Faith, Fear, and the Lumpy Rug

Grief is rarely how you'd expect it to be. There are people and situations I've lost, and the sense of loss has never been proportional to how I assume it ought to be.

When I left Jen, the night I said I was not prepared to work on the relationship and drove out away from the house, I knew I had done something irreversible. I knew I had hurt Jen, and I guess somewhere deep down I knew that there would be difficult emotions for me to handle. The grief wasn't just for the end of a relationship, it was for the lost potential in that relationship, and for the sadness that all I felt in that moment was sad, empty, and deceitful.

I cried. I wailed. I thumped the steering wheel. I got to the end of the street and I made myself stop. I had to. And I had to stop because I had to make a telephone call.

The call I made was to Amy. I had met Amy that February, and we clicked instantly. We saw each other a couple of times a week in the time between me moving out of Jen's house and the night I really, finally, left. 

Perhaps the reason I felt so anguished when I left Jen's was that I hadn't been honest with her, not even close, about my relationship with Amy; and on some level I think I knew that, as much as I wanted to want Amy, what I really wanted was to leave a situation I thought was unbearable.

Being accepted by someone for who you are, and for whoever you might become, is to experience faith first-hand. The peace of being in the presence of someone who trusts you is something that places us in a state of grace. Whether we betray that trust, watch it slowly erode, or even come to question it, when the trust goes, we fall. And in the falling we fear that we might never land, that we'll never feel that warmth and comfort of being somebody's someone again.

But it's just fear.

It's the same fear that shuts down communication, that makes us not say the things we feel might be too terrible for our loved ones to hear. It's the fear that makes us sweep honesty under the rug and say that everything is okay, until walking across the living room requires crampons, an ice ax, and a belay line.

But it's just fear.

In the last two years I have come to learn something about fear: you can beat it like a rug, but not if the rug is covering painful truths. Because the moment you lift the rug, you have to explain the things you've been hiding under it.

I have grieved for a lot of things in the last few years, but there's finally a separation I don't have to mourn: the separation from fear. Honesty doesn't scare me anymore. Emotional intimacy doesn't scare me anymore. Failure and rejection don't scare me. Your response to who I am doesn't scare me.

I am not afraid.

It started as a suspicion of a whisper, but now the voice is undeniable. I am not afraid.

I am not afraid, and I will not mourn the person I became. I will step through my life with caution and confidence. I will guard against his return. I will lift the rugs.

Because I am not afraid.

Cartoon pianos.

You see, this is what happens when I fall into a relationship and feel happy: I stopped blogging entirely, stopped the self-therapizing, and the self-analysis, and then...well I suppose you can figure that out, at least by the time you stop reading this post.

In January 2011, I dedicated myself to avoiding romantic relationships because I, it seems, can't manage them effectively. That lasted for a little while. And by little while I mean almost a month.

After some delightfully funny and awkward conversation, I invited a wonderful woman named Kirsten to get some dinner with me. Not a date. I was adamant about that. She was amused by it. As February turned into March, and spring to summer, we fell in love. It was cute. Our friends approved of our choices, and if they didn't, they kept that well hidden (and presumably still do).

In June I lost my job and, by August we'd decided that it wouldn't be the end of the world if we managed our combined expenses by only having one rent, one set of utilities, to pay. And in the last week of September we moved in together.

This is where the sad music starts playing.

After a camping trip that took my mind off my wedding anniversary, even for a moment, we returned to find my notification of the date of my divorce hearing. That date was October 21st. So I was stuck in a depression through till my birthday in November. And then the weather turned and the usual flurries of memories blew through my brain every few days. They weren't debilitating, but they brought with them the sadness they always bring.

That kind of sadness is hard to hide when you share a house with someone, especially when it's someone you love and who loves and cares for you.

While all of this was going on, I was applying for college and financial aid, which is hard for people who know what they're doing and understand the process. For everyone who doesn't work in financial aid and admissions, it's almost impossible the first time you go through it. It's also frustrating. And when you add that to depression, it's not a good mix.

By the time the new year rolled around, there were some cracks in my relationship with Kirsten, a week later the cracks were getting hard to step over. A week later the relationship was over. I'll go into the whys in future blogs. But for those curious about where the blame falls, it falls on me. Like a cartoon piano.

Could Less Really Be More?

I never understood it before, what happens when you lose your sex drive and your partner doesn't.

This is new to me, the feeling that sex is just not worth the effort. I don't understand it at all. And it's not just sex with my current partner, it's any kind of sex with anyone. It just seems like such a waste of energy and time.

Am I depressed? Probably. Do these feelings feel valid anyway? Definitely.

I am finally really understanding how being connected to someone, sharing a bed with them, sharing details of your day, and thinking about the future, has an intimacy all of its own that can be as fulfilling as sex.

Recently, I haven't been feeling excited about the future. I've been feeling pretty disconnected from everything a lot of the time.

