July 2006

July 31st, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You're not going to understand what I'm going to share with you. Maybe when you're older or maybe...maybe not until after I'm long gone. And maybe you'll read these words and truly see the depth of feeling I put into them.

You may not remember but I entered your life as a psychologist and as a teacher. It was "supposed" to be a temporary arrangement. I helped your mom out with you and she helped me out with rent. I don't think anyone imagined we'd still be living together a year later, much less six. And now that I've realized we've reached that halfway point, that moment in time when you have six more years before you're off to college or what have you, I find myself feeling like this whole life thing goes way too damn fast.

Those nights I sat on your bed asking you if it was really what you wanted, those were some pretty serious evenings. At six or seven years old you didn't quite understand all the ramifications of our decision--and if you remember I wanted it to be something we decided together--but I know someday, especially after you have children of your own, you'll look back in wonder and you might even think I was one crazy fuck to do that.

How do I put this politely?

You were a challenge (understatement). And your mom too (uh-huh). And if that weren't all stressful enough there was all the time and energy I had to put into the endevour. Oh, and the money, the money! And though you are far too young to understand I lost many a relationship due to ours; more than one woman who thought it was oh so sweet and wonderful that a bachelor would give his life to a little girl would later realize what I'd made clear from day one, that because I gave my life to you that means I put you, not me or my happiness, first.

I think you're worth that.

Now I'm sure there are times you'd say I'm full of it. We've gotten into some pretty heated arguments and we don't always agree and it's hard with me being the adult and you being the kid but we were born when we were born, what can be done? The truth is, though, I want you to grow up an intelligent and emotionally balanced woman. I know it often seems like all I do is push and push and push and I'm just this critical old fart but the truth is every choice and decision I make is made because I am doing my very best to raise you to be the happiest and most successful adult and human being you can be.

I do my best. That's all I ask of you. And so I teach...

I try to teach you the lessons my parents taught me...and I do my damnest to teach you the lessons they neglected to share. I can't keep you from being heart broken or having your best friend steal your boyfriend but I can teach you to cope with your feelings and respond proactively to situations in a way I never had the skills to do. I can share with you insights, wisdom, and hopefully the strength to stand up and make the right choices when it's most important.

I want to teach you the importance of living consciously, living fully, and living with integrity.

There will be hard times ahead of us but we will do our best. You will become a teenager and though you don't admit to it you're already becoming attracted to them icky boys. You're going to experience the highs and lows of your new emotions and your going to push for more autonomy--and I'm going to teach you that autonomy comes with responsibility. And you're going to hate that because that's not what your friend's are taught and boy do you hate it when they their freedom comes without the need to demonstrate adequate maturity. So we're going to argue and we're going to challenge each other and then one day you're going to leave the house and strike it out on your own. Like me you will make some pretty stupid choices and like me you will learn from them.

Through all of this I will always be here for you to listen, to teach, and to help.

All my love,

July 30th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

We must have spent at least an hour sitting on the balcony. I don't recall having a watch or looking at the time but I do remember smoking a whole pack of cigarettes and going inside to grab a second one. It was night and I was either shaking from the cold or shaking from my emotions or shaking from the nicoteen. And you sat there quietly taking everything in.

Up to that point I had no experience with a conversation like that. In fact, that moment was a watershed for me. You could say you were my first. Sure, I'd stood up for myself in the past but I always came back like a defeated puppy. For some reason I stood up to you, I stood up to you and I said you could either get your shit together or I would have nothing to do with you.

I was confused and didn't know what to do wth you. I'd had a small crush on you for years but our paths had crossed only a few times. Then suddenly there you were wanting to be in my life. Sometimes you'd call me on the phone, sometimes you wanted to go out to coffee, and then there was that night where you showed up at my house late in the am hours. My roomate knocked on my door quietly and said, "Hey, there's a girl at the front door who wants you." Confused I went to the door and found you there fairly tipsy and instead of talking you literally jumped towards me, starting kissing and pawing me and shocked, I tried to get you to sit and talk but you didn't want to talk. This happened on at least two occassions, one of which you came into my room, pushed me onto my bed, started to undress, and as soon as I expressed interest in communicating with you, i.e. having an interpersonal connection, you freaked out and ran out of my room, out of the house, and I didn't hear back from you for a day or two.

I didn't understand. One minute you acted like you needed a friend, the next you were drunk and allowing some strange old man at a bar fondle your breasts. You were unlike anyone I'd ever known. You hated the things you did but you seemed incapable or unwilling to change. You seemed to cherish the fact that I was sincere but at the same time you took complete advantage of my vulnerabilities. One minute you were calm and thoughtful, the next minute you were a complete slut, and the next you acted afraid of everything and everyone, and you were always, always lying to me and everyone else I knew.

And so you drank. And you drank. My god, did you drink...

Up until that point in life I would have simply tried and tried and tried to work through things and find a place where we could meet halfway...and to be quite honest I never had many friends so the idea of giving one up, even one as screwed up as you were, was something that scared the hell out of me.

Now that some time has passed I've had many (arguably far too many) opportunities to perfect this skill; I now have a clear idea about what kind of behavior I'll put up with and what's crossing the line. I've had to make that choice with at least one alcoholic, a few drug abusers, many habitual liars, people with emotional disorders, and some who were simly manipulative and untrustworthy. It's never been easy but I find myself more adept at knowing when I need to reinforce my boundaries and walk away. Fortunately I've learned to do this without screaming, lashing out, and smoking a carton in an afternoon.

I don't ever want to do it again, though. I feel too old to continue to stand up for myself and say I'm not okay with being lied to, I'm not okay with being slandered, I'm not okay being used sexually, I'm not okay with you driving drunk. There's so much more I'd rather do with my life and now that I've learned to suck the marrow from it I have no time for people like you.

I know that's harsh but that's how it is.

And then I look back and I wonder. Of all the people I've had these conversations with you were the only one that sat there silently. You didn't argue with me. You didn't try to defend yourself. You just sat there and took it. Did you hate yourself? Were you afraid I'd do something stupid (i.e. of the terminal variety) if you said the wrong thing? Were you hoping I'd run out of energy to vent then forgive you? What was going on in that head of yours?

I don't know but I do know I must have hit home hard as the next time we saw each other, weeks if not months later, your stare was as cold as the night we--I shouted at you.

I'm not sorry for the things I said, you had no right to involve other human beings in your life until you had your head on straight. At the same time I look back and see how harsh I was and why. I was new to the process of giving someone the boot. I overcompensated because I felt too weak to simply say I was done because deep down I knew if I didn't blow up and make you never want to be around me again I'd be your lap dog a week later begging for friendship, hoping you'd magically kick the bottle, and so on and so forth.

I'll be the first to admit I was pretty fucked up too.

So I'm sorry you had to be the first. I hope my words, however harsh, have been a catalyst for you to build a ladder out of your miseries. You deserve every happiness. I believed that back then and I believe it now.

I hope you've learned to believe that too.

July 29th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I didn't quite understand. You see, I always stood up for you. When your daughter overreacted to you I stood up for you and I said it could be this or it could be that and we should be understanding and compassionate and communicate with you--fuck, I did this for years!!! I welcomed you into my home! I helped you move (twice!). I celebrated birthday's and Christmas's with you. I gave you my trust, my time, and my energy!

