Supertramp, "Goodbye Stranger"

It was early morning yesterday
I was up before the dawn
And I really have enjoyed my stay
But I must be moving on

Writing Your Resilience podcast

I'm on this! Check it out! A big thanks to Lisa Cooper Ellison for allowing me to talk about my story.

With Jack in Mendo, 2015

 

Maizie, 2015, Mendocino

 

A friend on my FB wall in 2015

I just wanted to tell you - probably all you writers know this but I didn't really realize how much guts it takes to put yourself out there by writing about yourself and your life. When I read the stuff you write about yourself and problems you've struggled through in the past or the things you're wrestling with in the present, it makes me think that, not only is it incredibly brave to put that out there for others to read, but it's so cool because it inspires a sort of mousy person like me to do the same. I guess most of us are carrying around a bunch of baggage, but the willingness to confront it and do so with humor and honesty, it makes me realize we're all struggling with some shit, and the world would be a better place if we could just come out and say it. So.. yeah, carry on! And thanks for being so brave to write about yourself so honestly and to let us look into your life.

Sonoma Square, 2018

 

Today

James typifies the kind of dude I might meet at home: software engineer, too stressed out by his job, too tired to go out and find hobbies. Except he did. He was into ballroom dancing back in Cupertino. Then he chucked it all and moved here to teach. He’s doing it in a totally different way than me, though. He’s getting his Teaching English as a Foreign Language certificate, spending three months in a program. I hadn’t had the money to do that, true, but it was something else as well. I was so used to sneaking in the back door that I couldn’t imagine using the front entrance. Nothing I did was the right way.

Bite inhibition

So I didn’t grow up with Passover. Our first year together, the first time I met your family, we were standing in a playground when you told me you were going to Jew me up. I didn’t want to be Jewed up. I was okay with shrugging as I dipped the parsley into saltwater, grimacing at its sullenness. What I thought I didn’t want, for the record, was the child who bled out of me in copious amounts while we just continued to laugh and fuck our way through Southern California. 

This year Passover sucked. You said it was the worst you’d ever had. Bite inhibition, for the uninitiated, is the ability for an animal to control his or her mouthing. It holds back. You didn’t. Tonight I thought about that child. Old enough to drive, graduate, vote. I thought about what we could say to one another but don’t. That, too, is bite inhibition.

Today's writing

Lying to my father is like breathing. It’s just that easy. I learned long ago that you had to deceive the man if you were going to get by with him in control. Simple, really: just take the right thing to say and twist it to the inverse. I’ve never even thought to wish it were different. It’s just the way I’ve always known it to be. 

“Well, that’s the thing. The job isn’t even available until July. It’s –"

The look in his eyes tells me I don’t need to say another word. I’ve completely lost his interest. The only thing he wants to know is that I’m not going to go to him with my hand out. In a sense, I can’t blame him. I’m coming up hard on 30 years old. I still go to him for help. It’s not all that often and when I do I’m appropriately miserable at myself, but the point is that I should be able to stand independently. I don’t feel that way because he tells me to. I feel it because I don’t want to rely on him. Honestly, I don’t want to rely on anyone. But he’s the last person in the solar system I’d want to rely on. 

He can be an evil, ugly man. He has a mind like a steel cage and he shoves every bit of potential material in there for use at a later date. There is nothing my father can’t remember, nothing that he won’t press into my face, yell into my ears, beat over my head to make a point. And that point is always and forever: 

YOU. ARE. WORTH. NOTHING. 

So why bother? Why meet him here? Why sit with him in this cheap pile of crap known as a restaurant and choke down mediocre pizza? Why come to London in the first place? 

Hope. That nasty little four-letter word. 

He’s a deceptive little fucker, Hope. Leads you down a pretty garden path only to kick you squarely, flatly, in the ass.

Adam's wedding vows

Yesterday was our 17th wedding anniversary. Today I found Adam's vows in my Facebook memories:

Allison:

Today we pledge our lives towards a future that is larger than each of us. I go into this future excited and more than a little nervous.

First and foremost, I promise to always be your best friend, through all that life may hand to us. I will support you when you need it, whether you ask for it or not. I will accept your support when I need it, whether I ask for it or not.

I will always hold myself to the standard of being your best friend, as everything else follows from that. I will share everything with you, every day of my life and be eager for you to share your life for me. I will support your goals for yourself and for us as a married couple. I will laugh with you, cry with you, and dance with you. I will strive to improve myself as a person so that we may grow stronger every day and every year.

Allison, you have been my best friend for as long as I’ve known you and will work every day, through joy and sorrow, to strengthen our friendship; which is our strongest bond.

Lately

 

Today's writing

“The conference should be something,” my father said, then laughed. “But I can’t really tell you what.” 

It was a running joke between us, but it wasn’t really a joke. His security clearance was so high that he wasn’t allowed to tell us the majority of what he did – besides the umbrella theme of GPS – so we never knew exactly how he earned his money. We only knew that he did, and that we were subject to his whims and wills because of it. 

Still, I felt a dash of pride. “You’ve really built a career for yourself,” I said. “That’s awesome.” “Yes,” he said, and dark clouds passed over his eyes. “and you haven’t.”