- June 2017 (1)
- April 2017 (1)
- March 2017 (2)
- June 2016 (1)
- January 2016 (1)
- June 2015 (1)
- May 2015 (1)
- April 2015 (1)
- March 2015 (1)
- February 2015 (2)
- January 2015 (1)
- December 2014 (9)
- November 2014 (2)
- August 2014 (1)
- July 2014 (1)
- June 2014 (4)
- May 2014 (1)
- April 2014 (2)
- March 2014 (6)
- December 2013 (1)
- September 2013 (2)
- August 2013 (1)
- July 2010 (1)
- June 2010 (1)
- April 2010 (1)
- March 2010 (2)
- January 2010 (4)
- December 2009 (3)
- November 2009 (7)
- October 2009 (5)
- September 2009 (1)
- August 2009 (1)
- July 2009 (2)
- June 2009 (2)
- May 2009 (2)
- April 2009 (3)
- March 2009 (2)
- February 2009 (6)
- January 2009 (5)
- December 2008 (5)
- November 2008 (9)
- October 2008 (4)
- September 2008 (3)
- August 2008 (13)
- July 2008 (11)
- June 2008 (5)
- May 2008 (2)
- April 2008 (8)
- March 2008 (7)
- February 2008 (4)
- January 2008 (6)
- December 2007 (4)
- November 2007 (4)
- October 2007 (5)
- September 2007 (5)
- August 2007 (3)
Monthly Archives: April 2014
After a burst of posts which for the most part reflected on the exhilaration and anxiety of jump-starting a life lived with passion, it’s about time I actually get back to living one. This post is instead a bookmark of sorts, just in case I go off the grid for an extended period of time. I will repeat (ad nauseum) that it is akin to me talking to myself and therefore at best is a manifestation of as-of-yet-undiagnosed-OCD, or at worse a cry-for-help we should’ve spotted sooner. Absolutely joking about the latter, but as for the former? …hmmmm, I’d prefer to describe it as me being organized (okay, extremely organized).
So the dust has settled, or settled enough to at least see signs, intersections, forks and off-ramps approaching as I meander toward the horizon. The latest roller-coaster of hills (mountains) and valleys (bottomless) now seems to be in the rear-view mirror and while I grumble a “good-riddance”, I thank the universe for letting me through without an incurable bout of motion sickness. Accepting that some bridges had to be burned, some potholes had to be filled, and some hitchhikers had to be dropped off, it’s back to running lean, but not mean.
But back to the “taking a break” part. Ironically, after expressing my intent to go off the grid for a bit, I may actually end up posting even more regularly… it’s just that, well, who knows? Certainly not me. And while I endeavor to get out there and live again sans the need to reminisce and opine, there is still a great joy and need for me to write- as opposed to a need to drink heavily.
Coming up in the immediate future? Besides narrowing down my upcoming grad school focus of study (from “The Meaning of Life”), there are dynamics involving family members (in or out?), a re-lay-shon-ship (yay me…er, yay us), sons’ continued growth and life-changing markers (it never ends!), my health (down 20lbs and off of all meds as of 4/12!), an upcoming get-away to the Domincan Republic, the annual great tan (I grew up when the sun was our friend) and reading tons of books (well at least six heavy ones). Then again I should add to the list a big one; writing. I guess that takes me full circle, bringing me right.back.here.
We’ve come a long way.
Please join me in a staring contest with James Taylor (he always wins)….
Moving in silent desperation, keeping an eye on the Holy Land.
A hypothetical destination, say, who is this walking man?
Well, the leaves have come to turning and the goose has gone to fly,
And bridges are for burning, so don’t you let that yearning pass you by.
Walking man, walking man walks.
Any other man stops and talks but the walking man walks.
Well the frost is on the pumpkin and the hay is in the barn.
Pappy’s come to rambling on, stumbling around drunk down on the farm.
And the walking man walks. Doesn’t know nothing at all.
Any other man stops and talks but the walking man walks on by, walk on by.
Most everybody’s got seed to sow. It ain’t always easy for a weed to grow, oh no.
So he don’t hoe the row for no one, for sure he’s always missing,
and something ain’t never quite right.
Ah, but who would want to listen to you kissing his existence good night?