And for what?

There must have been a month or two where I was just angry. I have to be honest, it blew my mind that you were so oblivious to all the thoughtful things I'd done for you over the years. I could see how I was in a position to be the perfect scapegoat but goddamn, I never did anything to you but ask you to be a good role model for one little girl.

I honestly don't care what you think. You know why? Because you don't seem to understand that it's simply not acceptable for an adult to engage a nine year old in illegal activities. As a parent I won't accept such rediculous bullcrap however you might choose to rationalize it. I don't care if you're someone she just met or a blood relation, such behavior is not in her best interests and won't be tolerated.

We can both say we love her but loving a child is not giving them everything they want--that notion is not supported by your or my experience nor by science.

They both cried their eyes out that morning. Do you remember the one, the morning you called and lied to them both? My little girl kept asking why you couldn't respect simple boundaries and all we could say was we didn't know (and we don't as we don't have that problem with other adults). We did not slander you because the truth is, we don't know why you can't respect simple boundaries because it's goddamn simple: don't let her run off in public places unsupervised, don't engage in illegal activities with her, and (damnit) don't tell her it's okay to fabricate stories to tell her parents!

I'm glad you've found relative happiness with someone but that doesn't give you the right to negatively impact a child's life. I don't care if you slander and libel me until the cows come home but screw with a child's emotional well being and you're going to deal with me (and trust me, you haven't had a chance to *really* deal with me). The truth is you fucked up. You fucked up with your daughter and you didn't learn from those mistakes and you tried to make the same short-sighted mistakes with my daughter and the fact is I'm not going to stand for it. Negatively impact my life? Fine, whatever. I've given up money, freedom, relationships, and much, much more just so this little girl can grow up physically, emotionally, and psychologically healthy. I'll give up much more for her if need be.

What have you given up for her lately?

The door's still open. It's time to stop rationalizing, it's time to stop being a coward and grow up. The door has always been here. It's your choice to knock on it.

July 28th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You came from a very different time than me.  The world was in a war for survival.  American knew the strength of humility and hard work.  And when people gave you their word it meant something.

I didn't understand that when you were alive.  You were just someone I could count on, whose smile and laughter could make my day, and who I thought was almost superhuman.  Sure, I always had this inkling that you liked my cousin better (now that I'm older I just see you both had a closer relationship because you saw each other every day) and there was one time where you spanked me without provocation (a memory that has always upset me), yet of all the memories I have of you those are the only two that aren't positive.

This summer Vipassana and I are taking a long motorcycle trip.  It's going to take us about a week throughout Oregon and parts of Northern California.  We're going to stop a few places where you'd taken me when I was five, out there in the Redwood Forest.  I'm going to see if I can find the place we stayed in the motor home, you know, the place with the little souvenir shop made out of a huge boat.  I think I know where it is because I went onto Google Earth and started glancing through the satellite photos north of Eureka and saw a place that looked like it had a boat on the ground in a parking lot and I thought, "That must be it!"  So I'm going to go there again after about thirty years and enjoy all the wonderful times you and I had together.

I come from a very different time than you.  The world is in a war of ideology.  America knows the ease of fast food and remote controls.  And when people break their word they're offended when being called on it.

I don't know if this is what you fought for but I thank you for fighting for me. 

July 27th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

One:

You introduced me and excited me with images of huge creatures that once roamed the earth. You taught me the importance of patience and compassion through understanding.

Two:

You allowed me to experience the miracle of birth--yeah, they were chickens, but it was dang cool.

Three:

You expected a lot out of me and helped me challenge myself to do my best.

Four:

You read all my short stories and helped me make that private little school newspaper. You also showed me that stir fry is easy with a little patience and the right (fresh) vegetables.

Five:

You made the bullies do push ups...okay, maybe that just made them tougher!

Six:

Papa Smurf, Santa Claus, whoever you are, you were the archetype of the old, caring, grandfather figure who always had enough time to listen and care and accept everyone.

July 26th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I think I've come a long way. You might not necessarily agree. Hell, you probably don't care (to put it politely). Once upon a time you looked down on me (albeit politely). You never said you disapproved of me but you know, I'm not exactly an idiot. The fact that you never said, "Hey, hello, good to see you again, how are you doing?" sorta clued me in.

For years I loathed you. You were the epitome of everyone that had put on a straight face while I was around but was otherwise unsupportive. It didn't help that you were popular, talented, doing something exciting with your life while I-well, I was just learning to survive day to day. And worst of all I can't get away from you. Hell, last time I heard your name was in an interview on Oregon Public Radio and it ruined my whole afternoon.

Of course I know I ruined my whole afternoon by making you something that you weren't, that you aren't. The truth is you could have really undermined some of the most important relationships in my life but to my knowledge you never did. Sure, you never exactly welcomed me with open arms but you are really nothing but a scapegoat, one that I hated for years and one of the few I still unconsciously choose to hold onto.

Oddly enough I think that's actually a good thing. You see, the fact that I get so upset when I hear your name on the radio or see your face while I'm walking through a store after years and years and years have passed-that tells Aslynn that sure, he's come a long way but he still has a hell of a ways to go. You're not in my life but you're not exactly someone I can hide from and as such the wounds that come to the surface when your name is mentioned aren't something I can play the ostrich to.

Thanks. I think.

July 25th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

Sometimes I feel like the only strength I have available to me is the power of terrorism. I don't want to be a terrorist, though, I just want to wake up in the morning, take my shower, take the little girl to camp, go to work, learn something new, contribute to the world, socialize with my co-workers, come home, get some things done, have dinner, socialize, tie up the loose ends, meditate, and fall asleep. I want to just live and let live.

Somedays that's impossible, isn't it?

It's no wonder I close the shades and lock the doors sometimes (flashback to 7/23/6). So when the incoming attacks become frequent and seemingly inexaustible I dig a reasonably deep fox hole, put on my helmet, and hunker down for a spell. Sure, part of me wants to pull out the big guns and launch an offensive but to what end?

Cleaning the house you've bombed makes no goddamn sense to me.

P.S. Just for the suits that work at Homeland "Security" this has been, like, a metaphore. And that there was, like, a simily.

July 24th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I couldn't believe how negative you were. There you were, first time I met you, walking in the room, critisizing my clothes, the pictures on my wall, my music collection. I was shocked. I hadn't asked for your critique. It seemed my only transgression was that I happened to coexist in the same physical space and I sure as hell wasn't about to apologize to you for that!

On some level I felt superior to you. Hell, everyone I knew did in some way, shape, or form. You were nit-picky, gossipy, hypersensitive, and emotonally unpredictable. And yet as I look back I find that I was in no way superior; I too, had my emotional handicaps and in many respects my part in our lives was much more detrimental than your insensitive commentaries. And it wasn't until tonight that I've come to understand my part in things and see them in a whole new way.

