This weekend, you closed your curtains, locked your doors, turned off the lights, and ate presweetened morning breakfast cereal, with little marshmallows! You spent $7.

I’ve been living simply. It’s time to live... larger, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Anyway, I’m living near my girl, in a shitbox studio, with only furniture and dishes and such that I didn’t pay for. An easier exit for when it’s time to depart. There is always an approaching departure time.

What’s that old axiom? Oh yeah, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

I would not have chosen the flatware I’m using. They’re black. Rather boring. And HUGE!

The bowl, for example, seems to hold twice the amount of cereal as my previous bowls. Now, I really shouldn’t be eating cereal anyway—processed poison and all that—but frankly, I really don’t care at this moment. I’m immortal. Why would I?

After yesterday, I can tell you that the bowls are large enough to finish a box of cereal in five bowls.

Now, ask how lousy I feel after consuming an entire box of cereal in one day...

I have been educating myself on addiction lately. What constitutes an addiction to, for instance, alcohol?

And I have come up with this formula: If I leave a full (or partial) bottle of whiskey (tequila, vodka) at your apartment, will it be waiting for me when I return?

I’ve learned that in many cases, this answer is no. A reasonable pre-qualifier for that next “less dramatic” girlfriend? Sure.

And, applying this algorithm, I have a “healthy relationship” with alcohol.

Cereal, on the other hand... fuck.

You said,
“Tell me where you’ve been, love.”

And I thought of all the lost roads,
and dark corners,
and heavy work,
and heartbreak,
and all of the healing.

And I just said...
“On my way here.”

Love is giving someone the power to destroy you and trusting they won’t use it.

I have been thinking a lot about life and love lately—in the shadow of so much death. I suppose we each handle death in our own ways. I suppose.

And I’ve been getting to know someone. She’s an incredible young woman. Beautiful and vibrant. Curious and sensitive. At the risk of sounding cliché, I can see the future in her eyes.

Those deep, beautiful brown eyes.

The speed with which we went from strangers to intimate was breathtaking, yet organic. It’s like we’ve always known each other, yet each yearns to learn more.

But she’s afraid. Of the cascade of emotions. And this is what breaks my heart.

We’re taught that emotions are weakness. We’re taught that we can think ourselves out of crisis.

This society has created a lot of people out there who are not capable of true love, which ruins the field for those of us who are capable of nothing else.

So, she has found someone who loves her and will take care of her. And she has withdrawn. If this is the end of the affair, I will be sad, yet without regret. She knows who I am. We are no longer strangers.

In the shadow of death, however, I fear losing her… and all of my loved ones. Losing contact.

At any moment, my light could go out. Or hers. Flame extinguished. And if we’re out of touch, how would the other know?

Imagine, the horror of discovering the one person you had to build up the courage to join, the one you want to pursue your fantasies and desires with... only to find he or she passed away a few weeks ago. Isn’t it better to experience waves of the good feelings over the bad?

We’re all going to burn out. All of us. Death is not a trend, it’s a part of life. We need to stop losing our valuable time thinking about what could happen and risk a little heartbreak. The love we gain is worth it, and we deserve to feel loved. Wanted. Desired.

Discovered today this li’l nugget written August 29 of last year.

Our paths may never cross again
Maybe my heart will never mend
But I'm glad for all the good times
Cause you've brought me so much sunshine
And love was the best it's ever been

They say that all good things must end
Loves comes and goes just like the wind
You've got your dreams to follow
But if I had the chance tomorrow
You know I'd do it all again

I wouldn't have missed it for the world
Wouldn't have missed loving you girl (ooh, ooh, ooh)
You've made my whole life worth while
With your smile
I wouldn't trade one memory
'Cause you mean too much to me (ooh, ooh, ooh)
Even though I lost you girl
I wouldn't have missed it for the world

What i'm listening to:

I Wouldn't Have Missed It...
Ronnie Milsap
There's No Gettin' Over Me

I am beginning to find solace in reading again.

Basking in my solitude, you might say. Friends come and friends go. Lovers too.

Yet, a good book can be revisited over and over. If only one could read them all...

Last year was not one for reading. On the contrary, it was one for distraction. Elation and heartbreak.

However, this year may bring a return to reading. And hopefully writing. Life creates so many ideas that I yearn to capture. Plus, if anyone can learn from my pain... my shortcomings... then, perhaps, a memoir is worth finishing. If only to save one jackass from tainting the spirit of love with his beloved...