Last year I ended a relationship when I felt this way. This year I'm not going to. I remember that these feelings passed and I felt better after a couple of months. So I'm seeing if I can ride it out. Maybe in a month I'll feel different. Maybe I'll feel the same. How does love survive this? What if this is my new "normal?" Those are scary thoughts, and I don't have any answers. 

Everyone's a Gymnast.

Relationships the second time around are harder. People don't talk about that. They talk about how it's easier because you've learned so much from the first time around.

What they don't talk about is that being respectful of your old relationship, and fully present in your new one, means that you don't get to just keep going the way you were. The private jokes and secret language you develop with a person...when they're not *your* person anymore it seems to me that it's not right, somehow, to share those jokes and that language. Some of it, sure, but you don't get to share it all. And then there's the fact that in sharing those things with your new partner, you're not developing new private jokes with them, not creating a secret language that belongs just to you and your new partner. And that's unfair, too.

So you have to work harder to keep the balance. And nobody tells you about that.

And then there's the guilt. The guilt over what happened, the guilt that the person I have become could have handled my marriage better, the guilt that who I was didn't really give the best of who I could be. And new guilt, too, that every minute I spend with my head in the past is a minute that I'm not really in the present.

It's about balance, all of it. Some days it's an easy enough beam to walk, others I slice my feet open on the finely honed edge of my own shame.

But it's the only path from here to there.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

...but be prepared to bleed.

Okay, it's late, I know, but it's sometimes hard for me to go to sleep while I still have thoughts in my head. Here's tonight's:

You know what one of the best, most womderful things about being a human is? Well, for me it's music. Whether it's noodling around trying to make tuneful noises, atonally "singing" along to it in the car, or soaking myself in the memories that the music stirs up, the beauty of handfuls of notes and carefully chosen words resonates with me in a way that is more than just superficial enjoyment.

As humans, one of the things that music makes better, more intense, deeper, is love. We attach memories to the songs and before you know it, you and your best beloved have dozens of songs that you can call your own. Jen and I put almost 90 of them onto CDs for our wedding. In the seven years that followed, we added  another 150. Some songs that didn't make it onto the CDs carry more emotional weight than some that made the cut. Some from before and after that decade have their own stories, some never will.

Here are five that, from the first time I heard them, found their way into a playlist -- not in my brain, probably not even in my heart, but somewhere deeper, much more permanent than either of those places. Each of them is capable, at any time, of making me feel sadness, hope, regret, shame, loss, nostalgia, that I am loved, that I am loving, like the best or worst versions of me that I could ever be. And as I listen to these clips to put them into this blog, I find that I'm expressing these things in the most universal way our species has to express all of these things at once: tears. I knew I would, but I guess I need to.

It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart.




It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.




I ache to remember all the violent, sweet, perfect words that you said.





Part of you pours out of me in these lines from time to time.





If you're lost you can look, and you will find me.





Goodnight, people. It's waaaay past my bedtime. But I feel better to have these thoughts out of my head.

EpictetusFAIL!

TED: Dougal, you know you can praise God with sleep?
DOUGAL: Can you, Ted?
TED: Yes. It's a way of thanking him for a tiring day.
DOUGAL: God, there's lots of ways you can praise God, isn't there, Ted? Like that time you told me to praise him by, you know, just leaving the room.
TED: That was a good one, yes.

-- Father Ted, Channel 4

I know my blog is called staticandstillness (which I may explain one day) but right now I'd like to take a little time to muse on the nature of sacred and silliness.

Early last year I was hanging out with a crowd of people who were all about our collective connnectedness to the earth and the universe, and how we could channel the infinite energy around us if we simply allowed ourselves to learn how. I have no gripes with that as a way to live your life if you accept some personal responsibility to actually take action instead of passively waiting for the universe to deliver. This group liked to observe a certain degree of ceremony, and that's mostly where I got bored and tired of them. On one occasion I was told that from the ceremony until the fire we should keep "sacred space." Apparently that meant "no laughing." And, for me, laughter is one of the most sacred things we have.

I wonder sometimes, how I will be remembered after I die, and I'm often sad to think that I'll be remembered as quite a serious person. Not that it's bad to be serious, but I wish that I could drop my guard more, enough to be totally, uninhibitedly silly -- because that's what I usually feel inside.

There are, or have been, a few people in my life who allow themselves to exist in the moments of laughter, not to get to the next laugh or outsmart the last one, but to exist right there where the laughter is and, invariably, more laughter comes.

I find myself tearing up almost every time I write this blog. Sometimes for things I've lost, other times for things I have never had -- and sometimes for things I never had but can imagine vividly in my head what it must be like, or things I've had, though the details are now only a frustrating itch in my memory.

Tonight it's memories of a crazy night of bowling, of playing Cranium and drinking Jamesons, of Terry performing "I'm Five" to a full table, or bouncing in the choir on Sunday morning, of Caroline rushing the stage to forget the words once she had the mic, of the children of friends unleashing Lady GaGa on Rock Band, and of a seven year old boy taking the stage as the lead in his elementary school play.