I made you the enemy. I sought you out instead of taking responsibility for my behavior and as a result of that made you hated. I then abandoned you so I would not be hated. When I came back into your life years later you accepted me as a friend but there was always that barrier and I really never accepted it for what it was. I lived in my own world, I understood that I was not walking away, but I was insensitive to what I'd put you through years before, what dozens of people have put you through, and you had every reason to believe I was abandoning you. Trust takes time, doesn't it? I don't blame you for needing to protect yourself.

It sucks to be scarred.

I'm sorry for involving you in my game when I should have asked simply for what I really needed, that is, someone to listen. I thank you for being my friend in the best way you knew how. You are quite possibly one of the most intense people I've ever met. I hope you have found a way to focus that energy towards the betterment of your family, your friends, and our world. I wish you every happiness.

July 23rd, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I've thought about it long and hard and I must admit feeling a certain shortcoming when attempting to articulate my thoughts and feelings in a straight forward and unambiguous manner that you can readily accept. As you know I've sat down studiously choosing my words and have shared many letters with you over a period of weeks and months. I have sometimes spent days and weeks on these letters attempting to communicate and share where I'm coming from but without any success. The irony of this, to me at least, is that most of the ideas I've shared are as simple as "the sky is blue" and "I don't like anchovies" and "I like it when people communicate their thoughts and feelings directly instead of beating around the bush" and "I don't take kindly to being lied to." Needless to say it strikes me as more than a little frustrating when such attempt are met with blank stairs and I'd be lying if I didn't simply admit it pisses me off when you come back with further layers of obfuscation and two large pizzas with complimentary anchovies that you insist I can just "take off". You've left me in an uncomfortable position where I must make an emotionally difficult choice. Straight forward language has been ineffective and I feel I've all but exhausted my limited repertoire of English verbiage so I'm going to summarize my thoughts in the only way you appear to be capable of understanding: fuck you.

July 22nd, 2006

To whom it concerns,

When I was young you planted seeds. Your screaming and yelling and cursing caused everyone in the house to run in every direction and I was the oldest boy so I often found myself receiving the brunt of your outbursts while mom and my little brother scattered to the winds.

I loved you but there were times where I just hated you. I remember when I was five or six sitting around the kitchen table while you verbally abused mom and she cried. I was so upset by this that I promised myself that if you ever laid a hand on her I'd kill you--fortunately we never had to test that one out.

I was the good little kid growing up, the "smart" kid with straight A's and the like, yet when I wanted to I could out swear anyone. Should I thank you for that? And my empathy had its first growth spurt because I needed to develop the ability to predict and protect myself from your outbursts (the sooner, the better). Should I thank you for that?

For a long time I felt you were a terrible parent. There were times where you were completely unfair, blaming me for things I'd never done, yelling and screaming at me without cause, and the like. You talked at me much more often than you had a conversation with me, you yelled at me more often than you encouraged me, and when I really needed you listen to the difficulties I was having you weren't there for me.

Somehow we got through all that. Ten years later we've come to an understanding, have put the past behind us, and are closer than ever. Sure, now when you start cursing at your computer I not so subtly tell you to stop throwing a Goddamn tantrum, but other than that, "It's all good." And now that I'm a parent I can look at what you went through with a great deal more understanding and compassion.

Today was a prime example. My daughter went to a friend's house around 3pm and was going to be home by 5:30. While she was out Vipassana and I did some errands. We'd told our daughter that if she arrived home before we did to go inside and wait for us. So we get home around 6pm but she's not home. Having been stuck in some pretty heavy traffic ourselves we assumed that was the case with her and her friend and friend's parents. Time goes by and she's still not home. By now we've made several phone calls but we can't get ahold of anyone and Vipassana's getting worried. She drives over to the friend's house but our daughter isn't there; instead she meets someone else (whom we've never met) who says they'd gone out to dinner. She arrived home about an hour later, several hours after she was told to be home.

As you know we were already through something like this about a month ago. She'd stayed the night at a friends and knew to call home at 1pm so I could pick her up (that friend lived about a mile away). She called at 1pm and asked if she could help her friend move across the city. I said no, I was going to pick her up. She said uh, oh, uh, are you sure? The obfuscation was pretty thick and I was pretty sure she wasn't being honest with me so I finally just asked, "Where are you?" and she said Troutdale, a suburb of Portland over thirty miles from our house. Needless to say Vipassana and I were more than a little upset that an eleven year old ignored what she was told to do and made a decision to quite literally leave town. When she got home we sat down at the table and told her that such behavior was not acceptable and that she needed our permission, no if's and's or but's.

So we were pretty upset when she made a similar decision today. We clearly specified both to her and to her friend's mom that she was to be home around 5:30. So Vipassana and I discussed our game plan ahead of time and decided since she already knew the rules there was no need to go into it again. We decided to simply cancel our family movie night as a consequence of her choice (and though we haven't shared it with her we intend to limit her social excersions until she can respect our boundaries). We did not give her a speech, we did not yell at her, we did not threaten her in any way, we simply restated the house rules then ate dinner.

A few minutes later she confronts us...and the "fun" begins...

"Aren't you going to talk to me about what I did?" she asks.

"No," we responded, "We've already talked about it before and you know that you should have called us and gotten permission first, right?"

"Right...but aren't you going to yell at me?"

"No," we said. "We're just not going to watch a movie tonight like we planned so please just finish your chores and then you can play in your room."

So she went upstairs and every five to ten minutes she'd come downstairs. Each time she came down she became more and more argumentative, verbally abusive, and after about four or five times of this we said, "The way you're acting towards us is inappropriate. Until you can speak to us respectfully you need to go to your room." And of course how dare we, her parents, tell her she needs to talk to authority figures with respect so now her tantrum goes atomic and you know what, we allowed her to feel what she needed to feel but didn't become involved in her attempts at verbal sparing. So she started crying and yelling and screaming all the typical cliches, "You don't care about me! You don't understand me! You don't care about what I want!" and she started playing a song at full blast, the song she always plays when she believes everyone hates her and the world is unfair, yadda, yadda--oh, we must be such horrible parents (esp. given we bought her several gifts while we were out today!!!)! Her verbal abuses and mouthing off reached a fervor and we finally told her to go to bed.

Now I gotta say you got off lucky. Minus that one time I screamed that I wished my brother had never been born I didn't actively rebel until I was seventeen (and arguably becaise O was loosing my mind due to factors inside and outside the family). Here I am with an eleven year girl, a little girl who at six believed hitting and kicking adults was okay when she wasn't getting what she wanted, and although she no longer acts out physically there's still the psychological remnants of a little six year old that is willing to go ballistic if she can't get her way. Is this really what I signed up for?

I wish she knew how lucky she is. Some parents scream constantly at their kids. Other kids just get spanked or worse, have the shit kicked out of them. Our daughter, she gets logical consequences and we talk with her all the time so she understands and feels heard. A recent study was done in England and parents there give their kids on average 20 minutes of attention a day--we give our daughter hours of attention each day! We eat healthy food (for the most part), go out to do things (today was the farmers market and an SCA demo), spend family time together (movies, board games, house work), involve her in extracaricular activities (tennis, karate, fencing, soccer) and we keep our lines of communication open. And yet as parents we're always fighting against the early stages of her life where she was spoiled to death (something that has made her healthy social development difficult) and we're constantly struggling to teach her responsibility and values when the current cultural standard seems to be let your kids do anything they want as long as they're happy.

