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but, I have the suit

There are times I have been accused of being able to see into another persons soul. Ive had people turn away from my gaze feeling it is too intense. I have been told I am an empath or super intuitive. I have had people tell me that I get them. I was told that I understand and have great insight..

So, how come with all of that in my ego bonnet, I thought I might be ready to do relationship better. I was sure I was armed with a heart and mind that could navigate connection. I carried my super powers with me and set off to find me a connection.

I have no idea how to use those super powers. I feel a little bit like The Great American Hero. I have this great suit and some really cool powers and no idea how to use them. In that 70s TV show, he tries to fly and crashes frequently and each show he learns a new thing the suit can do for him. He learns and tries and falters. 

I am that guy. I tra la la’d into the land of dating, wearing this new suit that had the capacity to be wonderful. I tried to fly and be mindful and open and crash landed. I flew crooked and waved my arms in a comical fashion. All the great tools I had and I couldn’t figure out how to use them in relationship. I tried again and again and each time, I learned new things but they never added up to much. The suit and powers never made me a super hero. No matter how much I wanted to be.

After crash after crash and tending to my wounds and bruised heart, I rested. I evaluated the suit and the tools and the powers. As I counted them and sorted and regarded, I came to realize that none of them were really me. I was trying to love from a place of façade. I was trying to fake and bluster into love. I had nothing but being honest. I had to be emotionally honest with myself before I could be with anyone else. I had to be me. 

I’m going to miss that suit, stretchy pants rule.

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Posted by on November 8, 2017 in journey, life

 

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dating is a disease be nice to catch a cold

I think I am a social leper. I’m not sure when I caught it, but I have the dating plague. I think I might have caught a virus from an internet dating site. I think I have a social disease from the lack of social interaction. I think I have broken heart disease, a spiritual malady, a brain illness. I don’t feel bad, other than lonely. I have no fever, not even a fever that needs more cowbell. Its cold inside.

Parts of my heart and soul have fallen away. I feel unwhole, like part of me is missing. I fear it wont ever come back. The leprosy has taken pieces of my heart flesh, leaving it disfigured. It is an appearance that requires getting used to. Many have looked upon it and cringed, horrified at its vulnerability.

While dating, I have become weak legged and quiet. I fear I will stumble and fall. Many point at me and titter. I am awkward and unsure. I am eager but unknowing. I don’t boast of accomplishments or strut around swinging my balls. I seek that quiet connection, I seek communication. I seek the real and whole, not the pretend and diseased. The plague has made me weak and the world seeks a hero.

Internet dating is just plan odd. It is fraught with problems, but sometimes is the only answer. It might be because it is so crowded, but the virus of insincerity has spread. The dishonesty, the desire for the fast food diet of romance, the myalgia of defeat has corroded the fabric of trying to cyber meet.

My heart is broken. And I know the only way to heal is from the inside out. First loving myself for the disfigured, weak, superficial thoughts I have.

 
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Posted by on November 5, 2017 in journey

 

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dating bites

Thinking about dating. I have dated in the past several years. I dated around for awhile and frankly had the goal of dating as many people as possible. Immediately after the divorce, all I cared about was not feeling empty anymore. I had spent time feeling like a desert on the inside. It was a wasteland in there. I had been there before. I tried to drown it with alcohol for decades. It was as if I was trying to pour an oasis into my heart and soul. IT left me more thirsty and more desolate than before. Grace reached down and led me to an actual life. I began to see the sprouts of life and feel the cool breeze. I felt the summer rain on my face. It was difficult to see, I imagine. IT was watching change. As I emerged from the cocoon, I imagine it was difficult to not rush it and also to not fear it. I began to feel the desert encroach on me again. IT was an expectation to be parched. I tried. I had tasted the rain of life and couldn’t do thirst again. That longing and lack of directional honesty led to my divorce. However, if I am going to mess up, I do it with gusto and flourish. I lost my ability to practice, my friends, family, kids, church, and self concept. I was in a whole new desert. Former friends reveled in the idea that I was miserable. They spoke awful things to me. I heard the hearts of my kids break and felt the smelt bellow from their mouths. My soul was pierced as my friend and pastor shoved me away with petty anger. There was no love in the professed Christians I had surrounded myself with.

All that to say, when I was going through the divorce and horrors associated, I needed to feel again. I was looking for a life saver in an ocean of pain. I met some woman looking for the same thing. We clung to each other for warmth and safety. But when push came to shove, Id be released to the depths like Leonardo DeCaprio in the Titanic. It was short lived, and not fulfilling. I don’t regret it and learned incredible lessons. I learned that I didn’t crave the physical intimacy near as much as I thought. I wanted more. I wanted emotional intimacy.