What happened along the way that made me so concerned with not being seen as silly?

Jeremy Piven has probably the best line in the movie "Serendipity." Though he has the best lines in most everything he's in, this is among my favorites:

Do you remember the philosopher Epictetus? You remember what he said? He said, "If you want to improve, be content to be thought foolish and stupid." That's what you've done.

And while the quote isn't literal, it's close enough to accurate to make me ask: why am I not content to be thought foolish and stupid? Why do I have to be the guy with the answers, the thought-out, snarky comment? Why do I insist on being Groucho when I could be Harpo?

Lately I'm closer to letting go of the things that keep me tethered to worthless inhibitions, the fears that don't serve me at all.



In the meantime here's the Gigolo Aunts from the Dumb and Dumber soundtrack. A stupid movie about foolish dreamers.

And the sacred moments of silliness are where I find my Heaven.

Goodnight, 2010...

The last month of 2009 cast a long shadow over 2010. Darker and sharply defined in the early part of the year, it grew fainter as the months went by. And sure, there were times when the sunlight broke through, but too many of the days were spent in cold darkness.

There have been times in 2010 when I have been surprised at the kindness of people who owed me absolutely nothing, and who deserved better from me. I have been ashamed of myself, in love with love, proud of my achievements, delighted by children, made new friends, said goodbye to others, wept with joy and sadness, sometimes at the same time. I have longed to be able to turn the clock back, or spin it forward just to not feel, for a second, the almost unbearable loneliness and sorrow of being human. But I've also experienced moments of unbelievable beauty, I've learned things the hard way, and I've found that no matter how wretched I might feel inside, there are people who love me in spite of my failings, and people who don't care that I fail, only that I try, and that I pick myself up when I don't succeed.

And now, as the clock runs out on 2010, and I'm reminded that God's favorite joke is when we pray and tell Him what we're going to do in the future, I think that 2011 can be full of light, color, warmth...that something extraordinary, something magical, is around the corner.



And maybe next year *will* be better than the last.

To everyone who has allowed me to share in their year, or has shared my 2010, I love you.

Dunc.x.

I wake up strange.

December 13th 2000 was a rainy morning in Newcastle. I remember it well because I spent a chunk of that time in the airport, waiting for a plane to land. I was waiting to see a woman I had spent four months talking with online, on the phone; had spent hours, both waking and sleeping, thinking about; who I would propose to a year later, then marry, betray, disappoint, and ultimately leave.
But sitting in the cab, on the way home, everything was possible, everything was hopeful.

When Jen left, on the 18th, we had stayed up all night, packing and talking. We went in one of those photo booths at the airport, and we were both horrified at how pale and tired we looked, though why we were suprised by that I don't understand. She flew back to Atlanta through Amsterdam, where some of her luggage went missing and was never found.

During that visit, Jen had a disk of MP3s -- the complete Barenaked Ladies up to that point (including Stunt.) I took my Christmas decorations down when she left -- I'd done my celebrating.

Here's BNL performing "What a Good Boy" a couple of months before Steven Page (singing) left the band.



"I wake up scared, I wake up strange. I wake up wondering if anything in my life is ever gonna change. I wake up scared, I wake up strange, and everything around me stays the same..."

Ten years later, I've been listening to Steven Page's first solo album since he left Barenaked Ladies last year -- it's really pretty good. And today I put up some Christmas lights. There's a feeling that things have come full circle -- that some kind of cycle has been completed. And that actually feels good, and even right.

And here's Steven performing Over Joy:



"Where did we fail? It's not simple, there's no trail. We can't trace our steps and sail back where we started. You're not to blame, and it's nothing you can name -- we'll just hang our heads in shame: broken hearted."

December 18th is also another anniversary. In 2002, I was hired into Starbucks. I wonder what happened today that will turn out to be significant. What patterns or cycles did I begin, or end?

It's 4am on Sunday right now. In six hours Jen's mother and her church choir will perform their annual Christmas program. I haven't missed it since I've been here. I won't be at tomorrow's performance. I've talked about Terry before, last year:

"For Terry's (Jen's mother) birthday we compiled a book of memories of friends and relatives, talking about good memories of the lady and what they like best about her. It was a fun thing to compile. People recall the strangest things. It was a little bitter-sweet for her to read, because things that just were what they were all those years ago, viewed with hindsight take on more meaning. The abused childhood friend who remembers hiding from pretend monsters, the long-time friend who remembers Terry's insistently compassionate response when the friend was suddenly widowed, the niece who is so proud to share her name.
My mother-in-law is an amazing lady, who doesn't just touch people's hearts and lives, she hugs them, holds them close, and does it all without asking for anything in return."

She's still that lady, even through the trials of the last year, and I am honored that she and Ray make time to keep up to date with me. They have been amazing through everything that happened with me and Jen, and I'm hoping that 2011 will be a little less stressful than 2010 has been.