So I gotta bitch: has America lost its mind?

When I was a kid my friend's parents had rules and my friends and I respected them or we got into deep shit. When friends came to my house the same was true. And most importantly, parents respected each others rules without question. I didn't know anyone with perfect parents but that's how the world worked back then.

My experience now is parents with little to no psychological background gossip about each others parenting styles at the drop of a hat. I've had parents who show a blatant disregard for the boundaries that are set up for my daughter and parents who have implied it's okay for her to break the rules and even bend the truth a little as long as she's happy.

To almost quote a line from Shakespeare: Is this bullshit I see before me?

You know what I love about you? You respect our rules. You don't agree with all of them but you respect that we're the parents, that we're the ones that get to make the rules, and for that I respect you. Sure, sometimes you say you don't agree or give me advice and you know, I appreciate that because you don't come at me with some emotional diatribe about how you know better and how I should hug my daughter more or what not, you simply respect and understand that parenting is fucking tough and you continually recognize that my only interest is in raising her to be a healthy, responsible, and yes, happy, adult.

I can't say it enough, thank you. Thank you for supporting me when I choose to become her father and thank you for always being there for her. Thank you for giving her hugs and thank you for teaching her right from wrong. Thank you for tickling her until she almost pees her pants and thank you for giving me the mental and emotional skills to parent consciously instead of reactively.

My biggest fear is that no matter what I do I'll plant seeds that she'll use against herself and hate me for it, as I once did with you. My biggest reason to have hope is that you and I have overcome similar difficulties and are closer today than ever before.

Love ya, you old fart,

July 21st, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I have such a huge crush on you. It’s not something I’d readily admit and I’ve only shared this little secret with a few select people. Perhaps I’m too shy and perhaps I don’t know what your situation is and perhaps I just want to stay inside my comfort zone as opposed to enter into conjecture that might lead to disappointment. Or maybe I’ve spent my life chasing people I’ve been interested in whether for friendships, relationships, and the like, and I simply don’t have the time or the energy for such (often fruitless) adventures any longer. Or maybe I’m just an old man who reads books and gathers wisdom like some people collect stamps or antique furniture. And maybe I’m just content that you're my teacher.

Since we first met I’ve thought you were funny, witty, intelligent, thoughtful, amicable, and although I’m a little reticent to admit this outright, you are hot. In the distant past I’d be flabbergasted when I met someone who affected me as you can with a simple smile. Back then I didn’t feel even remotely attractive so there was always this insecurity, that I was completely out of my depth. By definition to be attracted to someone implies wanting to gravitate towards them but the insecurity acted as a catalyst so I’d find myself overcompensating for my insecurities and trying to act bigger and more “wonderful” than I really was. Last but certainly not least, my empathic sense goes completely haywire when someone like you is around and this leaves me effectively naked and vulnerable to manipulation.

The truth is if you asked me out I’d be beside myself.

That’s not to say I wouldn’t be flattered. That’s not to say I wouldn’t want to jump at the opportunity. That’s not to say I don’t think you’re absolutely fab. And that’s not to say I don’t think you’re without your quirks. The thing is, I just wouldn’t know what to do.

You see, I can give my heart and soul to someone but I already have commitments that most people are just incapable of truly understanding, much less accepting. I have a commitment to my adopted daughter and my best friend and the thing is I’d love to believe people really understand these commitments but no one really seems to. People come into my life proclaiming how wonderful, awesome, committed, and loyal I am and they find this enormously attractive--until they realize that because I’m wonderful, awesome, committed, and loyal I’m not going to simply walk away from my present commitments when it becomes inconvenient for them.

That is, quite honestly, one of the primary reasons I’ve chosen celibacy. Sure, there are times (oh, there are times!) were I’m lonely and I want to seek out a relationship but then I remember how hard it was finding a complimentary partner that really supported me while I was a single bachelor living on my own (I was not successful, by the way) but in comparison it’s a nightmare to try the same thing when I have commitments and loyalties that are well outside the social norm. So though there is this part of me that wants something more the rest of me is content to wait and learn. I may meet someone who’s supportive and good for me as soon as tomorrow, I may in ten years, or I may simply live out the rest of life learning and loving and growing in my own way as a simple aging bachelor. That life is as good as any, if I choose to make it so.

As with others I’d like to thank you. Thank you for making me uncomfortable. Without realizing it you push my buttons, make me feel a little nervous, a little insecure, and this gives me an opportunity to find subtleties within my own psyche that I’d like to improve upon. You challenge me to remain when I feel like I must move towards something I’m attracted to. Most importantly you give me the opportunity to accept the small pleasantries without becoming upset because I’m not getting the whole shebang--what a gift that gives me.

July 20th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I don't want to write tonight. Sitting down every day and putting all of my thought and energy into a sincere letter has been difficult for me. I just want to get in bed but I told myself on the last day of last month I'd sit down and write one letter a day no matter what.

Some days it's easy. Some days it's just a difficult excercise in commitment.

Funny thing is I was chatting with a friend about that today. He was telling me about staying with things and I summarized what I thought he was saying as, "Staying in the conversation." And for the most part I've been pretty good at doing that over my life; I don't mean to be cocky but I believe I'm more obstinant in this regard than most. I can thank you for repeatedly teaching me that lesson growing up, to stick with it and to never give up even if it just seems like you get nothing out of it.

You do.

There were a couple of times in my life where you sat down with me and told me to get back in the fight and give it my all. And there was at least one time where I completely ignored you. I didn't want to tell you I'd already shot myself in the foot, that I'd done some things I was ashamed of and there was no going back. I wanted to stay in the fight but you'd be right in saying I was a coward (although you'd never say or feel that, but I have no doubt you'd be dissapointed in me). Hell, I share so much about myself here but even this one thing...it's one of those few things I've only shared with one or two people.

And so over the years I've taken your advice to heart and I stick with things even when it hurts, I stick by people even when they step on me, and I keep writing even though it's past my bedtime and all I want to do is fall into a restful slumber because tomorrow is Friday and tomorrow night I'm going to see Clerks II and Saturday I may get to sleep in a little bit.

Thank you for reminding me of the importance of always being on the up and up. Wish I'd listened sooner but then God has a funny way of putting us where we're most needed. I think in your own round-about way you taught me that too.

Goodnight,

July 19th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You were my second and I was in love in a dreamy way I'd never experienced before. I was completely infatuated with you, melted every time we touched, and thought I wanted to spend my life with you.

And then you left and being young and inexperienced I assumed you were abandoning me. In retrospect I can now see that you spent hour after hour on the phone with me because you cared but didn't have too many options.

I'm sorry I projected so much onto you. And I'm sorry I expected so much. Maybe people can care about each other without ever coming close to remotely understanding one another. Maybe you spent hours if not days trying to figure out how to love me and maybe if I'd told you what I wanted and why, maybe if you told me what you wanted out of our friendship, maybe if I hadn't been so stand-offish the two times you'd traveled so many miles to visit, maybe we'd still be friends.