I dated a few women that I really thought I loved. That’s not true, I loved. I felt the bond and closeness. We shared struggles and victories. I laughed again. I felt alive. I felt loved back. IT was such a welcome relief to know that I could be loved despite being a long resident of the desert. I began to crave the sympathetic ear. I hid and changed myself so that I could still feel loved. I had no understanding of how to have a mutual relationship. I became a victim. I needed to be told how to feel, how to love, and what to say. I was afraid of being alone, so I did everything to not be, firmly securing myself in the desert once again. I craved intellectual intimacy.

I dated a few smart choices and a few calculated poor choices. I was trying to find someone that I could discuss things with. I wanted someone who understood my journey. IT was a fools errand. The reality is that no amount of knowledge ever brings full understanding of another individual. As I was trying to understand, I was manipulated and cajoled. It cost me a pricey education to learn that the brain cant love.

I craved spiritual intimacy. I tried to date people touting different spiritualities. I was told that I was an answer to prayers and that the Universe shined on us. The Universe must be fickle, it fell short. Without heart and mind, a spiritual connection is hollow.

I want complete intimacy. I want journey. I want to be cherished, loved, treasured, respected, honored, questioned, delighted. And I want to cherish, love, treasure, respect, honor, question, and delight. I want the good and bad. I want the complete package. From what I can tell, many proclaim they want the same thing, but run away when it becomes real. I have so much to offer, so much to give. I want to grow with someone, three journeys: theirs, mine, and ours, all nurtured.

I ache.

 
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Posted by on November 5, 2017 in divorce, journey

 

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memory I miss you. As I say it, a multitude of people run through my head. I can see faces frozen from moments in time that our souls touched. I feel the emotions of that moment for an instant. I can latch onto them, but it feels like grabbing a cloud. Trying to hold them makes me feel their absence even more. The people that trapse through my memory are in tiers. The first round are those I miss more acutely. I see my kids. I remember the moments of tension and separation. I see moments in time of intense love. I feel the love despite the hostility. I see the love in good times and bad. I can feel it. I long for it, and I mourn its loss. I try and grasp it and I grasp at the giggle, like trying to hold color. I see lost loves. There are distant ones and recent ones. I can feel the connections and the laughter. I can feel it all over again and I hear the voice that explains why we couldn’t stay together. The soft echo of the inner critic whispers that I will never find a lasting love. I hope it isn’t true, but part of me is resigned to capturing the fleeting moments. I see old friends. Friends that stayed, friends that left. I see a journey of friends, some for a reason, some for a season, and a few for a lifetime. I long for those moments of kindred spirit. I don’t know how to make friends like that anymore. When I was a kid, you just asked if you could play whatever game and suddenly you had a new best friend. I tried that a few times as an adult. “Hey, I see you are doing that thing you do, want to be friends?” Heck, there are internet groups that try and foster that very thing. Meetup groups all over the world beckon the adult to make friends based solely on a common activity. I’ve joined several and soon I will go to an event, perhaps. The adventure after divorce is a fascinating one. I spent a long time being deliberately single. I heard the advice that I needed to like myself. I declared I was dating myself for a while and set out to understand and enjoy myself. It worked pretty well. I could be alone without being lonely, for the most part. I came close to living with a few women. I freaked out. I liked my routine. I wanted to be with someone and I wanted to not be with someone. I didn’t know how to be with someone and not completely sacrifice and forget who I was. I wanted to not stagnate again. I wanted to continue to grow and thrive in the newness of each day. I wanted to rejoice at this new day. I just don’t know how to do that. I’ve never had it. Heck, I’ve never seen it. How do you capture a Unicorn? I miss true relationship and I’ve never had it.

 
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Posted by on April 27, 2017 in divorce, journey, Uncategorized

 

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50

I’m 50.

That is so odd to say. I frankly never thought I’d ever be 50. When my older brother turned 35, he said that was the age he thought of as old. I didn’t have a number chosen at the time, but 50 feels very old.

I’ve been sober 10 years. I have 2 kids under 20. I was married for 20 years and divorced for 4 years now. I have worn glasses for 32 years. I have friends that I have known for 35 years or more. I have been mountain biking for 28 years. I have lived in 14 different places, 10 in the last 5 years. I drink 3 or 4 cups of coffee a day.

I have been very pensive about this birthday. That isn’t really because of the number, but rather the circumstances of my life right now. I am 50, sure. But I am single. I have seen my kids sparingly over the last several years (not by my choice). I have moved, yet again, and started a new job, yet again. I don’t know many people here and am feeling pretty lonely as of late. I stumbled pretty hard 5 years ago. I was out of work, out of the house, and beat up pretty bad. I have clamored back to a stand over and over again. I have a job. I have a little cash in my pocket. I have a roof over my head and food in the fridge. Don’t get me wrong, I am so very grateful for what I do have. I just miss being part of a partnership. That ended for my 15 years ago or so. I haven’t lived in a partnership, a true dynamic relationship. Now is that because I don’t know how or it doesn’t exist? I read books and listen to experts talk and they seem to think it exists. If it doesn’t, what a cruel trick to play.

