It’s time to simplify my life. Past time, actually.

I’m layered. Like an onion. I used to freelance, so I have multiple email addresses and server spaces and domains. And bank accounts. And computers.

The right tool for the right job!

My last purge, I parted with the majority of my tools. I can’t say that I’ve missed them.

I keep my old iPhones. Snapshots of a former life.

I see I’m not the only one. In fact, I’m not even that unusual! So much for my theories of being a 1% of... anything.

Taking advantage of an opportunity, I spent the last week on the road. Visiting a couple of friends I’ve known nearly longer than anyone—thirty-plus years.

Yet, in some ways, they are quite similar. They are well (enough) off. They don’t worry about the little things, and they’re always available to chat. And help. While life can always be better, theirs are pretty well set up.

Simple. Morning routines. Build a fire in the wood stove. Open the blinds to the outdoors. Sit and read and gaze upon the wondrous views. A dog at his feet. Maybe a quick breakfast. Maybe a quick workout.

Not a lot of chaos. Not a lot of drama.

Maybe I have found some of that in my life. Some days, I don’t have sufficient reason to get out of bed... is that a cause for concern? Am I healing from something? Do I need to find something to do?

Write, perhaps? Get thoughts down on the page and out of my own madding mind?

Today has been relaxing. I have a candle lit. I’m enjoying my second cup of English Breakfast with a dab of my mom’s honey in it. I’m set to pick up some fresh tamales for lunch after an appointment. And I work a shift tonight. And for now, I’m writing about the similarities in these friends.

Perhaps, I’ll save the differences for another time...

Another thing of note, is these friends enjoy a scarcity of women.

Not that they don’t both enjoy women, when the opportunity arises (pun accidental).

Women are not their life’s work. Who am I kidding? Are they mine?

Each interaction is easier. I no longer chase. I let her come to me.

I’d like to think I’m learning to recognize when she’s no longer into me. When it’s time to detach and slip quietly into the night. Yet I fear I’m not learning not to fall all over again, should she return.

We humans are complicated beings.

One of these friends chooses not to get too friendly with the women. In some ways, they are a potential detriment to his life and lifestyle. What nonsense has society created?

I am grateful to be able to enjoy... all of the women. As butterflies, if need be.

The other has had his fair share of relationships. He is better than I at ending them when they no longer make sense—not to say that he doesn’t endure his fair share of hurt in that process as well.

He’s found a good one. She genuinely adores and respects him, even when she’s angry at him. And she found him. No chase.

And she has her life together. He doesn’t have to play roles or fill needs beyond the relationship. They simply ENJOY each other. Isn’t that glorious?

All of the adoration in the world won’t fix a young woman. Whether she’s striving to keep food on the table. Or addicted to alcohol. Or drugs. Or attention from all of those potential digital suitors. Or that damned social media doom-scroll.

It can, I suppose, if she genuinely adores and respects her suitor. And can see herself in the lifestyle he represents. Like so many things, that requires doing the work. Every. Day.

Hell, I can’t even convince myself to do the work. Every. Day.

But I am today. One step up.

Eliminate the complexities. Enjoy what little life remains. Simplify.

What i'm listening to:

If You Love Somebody...
Sting
The Dream of the Blue Turtles

A hard pill to swallow… sometimes the woman you want doesn’t even deserve you. Period.

Desire blinds men. It makes you ignore patterns and romanticize potential. You want her because she’s attractive, exciting, familiar… but wanting someone doesn’t make them worthy of you.

A woman deserves you when she brings peace, respect, effort, loyalty, consistency. Not just looks and vibes. If she drains you, confuses you, disrespects you, or keeps you anxious… she’s not a prize. She’s a lesson.

Men lose years trying to “earn” a woman who wouldn’t even qualify to be their wife. The most dangerous woman is the one you want badly, but can’t build with because she keeps you stuck.

The moment you accept “I want her” isn’t enough, your standards come back to life.

Sometimes the woman you want isn’t your blessing. She’s your test. And the correct answer is walk away.

Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
And you could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

What i'm listening to:

Hurt
Johnny Cash
IV

... if she hasn‘t kicked you out of her streaming services?

If a woman can ignore you, you mean nothing to her.

People don’t ignore what they value. They protect it. They respond to it. They make time for it.

Silence isn’t confusion. It’s a decision. She saw it. She weighed it. She dismissed it.

Interest doesn’t move slow. It moves clean. Even a busy woman answers a man she respects.

Men love to romanticize delays. “She’s scared.” “She’s healing.” “She’s just busy.” No. She’s just not invested.

When a woman likes you, she can’t ignore you without feeling it. Ignoring you would itch. So she responds.

If she ignores you comfortably, you’re not a priority. You’re a placeholder. A notification she’ll answer when she’s bored.

And here’s the killer… every extra text you send doesn’t raise attraction. It lowers your value.

Chasing a woman who ignores you is training her to disrespect you. You’re teaching her that your attention is free.