Thank you for reaching out to me when I felt enormously unattractive. Thanks for hanging out with me though you were popular enough to hang out with anyone you wanted. Thanks for listening to me that one night when I was fifteen and I was a thousand miles from home and lonely and tired--that was one of the few real conversations I had that summer. Thank you for reminding me that sometimes what's offered is wonderful if I'd just open my eyes and stop focusing on what I don't have.

May all your hopes and dreams, tears and sorrows, bring you riches.

July 18th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I probably never told you there's a reason I don't have many friends. Some would say it's because I'm broken or I'm insecure; the irony of this, of course, is that when I was truly broken and insecure I was out there constantly looking for new friends and I kept my door completely wide open to just about anyone. And God, did I get burned! But now that I'm feeling more or less whole and only rarely do I feel insecure I'm not out there hitting the pavement, so to speak.

I'm fine.

I have become very conscientious about who I allow into my life. One might argue that this comes with age but the truth is simpler yet: the economics of time and energy. Put another way I only have so many hours and so much energy in a day and the more I've learned to use that time wisely the less time I have for, say, opening my life up to people who may promise the world but have little if nothing genuine or tangible to offer. As you know the hours of my day are almost exclusively devoted to:

  • The necessities: food and shelter
  • Getting the necessities: Work, work, work, and more work
  • Self Improvement: Art, Photography, Reading, Spirituality, Writing
  • Home Improvement: Lawn work, deck work, wood work, etc.
  • Parenting & Vipassana
  • Entertainment: Movies, reading, motorcycling

The question then becomes: what purpose is there to enlarge my social circle when I don't have the time or energy for such pursuits?

A few years ago I had the time. Vipassana suggested I hang out with you more often and at first I ignored her. I'd been burned and frankly, I wasn't ready to open myself up to someone again. Yeah, I liked you, yeah, I thought you were cool, and yeah, I had a great deal of respect for you--but at the same time I could see potential for conflict. In some ways our personalities were too much alike. We were both pretty intense and passionately emotional people. We both had some very strong ideas about how things should be. And even before we started hanging out we had our little tiffs--although nothing that couldn't be resolved by an exchange of chocolate chip cookies.

A little background:

You see, up until that point in my life I'd been burned by almost everyone I'd opened up to for a friendship, relationship, or what have you. Some of them had even driven me close to suicide. I had a lot of distrust and the last thing I needed was another potential flake. But I looked in the mirror and I didn't like making decisions based on how someone else had treated me--I don't like putting myself or anyone else in that box. So I said what the hell and took the leap.

And for awhile there I was pleasantly surprised. Things were great. But I gotta be honest, I had my concerns and felt myself pulling back and I sometimes felt the same from you. It almost seemed like we were two cool cats opening up a little and closing down a little, a subtle social dance that always seemed to prevent us from connecting in the way I felt we both wanted.

And then it happened. I'm not going to relate the tale here but for the record, it almost sent me into an emotional breakdown. I know you were being sincere but at the same time what happened hit all the wrong buttons for me, I'd been through the real thing so many times before I literally had symptoms of Post Tramatic Stress Disorder. Then when everything fell into place and I learned I didn't really have anything to worry about I didn't know what to do with all that pent up energy but damn I was upset.

And I kept that to myself. I slammed it deep down inside. The truth was I was really upset with myself for opening up to you. And I was upset with you for slamming all my buttons pretty damn hard (even though I knew you didn't mean to). And so I kept it down and I kept it down until one day it just all blew up all over both of us.

God, did I feel like a jerk. Still do, in fact.

And things weren't ever quite the same since, were they? I, for one, am not surprised by that. Maybe I should have shared how I felt ahead of time. Would that have made a difference? Or is it true that us guys aren't allowed to do something as simple as talk freely and openly about things like our feelings? It's not machisimo, is it?

*sigh*

You know what, though? I'm glad you're in my life. You're one of the coolest guys I know. I value your sincerity and your honesty (though sometimes I get the impression you're holding back). I've used you as a role model regarding how to relate to people, especially strangers--you're ability to easily hold a conversation has always impressed me. I also find myself learning from the traits we share in common although I'm not sure how I could explain myself in that regard without causing undue offense (so forgive me if I don't!). Thank you for backing me up, you're one of the few people who has consistently done that for me in the last five/six years of my life (rare and greatly appreciated). Oh yeah, and thanks for pointing out the classes; if I die I'm blaming you that I did so with a bloody smile on my face! :)

Take care, mate.

July 17th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

Do you remember the time we took our clothes off and ran through the alfalfa field behind your parents house? Yeah, it was all over fast when your mom started screaming from the deck but hey, they were adults, what did they know about having a good time?

You weren't like any friend I'd ever had before and arguably different than anyone I've known since. You were intense, talkative, and sometimes violently unpredictable. You loved sports, something I did not share in common with you, but your interest was so great you were the only boy I ever played a game of one-on-one football with.

I remember that hole in the floor of your bedroom that you could throw your dirty clothes into and they'd go down a vent straight into the laundry room hamper--I thought that was so cool. I remember you smashing your brother's remote control car with a hammer in a fit of rage and not being at all sure what he had done to incur such a wrath. I remember hiking up the hill in front of your house and finding that huge rock with the crevaces--do you remember the book we found and the toilet paper? I remember you eating cold pizza right out of the fridge and I'd never seen anyone do that before and I thought you were crazy.

Actually, that's not true. I knew you were more sane than most of the people I knew but most of the people I knew thought you were less sane than I knew. Whereas they often saw someone who was unpredictable, uncontrollable, sometimes agressive, I saw someone who was deep and though lacking a level of self control I took for granted I knew you were thoughtful and passionate in a way no other boy I knew was. Hell, every other guy I met had to put on their macho facades yet you would just say how you felt when you felt it. That's not something anyone else I knew was capable of doing. Even now, as an adult, I find this form of honesty to be sorely lacking from our society.

How difficult it is for so many to simply admit something as simple and unambiguously personal as how they feel.

Okay, so we had our wild times and I think I did some crazier shit with you than anyone I knew as a child but it was innocent fun. Yet parents and other kids often looked at us and talked and what have you and I'm sure my parents had their concerns. I know later when I started to act out they assumed I must have been having a chemical imbalance--as if that can be transmitted by friendship or proximity!

They did not want to hear the truth.

You taught me some important lessons. First, as an empath I can only pick up emotional conditions, not physical ones that effect the emotions. Secondly, that innocence is often misunderstood and judged by people who mistakenly believe in one superficial status quo or another. Thirdly, that most people are more willing to believe a comfortable lie that benefit a few in the short run over an objective truth that benefits all in the long.

Thank you for your friendship and the surprise phone calls from time to time. And thank you for letting me just listen; after all, you were always the talkative one :)

July 16th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

It took a long time for me to figure out what I could thank you for. Ten or twelve years of friendship followed by a decade of introspection and I finally have an answer. It wasn't necessarily something that jumped out at me and said, "Hey, here it is." Then again, nothing worth learning ever does.

For a long time I was angry with you. And who wouldn't have been? For most of my childhood I called you my "best" friend. Yet where were you through some of the most difficult years in my life? Did you give me a call to ask me how I was doing? Did you respond to my letters? Actually, now that I recall the last few times I saw you was when I knew people that could get you in touch with people that could get you little bags of weed.