Last year, in the middle of the Christmas program, I went out to the bathroom because I needed to pull myself together. I'm not one for saying with certainty that one god is more valid or more real than another, that one faith is a greater truth than another. But standing in the church, watching a couple of hundred people singing together, feeling a completeness that I had never felt, I suddenly realized that they had something I didn't, and they were happy. And I desperately wanted to be happy, and I didn't know how to do that. I stood in the bathroom and cried for a few minutes. Then I washed my face and went back in and enjoyed the rest of the service, but the feeling of being incomplete never left me -- not until pretty recently.

I'm happy now. There have been times this year when I haven't been. There have been times when I thought my happiness would be guaranteed if this happened, or that happened. But now I know that happiness has to be now, it can't depend on some future condition.

It's a week till Christmas, I am loved, I have a great family, and wonderful friends -- and when I think about 2011, I'm pretty sure that the world will find ways to surprise and delight me.

It's an old wound, but it opened in a new way.

Tonight I experienced a few moments of self-discovery. Not the psycho-therapy breakthrough kind of self-discovery. Not figuring out who I am. No, this is far more painful. It's the kind of self-discovery where you figure out who you were. What your life was like.

Almost seven years ago, in early December 2003, the Sci-Fi network aired a two episode mini-series, an updating of a 1970s science fiction classic, which had ridden the coat tails of Star Wars to the small screen. Battlestar Galactica was well received and, ten months later, the mini-series became an hour-long show on Sci-Fi.

I was working at Starbucks (yeah, I know) at the time, and Jen caught up on the mini-series just as the regular show was beginning. It took  a month for her to convince me that it was worth my time (which I recall being a song and dance I put her through several times., and I have no idea why I was such a jerk about new things.) But when she did, it became one of *our* shows. One of the things that we changed schedules for. I recall us sitting on the floor of our bedroom at Centennial Trace with warm crusty bread, about five kinds of gourmet cheeses and salami, some grapes and a bottle of wine...getting ready to watch the premiere of the third season. It was a big deal to us. It was something that we talked endlessly about, what did this mean, or what would happen next, or how will that change this or that relationship.

I left before the last season of BSG aired. I don't think Jen even watched the end of it. I did. I had to. It was just something I had to do...see out the end of the thing that was ours.

But how does that relate to self-discovery?

Most of my memories of the last decade are "me and Jen" memories. Going through some hard-drive maintenance on some old hard-drives this evening, I found some old photos of Jen, me, family gatherings, vacations...nothing spectacular...but memories. Little things. In order to place what was happening in our lives, I read some of our old blog posts, remembered some of the wonderful times we had together. And I realized that those memories, like BSG, are in the past. For me and Jen, it's unlikely that there'll be any new memories like the bread and cheese. I won't have any new memories of me and Jen swimming across the cove at Lake Burton, or making fun of award shows together.

If I'd found the photos three months ago, it would probably have devastated me, tonight it was a sharp ache and an hour or two of sadness.

There are a few TV shows that we'd watch start-to-finish in chronological order from time to time -- Buffy, Angel, Coupling, Father Ted, Millenium, Dead Like Me...I've decided to re-watch BSG this winter. Not because I'm pining for some past that's gone, but because remembering the old days doesn't have to bring sadness. Maybe before the fleet gets to Earth I'll find my own way home -- wherever that is -- too.

This is my favorite poem, it's by Christina Rossetti, and it's called "Remember."

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Sure, it's about the wanting your partner to be happy after your death, not the sadness I have felt for the last six months. But tonight it feels okay to remember and be sad.

Celestial Navigation

So the Daily Source job has been put on hold. Work is getting really busy, so I'm pretty sure I won't have time to give 15 hours a week to my volunteer activities.

But when one door closes, another opens, they say. I went to visit Jen's grandmother last Friday. Sue and her husband, Chuck, live on the shore of beautiful Lake Burton in north Georgia. While I was there, Sue had been asked to look over a newsletter produced by Rabun Youth, a local organization supporting after-school care. Since Sue had just had cataract surgery I suggested I might take a look. I also volunteered to look it over on an on-going basis. There may be something more formal coming out of that, so we'll see.

I haven't been much in the mood for writing this last week or so, but hopefully that's something I'll get back to with a little more regularity soon enough.

The Leonid meteor shower takes place tonight and tomorrow night so if you can get outside and look at the sky in the wee small hours, if you get good darkness, uninterrupted by city lights, you should see 40-or-so shooting stars every hour. Jen and I used to try to get out and watch -- this was mostly when we made a point of doing things like that, and before the axis of our world shifted. I remember very distinctly the Leonids of 2003 -- we went out to Lithonia (I think that was where it was, but I'd never been to that part of the city before) and watched them for an hour or two before daybreak.

If you get a chance, make the effort. It's a wonderful thing to do.

Not sure how things are progressing with my list of things I want to do this year, so I'll take a peek at that next week and see how much I still need to do to have an acceptable November.  :)

In the meantime...





...thank you, Steven Page, for describing my 2010 so precisely.