But I digress.

Please find below, the list of books read in 2024:

1. Jar of Hearts - Jennifer Hillier
2. Setting the Table - Danny Meyer
3. Pebble in the Sky - Isaac Asimov
4. The Dead Zone - Stephen King
5. The Order of Time - Carlo Rovelli
6. The Midnight Library - Matt Haig
7. The Running Man - Stephen King
8. Marriage & How to Avoid It - Guy Blews
9. Normal People - Sally Rooney
10. Models - Mark Manson
11. The Inner Game of Tennis - Timothy Gallwey
12. Silver Canyon - Louis L’Amour
13. Post Office - Charles Bukowski
14. Existential Kink - Carolyn Elliott
15. American Dirt - Jeanine Cummins
16. The Psychology of Money - Morgan Housel
17. Thinking About Thinking with NLP - Joseph Yeager
18. The Yoga of Max’s Discontent - Karan Bajaj
19. A Reason to Live! A Reason to Die! - John Powell

Alone.

Some of the great prose out there suggests that we’re born alone and we die alone.

I used to embrace that.

Basking in my solitude.

Now?

Something’s missing.

I let a lovely young woman into my life. I no longer wanted to be alone. I no longer wanted to leave no legacy.

Yet, when I saw her yesterday, I knew. Something’s changed. She’s calm. She’s satisfied.

And I’m no longer her fantasy.

I wonder what happened? Did she meet someone new? Reconnect with someone old?

Does it even matter?

She’s so beautiful. And she was mine.

Yet, I still could never say the words. I was arrested by her presence. Each. And every. Time.

This is why I deserve to be alone.

Hours on the phone each day leave a massive void. And all of the notifications, from my favorite person, are now few and far between.

Why even have a phone at this point?

I am currently reading The Alchemist for the first time, and I want to lay these thoughts down before the events in the book play out.

In the beginning, the young shepherd is looking forward to visiting a merchant’s daughter. The infatuation with this beauty is apparent, and he’s eager to further his relationship with the beautiful young woman. I can relate, because this is the focus of his adventure so far.

His reunion with his girl is near, when he is approached by an old man. At first, he is annoyed because he doesn’t want to be bothered from his current plan for his life. Yet the old man persists, reveals himself as a king, and calls the boy to a “hero’s journey” of sorts, to find the treasure he dreams of. The shepherd sells his sheep and answers the call, sailing on a ship for northern Africa.

Now, as I am currently reading this, he has just arrived at an oasis in the desert, nearly a year after leaving Spain. He is meeting interesting people, learning fascinating lessons, and... well, living life!

He thinks occasionally of the merchant’s daughter, wonders if she remembers him, if she’s married, if he will meet another who interests him as much as she does.

And this, is my distraction. My focal point. I am reading along cheering for this reunion... although it may never happen. Because this distraction IS my life.

Last year, at this time, life was a grand adventure. I was making decent money, living life—more or less—on my own terms. I really had no cares in the world... I was even looking forward to an overseas adventure.

In April, my “distraction” came along. And how! She awakened a portion of myself I didn’t know existed. Suddenly, I want to bring this woman into my world! And she wants to go!

Yet, her life is not so willing to allow her to adventure alongside me. As we explore the possibilities, familiarity sets in, and challenges. There is a cultural gap. And a generational one. And she has a two-year-old. None of these are a reason to scrub the grand tour...

Like me, however, she is an overthinker. What will her traditional Mexican parents say? Or even think? Who will care for her little girl while we are making our way? At this point fantasies abound... we’ll bring along her young sister, who will nanny for us. We’ll explore the world for a year... or more! Eventually settling to return near my young woman’s family. Eventually.

I relate to the shepherd’s desire to see his young woman, and think about his tour whisking him away from her without even saying goodbye, because I did the opposite. Calls to adventure that warmed my soul became calls to her that warmed my loins. Yes, we got to know each other. Yes, we even fell in love. Hard.

Then everything changed. My fantasies turn into a life with her. Raising a small family and living a fantastic life. The call to explore diminishing as I am consumed by her.

Yes, I think consumed is the correct term.

A wise man once told me, and many others since, that our women want to be part of the adventure—she wants to be swept up and come along. And that is exactly what happened. This woman was all in.