Walking man walk. Walk on by my door. Well, any other man stops and talks
but not the walking man. He’s the walking man, born to walk, walk on walking man.
Well now, would he have wings to fly? Would he be free?
Golden wings against the sky, walking man, walk on by.
So long, walking man.
I had a brief return to social media this week. It was the result of a great night out with friends (almost as rare as a Phoenix blizzard for me) and the euphoria of being “out there”. So I dug out the keys in the junk drawer and restarted the engines on match.com, facebook and afroromance.com.
Ya that worked out about as well as I thought it would. I immediately unfriended my mother because she “liked” my cover photo almost as soon as I posted it. Sigh. Now lord knows I love my mother, but seriously, I could post a picture of my fingernail clippings and she’d like it. That’s what moms & dads do.
I had told her months ago that I initially left Facebook because I am repulsed by the nature of “liking” and apparent need for people to share their most droll lives believing the public truly cares what the fish fry at the Corner Tap looks like or that they are getting ready to go to the gym.
We’ve become a culture of individuals who crave attention from “friends”; the great majority who we don’t even know. It is nothing more than cheap, superficial, feel-good affirmations from the masses. This “look at me and like me” behavior encourages, inflates and then feeds the worst dynamic in human beings; ego.
[Disclaimer: As for this, my free-for-anyone-to-read journal, I find it hard to believe that my blog is being read by anyone, and if it is I would probably prefer that I rarely find out..in other words, the “comments” option on my posts is turned off, I do not have any need to be “liked”, and could not care less about maximizing SEO (Search Engine Optimization) so I can be #1 on some matrix.]
And then there are the people on Facebook who ignorantly (or intentionally) expose themselves as bigots, homophobes, or even worse, Fox News cultists. ew. There comes a point where I simply do not want to know what other people are thinking. I’d like to remain optimistic about humanity.
Anyway, I only wanted to get back on Facebook to stay connected with friends in other parts of the world and a couple of folks I know here in town. Well besides cringing over mom’s likes (Yay! Mikey did it!), I went ahead and reconnected with a local friend to see how she was doing. After exchanging pleasantries in a couple messages, I went ahead and offered to treat her for lunch sometime soon. The silence was deafening.
As an inept social misfit, I panicked. I thought my “creepy old guy” persona must have unknowingly crossed some line, and the rest, as they say, is history. Abort. Essentially, if my only contact with a group of “friends” is through Facebook (and I had “only” 17 friends there to begin with), then are they really my friends, or simply acquaintances who I was fortunate to know at one time or another? Face palm. Delete profile.
After our Saturday night on the town my guests and I were sitting around my apartment and I decided to update my match.com account from 2007 or 08. I actually paid $71 for three months (too many margaritas obviously). Ugh. So for the last 4 days I’ve had the um, pleasure, of being relatively ignored by women I find interesting (I really can’t blame ’em), and attracting those I simply do not have chemistry with. So that tells me I am being unrealistic when it comes to “romance”. For me its a no-brainer; better off shutting it down and stop wasting their time and mine. Canceled membership.
And finally, I’ve had a “lifetime membership” to Afroromance.com since about 2006. After my divorce I signed up when they had a $69 special for a lifetime membership which was cheaper than signing up for 3 months. Some eight years later, here I am still logging off and on. I have met some interesting and frankly adorable women. But as George Costanza would say; it was me, not them. After connecting with a woman last night, I lasted one email before I wrote, “sorry about the 180 but my heart just isn’t in it”. Deactivate (much like my student loans, I don’t think I can actually cancel my membership until they get my death certificate or something).
So that’s it. Like the groundhog on February 2nd, I saw my shadow and retreated. Or like Bilbo Baggins, until my next adventure I’m back in Bag End, ensconced in the side of the hill in my beloved Shire. At worst I confirmed my social ineptitude. Better off writing a manifesto in private. At best I am reading my inner compass better than I used to. If my heart isn’t in it, if it’s not telling me to move in that particular direction, I simply cannot. No matter how long or hard I bang into some walls, they will not move. I have to turn and go in a different direction; the sooner the better. Both of my marriages were indicitive of that. I banged my head into the same wall for 10 years and then again a second time, but for “only” 5 more. Now I respond much quicker to following my heart and directing my journey. But I suppose every now and then I have a need to just double check, “…to see if I still feel”…