As captain of this band of merry sailors I'm a black mark I'm a failure
So before you watch me drown
I'm relinquishing command for something I don't understand,
this man's about to turn his whole life upside down

I set a course for a new shore
It looked the same as the one before
And I forgot what I'd been sailing for
And why I thought this time would be different

I do most of this by feel and let go of the wheel the constellations
Do the navigation on their own.
Whilst yearning for adventure, dreading censure in absentia
I would rather be at sea than be alone

I set a course for a new shore
It looked the same as the one before
And I forgot what I'd been sailing for
And why I thought this time would be different

Off the charts we drew
They said there wasn't anything but fairy tales
I told them it was you, I told them you were everything a fairy tale could be

The boat sails by
Oooo-The shore remains and so do I
I swear this time will be different

I settled here on a new shore
My lips were blue and my legs were sore
And I forget if I was pushed or I jumped overboard
And after all this time, what's the difference?

Time to start saying yes, man.

"I thought that if I said "yes" to things and got involved with people, sooner or later they'd find out I'm not enough. I didn't think I had anything to share -- and now I think that what I have to share is pretty huge." -- Jim Carrey, "Yes Man"

It's been quite a week. Aside from the fact that I'm now 36, I've made some resolutions, made some choices, which seem to have had a sling-shot effect on my life.

If you're waiting for the next salacious installment of my marriage story...stop. I'm not going to publish it. Jen and I got married, my self-esteem went down the crapper, and I had two affairs. That's not the whole story, but it's enough for right now. I am responsible for choosing to leave rather than stay and fight for our relationship. I blew it up, because I didn't know how to stand up for myself when it mattered, and I didn't know how to stand up for my marriage when it was the only thing that mattered. 

I'm not that person now. Maybe we'll talk about that in the future.

But first this:

"I have to speculate that God Himself did make us into corresponding shapes like puzzle pieces..."

Do I think that over the last ten years the trajectory of my life was altered by some things that seemed small, even trivial, at the time? Yes I do. 

Do I think that I will ever experience the kind of closeness that I shared with Jen in that time? I'm not so sure.

Does that make me sad? More than I can say.

Am I hopeful for my future, whatever that looks like, without any expectations? Yes. I think so.

Do I think Jen and I have a chance in the future? I do. But...it's one of an infinite number of futures. She has a life, a whole social life that I have nothing to do with, a private life that I have even less knowledge of -- and that's okay. Good, even. I still miss a lot of who we were, but what I've been doing isn't healthy. I've been doing the equivalent of carrying a football with me everywhere I go, just in case I run into Joe Namath (ref for my US readers) or Geoff Hurst (for my UK readers.) 

I've discovered a few things about myself this week, and...well...it's time to change. It's time for me to start living for me. Trying to be the person I think Jen might be able to be with if she looks my way in the future isn't sane. Being the person I am, even if that means that any possible future with Jen goes away...that's who I have to be. Because the only person I can guarantee I'll be with in the future is me.

Work looks like it's about to get busy on the kind of scale I haven't seen in...well, over a decade -- since the early days of Business Controls at Northern, when a 30 hour weekend was the norm. I'll write more about this when things are confirmed, but for now...just know that exciting times lie ahead.

I wanted to do some volunteer work, and signed up for an online news organization, staffed by volunteers, called The Daily Source. On Friday I got an email offering me the position of Front Page Editor. So I'm going to be doing that 15 hours a week for the next seven months.

I'm making a list of things that I find genuinely scary so that I can start conquering that stuff. Life is to be lived, after all. I'm not about to jump out of a plane, but I think it's about time I got over my embarrassment and fear of singing in public. Maybe even dancing. And my fear of roller coasters, or going to events where I don't really know anyone.

So, thirty-six. You will be the best year yet. And if you're not, I'll only have myself to blame for it.

New year resolutions.

So happy birthday to me, as I bid adieu to the complete and utter awfulness that was my thirty-sixth year. It was a bad time, more or less from start to end, and now it's time for something better.

For my thirty-seventh year, I am making some demands of myself. These will require my time. So as far as I'm concerned, my time is up for grabs. I intend to spend it doing the things I find rewarding, and with the people who support me and hold me accountable.

Basically, what I'm saying is that it's my party, my life, my rules. Those are the rules I'll be playing by, and I'm going to be spending my time with people who want to help me achieve my goals - and you may find yourself on the outside looking in if you don't like my rules, or can't get on board and give me your no-BS-support, even when that support is telling me I'm making a huge mistake but it's my mistake to make.

So my resolutions, because January 1st is kind of arbitrary and is much less meaningful to me than my birthday are...

• I will learn Spanish
• I will start or join a band
• I will reclaim my week and not waste time
• I will be awesome in my job
• I will write more
• I will run a half-marathon
• I will participate in the Warrior Dash
• I will start some kind of self-defense classes
• I will see more live performances
• I will stop making abortive half-assed attempts at "moving on"
• I will love fiercely, honestly, and with openness and vulnerability
• I will do one thing I am afraid of every month (sorry Eleanor, that's all I can promise)
• I will join a volunteer program
• I will read one book each month
• I will medicate if I need to
• I will get some kind of education
• I will be the guy you can rely on
• I will cycle to work one day each week (weather permitting, in 2011)
• I will file for divorce
• I will learn enough CSS to get by

It's time to get busy living or die trying.