What I want was not so clearly defined. So, maybe “everything changed” is not the correct expression. Two things changed for certain.

When we fell in love, I didn’t want to lose her. I wanted HER on this adventure, damn it! When circumstances dictated that I couldn’t bring her along, I changed my plans.

As such, mine is no longer the soul she fell in love with. I have refused the hero’s journey. To be with a woman.

I know my tale is not original, yet perhaps it is a tragedy that should be. Although, maybe this is what draws us in to books like The Alchemist... because although he wants his girl, he chooses himself first. And answers the call. We all know what life looks like when we simply stay home.

Will he meet her again? Will I be disappointed if/when he doesn’t? As for my life, I know she wanted me—in ways no other woman ever has. Is our story finished? Is it even important to be wanted? Will I become some enlightened sage living in a cave in the Himalayas, because I can no longer relate to those who don’t seek enlightenment? Yet, oddly can’t relate to some who find enlightenment?

I guess, this is why I write...

I’ve been writing for myself for a while now. I have notebooks everywhere. Text files in random places on old computers. Phones.

And I’ve even shared some writing, albeit quasi-anonymously, in this space, and a previous one for a long, long time. As long as Clarissa has been alive. But I digress.

It’s been for me. A way of processing what’s going on in my life. In my head. Relationships. &c.

Has it been a benefit? In some ways. Sadly, it’s also been a record of how much I DON’T change when I fail to do it with intent.

But it was me. Genuine. Authentic. Me. My personal handshake with my shadow.

Five years ago, which is revealing itself to be a significant turning point in my life, I made some new friends. A community of like-minded souls. Brothers, even. All over the world. And I am grateful for them.

It turns out we need SOME accountability when we’re being stubborn and resisting—or worse, avoiding—change. I have no regrets with forging these new alliances.

Then, one day, I became aware of the compliments. Writing style.

Ooooh. What a rush of endorphins! Validation... who knew I needed it? This is clearly an unacknowledged shadow.

Next, encouragement to write more. And to share more.

So, I’ve become quite prolific. Writing more. Sharing more. She likes it! He likes it! Everyone wants more. MoRe! MOAR!!

Wait, she... hated it? Yuk? Really??

Well, what does she know? Seriously...

The writing is fun. I enjoy it, and the thought of one day being published is appealing.

Yet, I’ve strayed. And this was pointed out to me by a friend a few nights ago.

You see, some of the writing—this piece, for example—is still for me. Not all of it, however.

When a piece excites me, I can’t wait to share it. Reactions! Validation! MOAR!!

With great insight, this friend said that I’m hiding behind my writing.

She said that I’m pretty interesting. That she wants more. In person.

She said to, “Let go.”

Have you ever had the feeling that your entire house of cards was sucked into a whirling vortex? Same, once or twice, and it is always a profound experience.

I don’t know how to let go.

Next, is the replay of “This is your life!” Have I ever let go? Absolute utter surrender? No, I think I’d remember that...

Spotlights on Amy. On Clarissa. On so many ladies in my past. They knew. They hang around to see if I ever will, as the distance between us increases. How can they believe in me? Trust me?

And it’s finally revealed WHERE I was led astray. I’ve alluded to my past fascinations with these cool characters from a childhood of watching entirely too much television.

“You must control your emotions. They will be your undoing.” This doesn’t mean what I thought it meant. It only creates more shadows. More inauthenticity. More places to hide.

Let go.

Coincidentally, I had an epiphany about anger a few weeks ago. I, and I believe many, have a tendency to suppress anger. Because misdirected anger is scary. And we are all just grown-up children. Our guidance came from two-dimensional characters on screens.

This is not the way.

This is why we need ways to channel our emotions. Not just sweep them under a rug. Martial arts. Yoga. Exercise.

Power vs. force. Wow, all of my worlds are still colliding.

Let go.

We are all flawed. Beautifully flawed.

What draws us to each other is our brokenness. Vulnerability.

Now I see the moments of true connection. With Clarissa. With Amy. So many others.

And the distance. Amy even mentioned that, as a writer, I need to message less. And edit the messages less, that I’m editing the authenticity out of the messages in my quest for “the right words.”

Profound!

Let go.

Can I?

What i'm listening to:

3:15 (Breathe)
Russ
3:15 (Breathe)

It is true that her scent has faded, so perhaps the event is merely symbolic.

Yet, today, I was sad as I washed my beard.