Anyways, I am alone and isolated. I am 50. I feel sad, but not because of the number.

What I do have is 10+ years of sobriety, despite the stumblings. I have Hope despite the darkness. I have had to learn to like myself and I can be alone most of the time without being lonely. I have perseverance. I trust myself now. I know that I will get back up. I know that I can survive and be content with next to nothing. I know that I can climb back up. I know that when Lady Luck grinds her heel into my chest as I lay floundering on my back, I will rise again. I know that when I am beaten and tormented I will heal. I know that I have the capacity to love unconditionally in the face of contempt and despise. I know that I crave dynamic relationship and don’t have to settle.

I am 50 and have just begun to grow, yet again

 
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Posted by on April 26, 2017 in divorce, journey, Uncategorized

 

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fascinated

It has been 5 years. 5 years since I consented to leave my house and wife. 5 years since I have had a thriving relationship with my daughters. 5 years of seeing the faces of former friends and heard the clicks of tongues. 5 years since the goal to humiliate and decimate me was paramount. 5 years since I heard the thud of hitting rock bottom.

It has been 5 years since I planted a new seed. It has been 5 years since I had to be an adult and learn to take care of myself. 5 years since I began to learn how to like myself. 5 years of learning to get back up after being knocked down. 5 years since I was given the gift of seeing who around me was really a friend. 5 years since I hit my rock bottom and bounced.

I cant believe it has been that long. It seems like such a short time ago that I was desperate to be liked. It was a short time ago that I craved intimacy on any level. It was a short time ago that I needed someone else to state my worth before I could see it.

I cant believe it has been so long. It seems like the pain should be over by now. It seems like my journey since then has been a million miles. It feels as though I have been in a sprint for the entire time. I scramble and collect. I trudge. I regroup. I stand firm and I waiver. I still hear the echoes of the clucking tongues. I feel the angst from my estranged children. I feel the thud of rock bottom.

I will trudge another day.

 
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Posted by on April 21, 2017 in journey, life

 

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sing it, Love

I do not sing. I have tried to play the piano, guitar, and sax. I have watched countless singing shows and I discovered Train before they were popular. However, my musical acumen consists only of turning on and off the stereo. It is simply not my gift. I have tried to steal it from others, or slip in the circus tent pretending I belong with the musical people. It just isn’t a match. music-1

These are the reasons I am uncertain why I have become encumbered with a certain preoccupation. I have often thought life would be much easier if we all had theme songs. Perhaps even songs that played in the background to remind us it is a scary or pivotal time in our lives. IT would be great to hear, “You are my Sunshine,” softly playing in the background when you are with someone that touches your heart and soul. Or the “Jaws” theme when you are in danger of an ass chewing at work.

I have been preoccupied with hearing peoples theme song. I think people’s soul sings a tune. I have met people that seem to exude different songs. The turmoil that comes from a soul belting out grunge music is undeniable.

I’ve always wanted to have the soul of a Jack Johnson song. It would be like someone is just comfortable and grooving. They would be answering questions about life and feeling mellow about the answers. I used to try and have the soul of a hair band. I wanted to be cool and dangerous. My soul chaffed with the leather pants and rejected the mullet hair transplants. Sadly, I was never going to be that cool. It is ok, I couldn’t tear the sleeves off my shirts or cut my jeans anyway. My mom said no.

I fit into the 80’s alternative bands for awhile. I brooded and was mysterious. My soul sang of superficial things in a deep way. It was as if my soul was stoned, thinking it had unbundled deep secrets about the universe only to discover that everyone knew that cookie dough was uncooked cookies. The techno beat clattered on.

I tried to fit into the rap scene, but I have just spent too many years trying to keep my underwear hidden. To this day when my underwear shows, I can hear my childhood friends taunting, “I see London, I see France, I see Theran’s underpants…” The baseball hat with the flat brim would also be difficult. I have spent several hours wetting, shaping, even rubber banding the brim of my hat to be perfectly suited for cool and sun protection for my peripheral vision, lest a marauding gang tries to usurp my turf, dance fighting like a Michael Jackson “Beat it” video. music-2

I decided I wanted to be really cool and decided to treat my soul to blues songs. My soul would wear a fedora, even smoke cigars. Again, my soul seemed to reject this. It got a rash and a nasty smokers cough.

There was a period of time it was the whiny boy music. I lamented all the time. I saw no hope, no future, no love. I have heard the inner music of break-up songs. I have felt alone and isolated. I have felt the insurmountable challenges. I have heard the depressing beats and the dark tunes. I have heard the motivating songs of Survivor, “Eye of the Tiger.” I have surged with power and giggled about irony. I have danced and leapt to the songs that delighted my soul. I have felt the love. I have been touched by the caring and vulnerability. I have communicated and sang the same song as the person next to me. Our souls dancing, our hearts lifted.

Sing a song for me. sing-3

 
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Posted by on January 20, 2017 in journey, life, Uncategorized

 

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