And sure, there are things I'd like to acquire, like a dog and a new place to live, but those things have dependencies I have no control over. So I can't put them on the list.

So this is my check-list. It will be the basis of a lot of my future updates. So...who's with me?

Addenda:
I will learn to shave with the straight razor Lyndsey gave me for my birthday.  :)
I will find out what I need to do to qualify to run in the NYC marathon in 2011, since I have been challenged to that, too.

My list of fears so far:

1. Rollercoasters
2. Singing in public
3. Dancing in general
4. Going to an event where I don't know anyone, and actually enjoying myself
5. Heights (like glass elevators in the outside of buildings, or tall buildings in general)

Bullet with butterfly wings.

A couple of weeks ago I was shopping. I pulled into the parking lot of the store and, while I was crossing the road to the front door, an SUV pulled up with two 20-something women in it. The one on the passenger side jumped out and an empty plastic water bottle spilled out with her.

She turned and looked down at it as she slammed the door, and watched it bounce off her foot and under the car. She walked around the front of the car as I proceeded to walk around the back.

As luck would have it, the water bottle had enough momentum to roll completely under the car as I approached the driver's door, so I picked it up and tapped on the window. The woman rolled her window down and I said "Excuse me, I think your friend dropped this," and handed the bottle to her. She looked confused. I smirked and walked away.

The lesson is that littering is disgusting. The people who casually litter and complain about larger crime problems should look at themselves as the beginning of the issue, not the victim. A lack of civic pride is the flap of the butterfly's wings that, years later, turns a prospering neighborhood into the ghetto, and erodes people's sense of responsibility.

Pick up your litter.

My turn to decide.

That voice in our head, we all have it. Some of you out there in the world are good at telling it to shut the hell up.  I never was.

Truth is that for most of my life I've allowed that voice to make me doubt, second guess, and undermine myself. It's the voice that would whisper that things weren't good enough, that my best wasn't enough, and that falling short was okay, so long as I had a joke to fall back on. Weird that the voice never showed up to tell me that things were great, only that my failure was not only predictable, but inevitable.

Not anymore.

Don't ask me how, and it's taken a long time, but I've found a way to quiet the voice.  I sleep better. I care about things that matter, and much less about what doesn't, and I'm better at making that distinction.

So, this song is for that voice. You might remember Sara Barielles from a couple of years ago, and her song, Love Song. This is one of the more interesting music videos I've seen in a while, and not just because Sara is so striking.



The years of letting a crazy man who looks like me take the controls are over. If I want to take charge of my life again, I have to begin by telling the voice that I'm not even listening anymore. Then I have to remember how to make choices, now that I'm making them for myself for the first time in a long time.

On the next thrilling episode...

No, I haven't written it yet.

Part of the problem is I started to think about the period from Christmas 2002 to Christmas 2006, and I remembered a lot of things. A lot of things.

Stuff that I had shut away, stuff that I've buried, told lies about, adjusted the facts to fit my intended narrative of my past. And that has to change, and that means putting everything down on here. And that is going to be painful, and has me paralyzed.

What I haven't done, yet, is mention the things that happened in mine and Jen's marriage that fueled the self-destruction. This is going to look like a lot of finger pointing, particularly at Jen, but it's really me attempting to explain some of the things that happened which affected my state of mind, and which fed into my decision making. Which was poor sometime.

For example, the first argument we had after I arrived in the US, Jen picked up the phone to talk to her dad. That looked, to me, like she was calling for support to prove me wrong.

I haven't mentioned that before we got married, Jen went out to lunch with an ex-boyfriend, and he tried to kiss her. She told him that wouldn't be happening, nor would she be leaving me, which is the other thing he suggested.

One of the first arguments we had after we were married was because I had no idea how to use the bank, or medical services, in the US. It's different. It was hard to get a job without a degree (and how I feel about the "need" for a degree in jobs is another post for another time.) And so I was jobless, unable to do much of anything without needing directions, dependent on someone else for my livelihood for the first time since I left home.

I haven't mentioned that in 2001, Jen was working at Horsetown, and we had an argument about something stupid. It was the first real argument we'd had, and we'd been on the phone. Jen wasn't feeling good -- she had a cold, and had been suffering for days. When she hung up she said she was going to work -- I called her work later, when she should have been on break -- to apologize, because I'd been wrong about whatever it was we disagreed on -- but I was told that she'd called out for her shift because she was sick.

She never told me where she'd been, never told me later that she had felt too sick and decided to stay home. I never asked, too scared to lose what we had. But what I do know is that, deep down, this affected me from then on, until I brought it up to Jen in late 2006. By which time, I had damaged our marriage in ways that I am still trying to forgive myself for. I am sure that there was nothing untoward going on, but the nagging feeling that Jen hadn't been straight with me fed into a downward spiral for my self esteem -- and from there, it was easy to make choices that weren't very loving.