If she can ignore you, she already ranked you. Believe the ranking. Withdraw access. Replace her. Next.

I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life. To put to rout all that was not life; and not, when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived. — Thoreau

Oh, mom.

I don’t know why it has taken me two years to write this. But it has.

You made everyone’s life around you better. Maybe that’s where I get it from. Life, dedicated to service. Except... you were not necessarily a “people pleaser,” which, unfortunately, is what I have become.

In my case, you couldn’t stand to see me struggle. For better, or worse. How could you have known?

All I do is struggle. More so, since you’ve been gone.

I remember your tales of growing up. Growing up poor. Wanting.

This, you never wanted for me. Want. In many ways, I had everything. In many ways, I have lived. In many ways, I am satisfied.

Yet, the human brain is not wired for satisfaction. We are insatiable. Every one of us.

And, sadly, in protecting me from this world, I did not want for much. In some ways, I still don’t.

I learned to live within my means... even if I became lazy. Yes, lazy. Because I quell my ambition to live within my means, rather than expanding my means to live well. I know your intentions were the best, I just never knew what I never knew. I didn’t learn the lessons. Perhaps life was too easy.

This week, I’ve taken comfort in the fact that I can no longer disappoint my parents.

My behavior is still disappointing, they are just no longer here to witness it.

Sadly, there are serious side effects to be taken care of well into adulthood—aside from the laziness.

I have an extraordinarily guilty conscience. No matter how much I’ll shout from the rooftops that guilt and shame are worthless emotions, I harbor colossal amounts of both. Somehow, I live with these every day.

Never having to struggle has made me naïve. Naïveté could be a superpower. Seriously. I don’t know what I don’t know.

Did I really learn how to balance a checkbook? Especially when money “magically” appeared any time I was overdrawn? I don’t know how to live like an adult. Budget for new things. Create a better life. Live outside of the bedroom.

I’ve watched numerous relationships—with great girls—slip through my fingers like sand... because I was not the one. Each one of these girls deserve better.

Did they find better? A handful did.

It’s a bittersweet blessing to see Ashley thriving. She’s with a good man who provides for her and their children. There is so much love surrounding them. In some ways, I am envious of the glimpses I see of their lives. In others, I am grateful that her and I didn’t work out. I could not have given her the life she has now. I don’t know where to begin!

Today, that wound is gaping. I want to give that life to someone. Anyone. Whether it’s my current young lady, or a future one. Yet, how can I, knowing that each one deserves better? Knowing I cannot provide a rich life?

No one is coming to save me. I understand that. However, that is no way to motivate someone—at least someone like me.

Oh, I wish I knew how to balance life and finances and working. I wish I had real skills to make real money without relying on trends. And smoke and mirrors.

As they say: Wish in one hand and shit in the other... see which one fills up first.

You gave me the best. I know I disappointed you when I only learned how to squander what I was given.

The only lesson I learned was: Life is all about figuring out what one can get away with.

What kind of mindset is that? Is there a limit to what we can get away with? No wonder I resonate with the grifters of this world. And less with those who actually build rewarding lives... while I enjoy rolling around in bed for three days at a time with my love.

Yeah, it’s fun. But neither of us can survive for very long, if that’s the best that I can offer her!

I saw something about ruining one’s life yesterday:

Most people don’t ruin their lives — they slowly delay fixing obvious problems. You can stay busy for years and still move nowhere.

On Christmas day, Clarissa expressed concerns with ruining my life. Her and I are so alike. My life was ruined before we met. It’s why I pull back. She deserves better. No?

Where is my drive to become better? If it exists, it’s anemic enough to make me question if I really want her in my life. Or anyone, for that matter. Hailing back to that question, “Would you date you?” Is there more to life than eating and shitting and sleeping and fucking?

Do I take a step to make my life—our lives—better? Or do I play Robin Hood, and “borrow” from one account to satisfy another? When did I lose my faith?

So, I am aware of where I have gone wrong... what, now, is the next step? Will I have to hit rock bottom, like an addict, to discover a life worth living—and possibly not survive that fall? Or can I find the impulse to take that leap of faith? To share my “gifts” with the world—whatever these may be? Or maybe there is that elusive third option... rebuilding my life now so that it gradually gets better, one step at a time?

Now that I don’t have to be perfect, I can be good. And make my 8-year-old self proud. And his mama.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you, mom, for all you did. I am sorry that I didn’t learn much, for wasting so much, and for all of the disappointments.

I’ve recently experienced a resurgence in my writing. Why? Well, I think I have a lot to get out of my system.

So, where does it go? Here. Only here. Forget the audience. For now, anyway.

I have a friend who is urging me to share the writing to the socials profiles.

Haha. No.

For starters, I haven’t been writing regularly for some time now. As such, my writing, to be honest, isn’t very good. And I appear to be using a lot of commas. Necessary? Perhaps.

As I write, the nuggets of gold will begin to appear. Those? May be worth sharing.

Yet, social media is largely a cesspool. Am I really compelled to add to it?

