, people find it immature. When I get impassioned, I am getting ahead of myself. When I am insecure, I am seeking attention. But you have a warped perception. I am twenty-nine, worried to death that I will fail, that I am nothing more than a highly paid cart attendant – performing tasks that allow the masses to function effortlessly. When taken apart from the whole, I have accomplished nothing more than pulling the wool over the eyes of over-worked and underpaid professors, falling into a job or two and hanging around just long enough to be liked, but never long enough to be tested.

To be great is oversold – I don’t long for it. I have smaller ambitions – I want to be understood, appreciated and accepted for what I am not.

As I remember it, X-Mas 1988

They are nice honey.

Try them on!

Maybe later, they are too big, and I am tired.

But just try them on, they will look great on you.

I told you, I will try them on later, now be quiet.

Okay . . . Merry Christmas.

Love of my life, Pt. 1

We had one rough patch – our final year in graduate school. I gave her every reason to leave – I was aloof, cold, and mean. I wanted to see if she would stay with the me who wakes up angry at the world; who asks ridiculous questions, like “why?”. I think I wanted her to bail so I could continue to think the world was against me. I had broken lesser women, and figured she would fall in line. I didn’t give her enough credit.