So...next time we go back to me talking about the things I did that destroyed the marriage. It's not going to be pretty, it may actually destroy any chance of a continuing friendship I have with Jen, and she may never trust me again. Or maybe, knowing everything, finally, the foundation of a real trust can be put down.

What you should know is that you're going to get an abridged version, not entirely sanitized, but definitely abridged. Jen is going to get the full story, and that's probably okay.

Ten years to no time at all.

This shouldn't be easy -- if it were, how would I know whether or not to take it seriously? Some days this is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I may not show it that often, but I can't stand not being with you. How would I know how important that is to me if I didn't have to keep making the choice between either feeling like this and not having you with me, or not feeling like this and not having it matter so much that you're not here? I *want* it to matter, love. And it does, it matters very much. If that means I have to deal with these feelings and a few thousand miles of geography, so be it. Bring it on--I'm not scared. If these thoughts, these emotions, are what they seem to be, it won't make any difference. No, that's not true, it does make a difference, but in a good way.

Jen wrote this to me on November 23rd, 2000.

The distance is a different kind now. The subject is different, but the words are appropriate for how I feel -- I couldn't write about how I feel now with any more clarity and earnestness.

To leave nothing unsaid... Part I

So I've been looking through my blog, after a friend pointed something out, and I see that they're right: I don't talk about why Jen and I broke up. I'm going to explain it, as fully as I can in this space, and I may get some things at the wrong time -- my memory isn't so good anymore. It may take several days, but it's not like you're not curious...and to make it easier for you, let's add a soundtrack.

To begin at the beginning...



Summer 2000.
After Caroline and I broke up and she had moved out, I went minimalist. Stopped sleeping in bed, slept on a bed roll on the floor. I canceled my cable subscription and spent my evenings reading instead. Or online. I got to wondering who I wanted to talk to, and Jen was one of the names that came up. I searched ICQ to see if I could find her, and on August 14th, she got back in touch with me. And so began the love of my life.

Christmas 2000.
Jen visited me a week or so before Christmas. I took my decorations down when she went home. I have too many amazing memories of that time to write here, and it crushes me every time I think of that first week together.

I wish there were words I could use that would explain how unexpectedly, wonderfully, completely in love with Jen I was. And before any of you jump on that past tense usage, I'm referring to a period in the past, so it's staying past tense.

May 2001.
Jen visited again -- we went to visit the town where I went to high school, took a tour of Warkworth Castle, and we caught the last bus to Newcastle -- except the last bus didn't go all the way to Newcastle and we ended up having to get a cab. We laughed while we waited for the cab - hugging each other in the cold northern England air.



Fall 2001.
From her visit in August until my trip to Atlanta for Christmas (when I proposed), Jen and I had a relationship that consisted of phone calls around 6am, noon, 5pm, 10pm, and midnight-ish. We talked online and emailed, too. And I failed. I missed having someone in my life all the time, and I found someone. And it shouldn't have happened -- and honestly, nothing more intimate than a couple of dates and some kissing actually did happen. But that was enough, that's when I began my first double life.

Spring 2002.
While visiting me, Jen found out about the other woman. I knew I had let her down, and I hated myself for it. And after a long conversation, Jen said that she'd stay. I don't think I ever accepted that she actually forgave me for this, that she trusted me.

On May 30th we finally filed our immigration papers, with a wedding planned for October 5th. We worried that we might not get me there in time, but I assured Jen I'd be there on her birthday. My interview was August 7th, and I landed in Atlanta in the early afternoon of August 9th, Jen's birthday. And I felt that finally my body was where my heart had been for a long time.

Fall 2002.
They wouldn't give me a work permit when I arrived, so I had to send more paperwork to get one. That delayed me getting a job. We lived in a 650 sq. ft duplex apartment three miles from where I sit right now. It was a hard adjustment to make, fitting both of us into that space. But we did it. Jen was working two jobs -- one retail job at Horsetown, and one that was a weekend nightshift tech support job, but she was soon quit Horsetown for OuterBounds (OBT) when she was offered a job in her technology field. She worked the nightshift job and at OBT for probably a month before it became too stressful -- for both of us. And then we got married at Jen's grandmother's house at Lake Burton. I have never been so scared, or felt so loved in my whole life. I was marrying the woman I loved more than anything, and we were going to have a great and exciting life.




Winter 2002.
I got a work permit on November 23rd, and job at Starbucks a week before Christmas, just as a barista, and just until I could find a job doing something more meaningful. I'd end up getting promoted by spring 2003, and put into management training by by the time we'd been married for a year. But we'll talk about that next time.

We'll leave it here, my first Christmas living in America. I was part of a wonderful family who loved me. I had a wife who I adored, and who was so proud of me for getting a job. I have some ideas how things went wrong, and I'm to blame for a lot of them.