Bong...

The clues were there, I just wasn't paying attention.

In third grade you were going nuts for that one girl who was in the popular crowd and man, did you act like an idiot when you attacked the gym wall in some strange attempt to win her affection--yet for some strange reason I backed you up and painted you in a good light because I wanted you to be happy. Then there was that time in fourth grade when you picked a fight with my only other friend just because his dad was a trucker and your dad was an x-hippie. And how about that time in seventh grade when you just stopped hanging around me and when I asked what was going on you said, "You just aren't popular enough for me." And when you tried to steal my first and only high school girlfriend while I was on summer vacation I forgave you not only for doing it but also for lying to me when I confronted you. I was the loyal one, the understanding one, the thoughtful one.

And the admittedly "slow" one.

I was angry for a long time. I didn't see my own part in the relationship, I had these simplistic ideas about what friendship was and how people should treat each other and since you didn't do X and Y and Z well, you weren't a good friend and since I was an expert in what a good friend was I thought I could teach you.

How presumptuous of me.

It's taken me a decade to transform my anger into something else. Let me explain.

Today my parents were visiting from out of town and we were watching a musical made in 1947. The story revolved around this cocky college age woman's man who wanted to learn french to sweet talk the girl he really wanted but who spurned him due to the fact that he had no manners and was, well, a selfish prick. The librarian's assistant who helped him learn french, however, had a thing for him but he, still playing his little social games, didn't see that they were perfect for each other. I didn't catch the end of the movie but I'm guessing he woke up and realized that not only was she intelligent but beautiful and worth getting hitched to, yadda, yadda, yadda, and they lived happily ever after.

It was a story of redemption. Some of Hollywood's most successful movies are. Dating films often include themes of redemption (The Ten Things I Hate About You, for one). And you know, we can all use a little redemption in our lives. I think I've found a little in my own. The idea that we can somehow redeem someone else is, however, a dangerous one to culminate.

Thank you for the tip.

July 15th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You drove to my apartment that one night completely drunk. You pushed yourself on me and wanted unprotected sex. When I said no you became belligerent and left. The next day you lashed out at me, called me names, and said, "I know your type."

You said that a lot. We only dated a week but you must have said that at least a dozen times. "I know your type."

Well, I know your type too. The type to drive drunk without any regard for others. The type to brag about being caught for selling drugs but only having to serve time "at home" with an electronic ankle bracelet (as opposed to hard jail time). The type to push and push and push to get what you want then flip out when anyone wants something that goes against your erratic nature. The type to judge everyone whenever you have a chance, the type to lash out without provocation, the type that makes me wonder why I kept my door completely open to so many for so long.

Thanks for teaching me that many will knock but it's not always wise to open the door.

July 14th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

We were really never close friends which is often difficult when you're growing up and in different grades.  Looking back as an adult it's somewhat strange to remember a time where most of my friends were usually within a year's age range but then I suppose that comes with the ease of proximity and when it comes to us hairless apes we tend to consume who and what is close at hand.  And so perhaps it shouldn't be a huge surprise that riding the same bus together every morning and afternoon brought us together nor should it be shocking that our common enemies gave us something in common.

I never quite understood your home life.  Though you lived only half a mile down the road it seemed we lived in extraordinarily different worlds.  Sure, we both lived in the country, sure we both rode the bus out, sure, neither of us had huge social circles, but I remember that one time playing at your house being in fear for my physical safety.  I don't recall if it was one of your parents, the next door neighbors, or some wild farm dog, but I do recall a sense of constant tension and anxiety about the place and so having played there that one time I never visited again.

On the bus, though, people tended to keep to themselves and though kids of all ages might get rowdy, loud, and obnoxious, there was always a sense that your seat was a place of relative privacy and complete safety.  And yet as I neared the end of fifth grade I noticed that had become less and less true for you.  Sure, there were always a few trouble makers on the bus that I avoided and at least one of them spent a fair amount of his time picking on you.  For the most part I simply ignored such social abuses as I had enough to worry about being an outcast nerd-boy with two teachers for parents and when I looked up to find him calling you names or what not I didn't know how to react as your attitude was typically passive and accepting, as if that's just how life was.  At the same time it wouldn't have taken a rocket scientist to observe you weren't happy with the relatively constant abuse by this high school kid who, as I only vaguely alluded to before, happened to be your next door neighbor.

And then it started to get really bad and you were doing what any sane kid would do at that point by creating space between yourself and the threat.  That worked for awhile but of course this guy picked up on it and as is typical of bullies he followed you around the bus, calling you names, slapping you on the head, knocking things out of your hands, and all the while the bus driver watched this without comment and I remember thinking how I could understand how you wouldn't stand up to the guy--he was grades ahead and twice your size--but she was an adult and she was responsible for the welfare of everyone on the bus, you and I included.  So when I looked at her watching uncomfortably without action I saw one of my first examples of adult cowardice.

I digress.

So it was the last week of school and as kids started to see the dawn of summer break coming upon them the rowdier of the bunch became rowdier and as such the bully had transformed from Mr. Hyde into a complete and utter asshole.  It was at this time that you and I were spending some time in the same seat talking and goofing off as kids that age typically do. And then one day your problem, your bully, had become my problem, my bully, and by extension of that our mutual enemy. 

Honestly, I was scared shitless.  I wasn't born a confrontational person.  I was born with a very naive set of beliefs and codes of conduct.  I believed, for instance, in complete and utter honestly in all circumstances--and by extension of that that everyone else was.  I wanted the best for others and by extension of that I believed everyone had my best interests at heart as well.  It was only at six or seven years old that I realized that my notions of reality, while based in love and equanimity, were not universal traits.

So what was I to do?  Sure, I'd been scared by bullies before and had even had one kid (a total stranger) run up to me and beat me with a cast he was wearing for no particular reason.  I'd seen the movies but in truth I didn't know how to defend myself only that I had to.  And so one day I put one of those heavy dog chains in my duffle bag and I rode the entire way home with my hand just inside the zipper, ready to pull it out and break that high school kid's face open if he physically attacked either of us.  Man, I was ready.  And so I guess it wasn't too surprising that finally, after a week of abuse, the bus driver's lack of adult responsibility, and the ambivalence of everyone else on the bus, that I got out into the isle, told this guy his behavior was unwelcome, immature, that he needed to stop being insecure and pick on someone his own size, and specifically that he needed stop stop picking on you.

(Though if memory serves I conveyed the message with a much more colourful articulation of the english language.)

The result wasn't even remotely close to what I believed would happen in a "perfect" universe. The bus driver, who was watching from her seat of authority, sat on her laurels without taking action one way or the other.  I was also surprised that you did not use this opportunity and come to my aid, after all groups are stronger than individuals (at least I assumed others would realize this obvious fact of nature).  And I wasn't shocked so much that the asshole came over and punched me in the gut, completely knocking the wind out of me, but I was shocked that absolutely no one took any action to prevent the bastard from doing anything else if he had so wanted.  And in retrospect I'm disappointed that you never once thank me for being one of the few people that ever stood up for you.

