my careless contagion

This is the time and space where I'm supposed to talk about what I learned in the three years running this blog. I'm supposed to say how much I've grown (groan) or whatever. So, I guess we'll do that. I'd like to say a lot changed, but that never seems to be the case. I should have moved quickly in any given direction, but I felt God was telling me to wait. Instead, I got bogged down in a morass of self-pity. Maybe it was necessary to stand still and heal, but with blood in the water, it was an open invitation to the sharks that swam around me. Unfortunately, I learned how cruel, pathetic, and unsympathetic people can be when one is trying to heal. I also learned they will blame you for something you didn't do just because. It makes me wonder if it does any good to try to live an upright life if I'm just going to be treated like a criminal. But that's not me. That's my disillusionment talking. Prepare for a long read.  This blog is pedagogical in nat...

I have to admit, stoicism has an allure for me. Too often, I've been overwhelmed, paralyzed, pummeled, and defeated by my emotions. But, just as often, I've told myself I don't care or that I shouldn't care. This pendulum swing is something I've struggled with most of my life. I've endured so much heartache, and acting like I didn't care only let the heartache continue. I was strong through so much pain. In the end, the pain overcame all the walls I built to keep it out. I don't consider myself an emotional person. Yes, I have emotions. As I've gotten older, the repressed stuff has gotten more vocal, so I've allowed myself to show my feelings more. I see it as a volcano letting off steam. Better to have a constant release of pressure than all at once. I can't repress my feelings forever, after all. Traditionally, though, that wasn't the case. As with many men, I was reared to be mostly emotionless. And I think that's wrong. ...

Joey, as I recall, actually looked a bit like James Dean. Joey was his name. I know he was Indian (dot, not feather), and I think he lived in Columbus. I had moved in with my girlfriend, Kate, that summer. We got our own place. I remember holding her as she cried because there were dead cockroaches in the cupboards and the fridge smelled like paint (we got it replaced). I said we'd make the place ours. These were little things. The important thing was we were doing it together.  She cheated on me with Joey, a guy she met on IRC, the same place she met me. I took her to the bus stop and picked her up from the bus stop, her mood quite different upon her return. I must have been incredibly stupid to think she was going to just hang out and have dinner with someone. He got her off. She didn't return the favor. That sounds about right for her. I should have kicked her out when she told me what happened, but instead I slept on the floor in the other room, my little bed trample...

You were not the first, sir, and you certainly were not the last. But you were certainly one of the worst.  Her love affair with you was not brief. I don't know when it started, but she did tell me she was in love with you. I told her love is just a choice we make every day. These are things a man should not have to tell his wife. Who knows what she told you, what evils she relayed to you about our relationship. I'm sure I was a bad man and she deserved better, but you only got part of the story, sir. Yes, she deserved better, but so did I. She cheated on me incessantly, and my small attempts to equalize the balance of power were seen as devilish, I'm sure. But who was the bigger devil? I did lash out in anger, but mostly undetectable anger. I meant to hurt her, but in other, less-obvious ways than she did. Maybe you missed all that backstory. Maybe you didn't care. True, I was not a saint. But you two put me to shame. You spent a lot of time at my house, and o...

It comes as no surprise to anyone, but I've been a little angry. And not just lately. Yes, I have reason to be angry. But how helpful is anger, especially as time goes on? How long should I be angry?  My anger stems from my childhood. It was drilled into me to be frustrated and angry (mostly by my brothers) by the physical abuse from my father, and also general neglect (which is just a form of abuse). They not only put anger in me, but they made sure I was constantly defeated, ensuring the pattern of defeat would continue long after they were done traumatizing me. I embodied defeat. I still do. Some of the angriest people I have known — and sometimes they don't even know why they are angry — are those who have endured childhood trauma in the form of physical, emotional, or sexual abuse. Of course, there are those who hide those things, too, under a veneer of tranquility and kindness. Well, I've made no bones about my anger. This whole dynamic is portrayed pretty flaw...

Without beleaguering the point, my readers know my life has not been a cake walk. It's not something I try to dwell on, but it's unnerving sometimes how difficult it has been. Still, in my darkest moments, I was able to see beauty around me. Something at the heart of me cried out for beauty, and it was always there.  The greatest defeater of happiness seems to be comparisons. It's so unfair to ourselves. No one lives the same life, so it's never going to be a fair comparison. Given our innate drive to better ourselves, we, of course, focus on those who have, in our opinion, done better than us. Social media makes this comparison process available 24/7. We can't even hide in the safety of our own homes, deep inside the womb of a hot bubble bath, without unfair comparisons.  I know my life will change again, like a constantly evolving landscape, being built up and eroding at the same time. How can I compare my life to anyone's when I can't even sit stil...

  December 16, 2016, was the day she came back into my life. In the following two years, I've seen a whirlwind of changes. I was so happy she was back in my life. As of this writing, she is not in my life anymore. Of all the changes I've seen in the last two years, this is the saddest. I thought once we started talking she would never be out of my life. It's okay, though. My life has taught me to live with the lack of things. And it was too good to be true anyway.   There was a change that took place in me on a recent Sunday. I sat alone in my apartment and something broke in me. It was a giving up. It was a letting go. Whatever you want to call it. I realized something that I should have seen before but didn't.  Stepping back and looking at the carnage from two divorces is sobering. If I could have done anything to help any of those in pain, I would have. What I didn't see was that I was perhaps the one most affected, the most destroyed, the most hurt by t...

I have lost. I've lost her. I've lost many things. I don't know what else to say, but I'll probably say a bunch of stuff anyway.  The thought came crashing in on me one night: "All is lost." That thought has remained with me. I know that truly not all is lost. Still, of all the feelings that have coursed through my veins in the last year-plus, this one is preeminent. Here's the thing. I'm very practiced in letting go. My whole life I've had to let go of places, people, things, parts of myself, things precious, and things mundane. This world is ultimately temporary, and we with it.  It should not have surprised me that I had to let her — the woman of my dreams — go. It should not have surprised me that I took it so hard, either. Precious things are hard to let go. The last time I saw her, she felt she had to give her marriage another shot. I sat and prayed with her, but she seemed so far away. She had already pulled away. Before we met tha...