I may add pictures if I find some, so you may want to check back later.  :)

Part II, which will cover things up to Christmas 2006 is unlikely to be out before the weekend, but should be up soon.

Clarifications and commitments

It's possible that readers of yesterday's post would get the idea that I felt somehow entitled to something at Bradley's party:

"In any case, I didn't feel very welcome at the birthday party of a child I'd spent days and weeks babysitting as an infant, and for whose fourth birthday I had made time to help with projects at Jen's house so that he could have a great birthday party."

I really didn't mean it to sound like I have a ledger that I use to measure whether I'm deserving of things. Honestly, I only wanted to demonstrate how involved in Bradley's life I had been and that my presence at his party was for him and his mom. I love the little guy and I have a lot of great memories of hanging out with him.

On reflection, I think that the thing that hurt me most about the party was the looks, almost confused, but also awkward and uncomprehending. Looks that asked "what are you doing here, you're not married to her anymore."

But I wasn't there because of Jen. I was there because of Bradley.

I had a tough time today, too. I know that Jen has friends -- who used to be our friends -- who are angry at me, and rightly so. I hope that one day they give me a chance to apologize, and to explain my mental state, and how I perceived the emotional health of my marriage when I walked out on Jen, and turned my back on them. I'm pretty sure that many of them think it was an easy decision for me to leave Jen. It wasn't, it was the hardest thing I've ever done, and it hurts all the more because I know it was the wrong thing to do.

It's hard now because, looking back, most of the times Jen and I spent together -- we had magic. I miss that magic. And I'm scared. Scared I'll never have that magic with anyone else. Scared I'll find it with someone who's not Jen. I'm scared that by the time I'm the kind of person Jen can trust, she'll be too invested in another relationship to consider one with me. And that paralyzes me and panics me into a sense of urgency at the same time, and I want to make sure she knows how I feel, which I imagine is very tiring for her.

So I am making some commitments to myself -- and to you if you're reading this.

I have committed to being the kind of guy I can trust.
I have committed to being the kind of guy anyone  can trust.
I recognize that there's a difference between being a nice guy and being a good guy.
I have committed to myself to show you that person and to not hide my feelings.
I'm committing to being honest and vulnerable, and that means not walking out when my assumptions get challenged and my own poor judgement is called out.
I am committing to make fewer poor decisions, which includes making time for myself.

Pancakes or waffles?

I love pancakes. I love waffles, too, but I really love pancakes. The ingredients are basically the same, but waffles are more complicated to make. Why do I mention this? Well, because I used to be a waffle. I had a ton of little compartments just ready to hide things. I want to be a pancake - simple, honest, uncomplicated.

Today I was invited to my nephew, Bradley's, birthday party. He's just turned four.

When I got to Jen's house, which is where the party was being held, Jen, her sister Kate, their parents, Jen's boyfriend, Brett, and Jen's friend, Meg, were already there.

So I helped out with preparations as best I could, and asked for direction so that the things I was doing were the things that the hosts felt were the most important.

But something felt...off. Have you ever walked into a room and felt like everybody was moving the furniture to get around you? Keeping a distance that was no so much "healthy" as it was "the maximum that the room allowed?" That's how I felt. Like I'd walked into a room where the conversation prior to my entrance had been a critique of who I am, or something I did, and now everyone was behaving awkwardly. Or maybe it was me.

In any case, I didn't feel very welcome at the birthday party of a child I'd spent days and weeks babysitting as an infant, and for whose fourth birthday I had made time to help with projects at Jen's house so that he could have a great birthday party. I felt alien. Out of place. So I went to do an errand.

Don't misunderstand me, I'm sure it's not easy for anyone to figure out how to treat the guy who walked out on his life, those very same family members that were gathered at the celebration; nor can it be easy to figure out how to treat the guy who abandoned your best friend, or the guy who insists he is in love with your girlfriend.

In fact, when it comes down to it, why would you invite someone to such an intimate family event when you've really only known this guy, the one worth knowing, for four months?

When I got back from my errand, things were easier. I talked to someone about the situation and got some perspective -- some of it is in the text above.

I understand all of that.

But.

It still hurts. To feel like an outsider in your own family -- and I do still consider all of Jen's family to be my family.  Honestly, that separation is probably not a new feeling. Old Duncan felt that way a few times, usually when I was hiding something and felt completely undeserving of the love that these amazing people were showing me. Wow, apparently I have some guilt to work through around this.
But they did love me -- I think that they still do, but I think that it's hard for them to know how to behave around me.

I did bad things. A lot of them. It's been hard, trying to find a way to forgive myself for them, but I'm working on it. And that job is much harder every time I'm reminded that I'm a stranger to them. A different Duncan to the one they knew. And that's good, but I'm impatient because I want them to know the new Duncan.

So I think that I should start there, just being patient, just being the Duncan that is.  Finding a way to be a pancake.

Joshua Radin - Brand New Day

Some days, it's just time for a song and not much else.