You know, now that I get down to the end of this letter I don't know where I was going except to share and explore this childhood memory.  But I have to ask, have you learned to stand up for yourself?  I know, it's not always easy but it is important. Back in the old days, before civilization, it was necessary if you wanted to survive.  Though we now live in these wooden boxes and travel in little metal boxes to other wooden boxes where we try to pay for our wooden and metal boxes and we even have insurance to help us out in case we loose or get hurt by our wood and metal boxes we still have to survive, we still need to take a stand, we still need to get off our collective asses and stand up for what is right and just and fair.

If we don't, who will?

I sincerely want to thank you for allowing me to be a part of a situation that has been fundamental to my sense of self.  By standing up in such a forceful, public, and memorable way I learned an important lesson:  standing up for yourself always involves risk.  And though I have rarely experienced a positive response when I define my boundaries I have found that my self worth, integrity, and sense of safety is not worth risking--a punch to the gut, some slanderous words, or being completely disregarded is preferable to spending one's life quietly playing along.

 

July 13th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You know, I honestly didn't think I'd be writing you but today got me thinking. I arrived at work around 8:45 to put up the photos I framed the evening before. After putting them up I walked around browsing the other artwork and found your drawings and paintings hanging there. I was in awe.

Now I'll be honest, I'm not a big fan of most art. It takes something intense or really subtle to speak to me; everything in between just gets lost. Yours fits into that "intense" category and I'm am quite honestly in awe of your skill and creativity.

And that has me thinking...

Most people I can have figured out very quickly. Every now and then, though, I meet someone I can't really figure out. Sometimes it's because I'm overly attracted to them and sometimes it's because I view them as an authority figure. Whatever the case, with people I can't read well there's always a factor in my own psyche that blinds me to inputs I'm normally hypersensitive to.

You, however, fit into that rare category where I find myself feeling empathically blind. Except for the fact that I find you completely genuine and friendly I can't really pin you down. On the one hand I see you have moments where you're frazzled and unable to focus clearly, on the other I see art that takes extreme focus. I could continue with such observations but to what end? I'm still at a loss.

And so I find it a little strange and I'm trying to understand why I have a blind spot in this matter. Is it because I have a personal hangup I'm not yet aware of? (possible) Is it because I'm envious of your artistic abilities? (actually I feel sincere respect for your work and somewhat sad that I had the art knocked out of me by my parents) And maybe it's because behind those eyes you are really quite an emotionally intense human being who is truly a soul traveler--and spirits like this are, by definition, difficult to put in a box.

Anyway, now that I've made a fool of myself for saying all this I want to thank you for reminding me there are always going to be a few out there I don't quite understand. And thanks for showing me, in your own style of course, that though I sometimes feel more or less in a world that's gone absolutely mad, I am sometimes surrounded by people who, like me, are seeking out higher truths.

Cya in the am,

July 12th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

There's an article I read today I'd like to share with you. It's a little article on CNN Health titled You Look Great! Poll Finds We Frown on Lying, but White Lies are Frequent.

One part that caught my attention was this: "Rebecca Campbell knew exactly what she was doing when she recently told her 4-year-old son that there were no more cartoons on TV. And she didn't like it. 'One day, he'll probably figure it out,'she says. 'There are cartoons on all the time!'"

I'm going to be blunt: Rebecca is a liar. She didn't tell a white lie or a marginally greyish lie but a lie, plain and simple. Why did she tell it? She says it's because she didn't want her kid to watch tv but the truth is she lacks the emotional maturity to create a clear set of rules and guidelines that her four year old must follow. She lies because avoiding a possible confrontation with her little boy is more important to her than teaching him about honesty, boundaries, and integrity. She can rationalize this behavior all she wants but before she knows it her beautiful four year old will be ten and then fifteen and he's going to catch her in lie after lie and he's going to learn three lessons: 1) self-serving lies are socially acceptable, 2) lies are a great way of avoiding responsibility, and 3) lies allow one to obtain a superficial sense of control over situations and people. Oh yeah, and nobody respects liars.

Now I'm not saying you're Rebecca. In fact I know next to nothing about your parenting skills except what you've told me and that's not what I'm writing to you about tonight.

I'm writing to say you're a pathological liar.

And here's the thing, you don't like this about yourslf. So why keep it up? Do you really like people thinking poorly of you? I know you don't so a few words of advice: Try putting an end to the following behaviors:

  • Lying
  • Slandering
  • Gossiping

Funny thing is the rest of us are attracted to honesty and repelled by liars. We trust people with integrity but create distance between us and those who we know spend their time gossiping. You want people to see you as a person of quality? Then get off your butt and do something amazingly great!

Change. Learn. Grow. Admit your fears. Let go of them. Learn to trust. Show others that you are worth being trusted. And damnit, get some balls and be willing to allow someone in because whether or not you believe it you are loved and not everyone's going to fuck you over. You're only broken as long as you believe you are. So stop looking down your nose at others because you can't look yourself in the face. Learn to love yourself. Learn to breath.

And now we're to that little bit where I thank you.

Thank you for sharing some of the memories of your past experiences, both positive and negative. Maybe you do that with all the guys, maybe you don't, but I considered those things simple but precious gifts. Thank you for reminding me that recognizing a failing serves no purpose if I'm not willing and couragous enough to take action; this reminder often serves to get me off my proverbial behind when I find myself mindlessly admitting my own shortcomings (but not doing anything about them!). Thank you for helping kick my psychic empathy into high gear; you have no idea how much the way you (mis)treated me helped me see and smell and hear things that, well, I "shouldn't". Last but not least, thank for the motivation, I wouldn't have gotten it done without you.

July 11th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

2,500 miles is nothing when you have a computer and an internet connection. We were ahead of our time. I grew up playing with Apple II computers, you programmed them and took all manner of old computers resuscitating them for inner city youth. We met online years before "www" was something you'd see on television commercials. Our first conversation was on an Internet Newsgroup (comp.sys.apple2?) revolving around Apple II computers as I'd posted a message asking for help and there you were knowledgeable and always ready to help. Our friendship started with computers but quickly extended to mathematics, relationships, and life in general.

After a year of friendship we finally met. I flew out to meet you, with your help, and visited you and your lovely wife for a week. The city was amazing. The people interesting. I learned so much and saw so much and for the first time in my life was traveling on a trip by myself. Sure, you organized it but do you realize what a big thing that was for me? I was the guy with few to no friends. I was the guy whose parents never asked for his input when it came to vacation choices. I was the guy that didn't get invited to the parties or for trips to Las Vegas or what have you. So packing my stuff and getting on a plane all by myself was new…and scary. And yes, exciting. My parents were cautious though. Our friendship was an "online" one before anyone really knew what that was. They expected anything might happen. Me? I trusted you.

The week was wonderful. You greeted me at the airport with a warm smile and a warm hung. It was early in the morning yet we went out to a diner and ate and I remember you joking that mathematicians were atrocious at arithmetic (what a lesson you taught me that night!). You showed me the proverbial sights and sounds and introduced me to more exotic foods than I'd ever had in my life. I couldn't have asked for a more enjoyable time with you.