Currently, my curmudgeonly writing will only affirm how much most content stinks. Mentally, I’m off. Once again, I find myself in a life I didn’t necessarily want. I don’t believe anymore. I’m not good for anyone else. Hell, I’m not good for myself right now.

Is writing therapeutic? Maybe. Putting it in a place where none of it is ever lost? Less so, I think. There’s nothing like those reminders that one hasn’t learned a damn thing in the last twenty years... in spite of floating in and out of awareness of my weaknesses—and possible strengths.

At least now I’ve known love. And she has known love. She’s properly groomed... for the next one.

Do I really feel that way? Isn’t past behavior the best predictor of future behavior?

No, for now I will not contribute to the stench that is the Facebook.

I used to be funny. I’ll continue to post small attempts at that.

Then again... maybe I am looking at this invitation to share all wrong.

Okay, my writing is not at a caliber to share with the greater world. What do I need to do to improve that? Perhaps that is the challenge I am facing.

Life. Oh, life. I stubbornly resist nudging life in a direction where I might actually thrive. Excel. Again, I don’t believe. The evidence suggests that only a handful of people actually live a life that they want. Look around!

Failure is common. Struggle is common. Colossally bad decisions... are common.

Find my edge is the advice. Keep pushing my edge. No is a gift!

No. No is the standard. No no longer affects me, and hasn’t for as long as I can remember.

Yes, on the other hand, is unbelievable when I hear it. You must be mistaken.

This. This is why I don’t believe in sales. Nor affirmations. Nor love. Nor forever. Nor success. In my house of no, I have no frame of reference.

“I am exactly where I belong,” the gurus say. No, I cannot believe my writing will achieve anything. Look back in this space. Take a tequila shot for every emo post. Meanwhile, I’ll be in the out. Surely there is a ditch to dig.

Now that this is out of my system... I’ll look at life again. Fresh perspective. What have I learned? What is worth sharing? Can an old curmudgeon... believe?

What i'm listening to:

Hurt
Johnny Cash
IV

Every nonchalant guy was once a lover boy.

Soft heart. Open chest. Full faith.

He didn’t start cold.

He was made cold. By experience. By patterns. By reality.

He loved deeply. Gave fully. Showed consistency, patience, presence. And learned a brutal lesson.

Affection isn’t rewarded. Intensity isn’t respected. Availability isn’t valued. It’s priced.

The more he gave, the less he was taken seriously. The more he tried, the more leverage he lost.

That’s when the illusion shattered: Attraction isn’t moral. It’s not fair. It’s not kind. It’s responsive to power and boundaries.

So he adjusted. Not out of bitterness. Out of pattern recognition.

He stopped explaining. Stopped chasing clarity. Stopped bleeding emotions on demand.

Now he moves calm. Detached. Unbothered. Not because he doesn’t feel, but because he learned the cost of feeling loudly.

What looks like “nonchalant” is actually discipline. Self-preservation. Emotional intelligence forged under pressure.

He didn’t become heartless. He became selective.

And here’s the irony: This version of him? The one who withholds? The one who doesn’t chase? That’s the one they respect.

Men aren’t born distant. They’re trained by outcomes. Nonchalance isn’t apathy. It’s wisdom with scars. And it always starts with a lover boy who learned the truth the hard way.

It’s time for my annual ritual of recounting the tomes I read over the past year.

I find I am still doubting the... usefulness... of keeping track, except it has proven useful in looking up recollections, bookmarks, and random snaps of pages that appear in “on this day” posts on the socials.

And I am disturbed, as I reread some books that I recall having a “profound” impact on me... that I don’t remember the book. At. All.

Like how can it have an effect on me when every word appears brand new. Am I really getting something new out of the text? When everything is... new?

I am also reading less fiction. And I’m finding books that I start and don’t finish. It used to feel uncomfortable to quit something I began, yet now it feels like I’m wasting what time I have left. Progress? Maybe.

1. The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho
2. The Courage to Be Disliked - Fumitake Koga and Ichiro Kishimi
3. The Mountain Is You - Brianna Wiest
4. Later - Stephen King
5. Thinking in Systems - Donella Meadows
6. The Angel’s Game - Carlos Ruiz Zafón
7. The Tall Stranger - Louis L’amour
8. Silent Power - Stuart Wilde
9. Meeting the Shadow - Connie Zweig & Jeremiah Abrams
10. The Spy Who Loved Me - Ian Fleming
11. The Art of War - Sun Tzu
12. The Alabaster Girl - Zan Perrion
13. Get Inside Her - Marni Kinrys
14. Differentiate or Die - Jack Trout
15. Codependent No More - Melody Beattie
16. A Drinking Life - Pete Hamill
17. South of No North - Charles Bukowski
18. The Wisdom of Insecurity - Alan Watts
19. The Art of Being Alone - Renuka Gavrani
20. Penpreneur - Scott P. Scheper
21. Radical Honesty - Brad Blanton