At the same time I felt a building sense of discomfort. If you recall I was having pretty bad allergies at your home. Although it's not my wish to criticize, the amount of cat dander and mold in the house was really challenging my immune system. You'd mentioned that if I needed a hotel for a few nights you'd put me up so I thanked you kindly for your offer and did my very best to hold out the entire week. When my nose began bleeding I realized I was developing a sinus infection (I had so many while living in Eugene I can literally smell them coming) so I asked if I could get a hotel for the night. You grumbled, went quiet, and the discussion went no further.

Strangely, the remainder of the week went on without issue and we continued to enjoy each others company and conversation (albeit with plenty of breaks due to nose blowing). Then we hugged one last time and I flew home feeling sad to leave but like I'd accomplished something huge.

It was a little odd getting back home to a house where I was a nanny for someone who took advantage of me and talked behind my back. For a week I saw some of the wonders of the Western world and was treated with love and respect and suddenly I was back to studies and uncomfortable social bullshit. And then you were writing less and less and in a matter of a few weeks I'd hardly ever hear from you.

It was a terribly difficult experience for me. I didn't know what to think but I kept on writing. You just didn't seem in it anymore. Did you meet me and decide you weren't impressed? Did you have other intentions for my visit that never came up? What was going on? Did I offend you for asking for a motel?

Since then I've experienced similar situations with dozens of people. The phenomena goes a little something like this. I meet someone online. Maybe a friend gave them my e-mail address. Maybe they found my website. Maybe we met on Match.com. And then we talk. And we talk. We get to know one another and if they haven't visited The Temple I welcome them with open arms. This process usually takes weeks or months until they finally insist on meeting. It's at this point they're really wowed and we talk and we talk and we get to know one another. And then something happens.

They realize I'm human.

Yeah, I know, big shock to the system but I'm a human being. I write all these wonderful things but I have strengths, weaknesses, hopes, and dreams. I make mistakes. I'm not perfect. And sometimes I can be downright annoying! No, I'm not suggestion people are really oblivious to this obvious reality but I am suggesting that the Internet provides a layer of obfuscation that allows people to more easily project their hopes (and later their fears) onto others. What happens when they realize the person they've objectified isn't the person they've objectified them to be? You got it, their mom asks, "Hey, when did you last hear from your friend X?" and you sigh and respond, "It's been awhile."

We were both ahead of our time.

So where are you today, my old friend? The last I heard you had a stroke, maybe two. Are you alive? You've had such a long, hard life. God, that's why you loved me so much, isn't it? You saw I'd had such a short, hard life. Well, my old friend, here comes the part of the letter where I get to thank you.

Thank you for encouraging me to get out of my comfort zone and do something that scared me. Thank you for your advice regarding relationships. You were right to advise against my current mindset at the time but wrong to suggest I shouldn't continue down that path; the mistakes I made, even the ones I am not proud of and will never forgive myself for, have allowed me to find true strength, integrity, and wisdom. Sure, it's taken me years to use those experiences to get there but I did. I know you'd be proud of me. I know you are. Thank you for the Apple IIgs; it's a beautiful machine and once I find a way to kick my daughter out of my house I'll set it up in a place of honor. Thank you for introducing me to exotic foods and wonderful people.

Peace be with you,

July 10th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

It's strange writing like this. We were in the same class growing up but we weren't friends. We never played together on the playground. Never. Truth be told I looked down on you.

I wasn't popular and neither were you but you were less popular. I wasn't attractive and neither were you but you were less attractive. ...at least in my mind... I haven't really thought about it until now--been this honest with myself about it this much until now--but maybe there's something in the immature human psyche that needs to find someone with less. It doesn't matter what that less is, could be popularity, money, intelligence, skill, as long as it's less. And you had less. When I felt I had very little myself, no friends, no nothing, I somehow felt justified in objectifying you as the guy with less.

The one memory that always comes to mind for me is that summer at little league. We were both on the same team and you were captain. We practiced and practiced and though I wasn't good at much (I hit the ball 50% of the time and usually was relegated to right field because I couldn't catch worth shit) I could pitch and boy, maybe I was a little full of myself but I remember being by far the best pitcher on our team.

One day there was a special pitcher training that went on for an hour or two longer than regular practice. I remember it was hot, damn hot, and I just wanted to get out of my sweaty shirt and into some shade--and honestly, I've never been a big sports fanatic--so what did I do? I went home. I heard that to be a pitcher during the official games I'd need to stay but I didn't see the logic in staying when I was already the best on our team!

Who would?

Then we had our first official game. We were loosing horribly. You were pitching. One batter after another kept hitting your tosses almost effortlessly. I knew that if I pitched we'd have a much better chance keeping them from making home run after home run so I asked to pitch. You said no. I became pretty frustrated. Didn't you want to win? Of course you did! You must have, who doesn't want to win? So let me pitch, damnit!

You said no.

I remember being absolutely shocked by your attitude. Sure, I hadn't done the extended training but it didn't make sense to make the team loose when they had a clear chance to win. Why should I have to spend my day out and get a sunburn if I was better? How fair was that? What a load of crap, I thought.

Still, you said no.

I cried. I sat down on the bench and cried. Couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe any of it and I hated you. Sure, we were probably both eleven or twelve but how dare someone with such a shitty record screw the team over. Was this your way of being a good leader? Didn't you know your place?

The more I revisit this memory the more I seem to learn from it. I see aspects of myself I'm not necessarily proud of and a certain amount of hypocrism. Sure, I believe in the health of the group (i.e. the team) over the self, but I also believe in respecting rules and making sure we're all on a level playing field. I look back and see that I was willing to use my values about doing the best for the team as an excuse to change the natural balance, to push my view on others because one thing (winning) was more important than many other things (playing fair, respecting a designated leader, accepting responsibility for my choices, etc.). And when push comes to shove much of my attitude was because I felt I needed to have at least one person who I considered socially inferior and you just happened to be that person.

I'm sorry.

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thank you for not budging. You were fair and straight with me. Though I responded to the level playing field like a spoiled brat you continued to be fair. Thank you. This memory you've left me with is a reminder. Whenever I find myself thinking someone or something is inferior (an idea, a painting, a lifestyle, whatever) I remind myself that when I'm in this mindset I'm at my weakest, that I'm projecting most and listening least. And you know, I've grown a lot but there are times, man, there are times when it's hard not to want to find someone to look down on and judge. Thank you for showing me that this attitude is anything but beneficial...to anyone.

Thank you,

July 9th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

You could have asked me. It wouldn't have been that hard. You didn't even ask me if it was true. Didn't you think almost two decades of friendship was worth asking for my side of the story? Did you even care?

Maybe you don't want the truth but here it is. I loved her. And I was EXTREMELY patient with her behavior. She was a beautiful person but she had problems, many of which you aren't aware of nor am I at liberty to share them with you or anyone--but some were quite severe. You know what? I did my best. I was compassionate, I understood what it was like to feel insecure, confused, and like I'd be abandoned at any moment. As she lived over a hundred miles away I drove to visit every chance I could get (even though she couldn't come visit me because she had issues falling asleep at the wheel). I talked to her every day on the phone. My life consisted of her, work, and video games. And then more and more of that part that consisted of her was spent on the phone assuring her things were okay and being accused of anything and everything but most typically cheating. I spent hundreds of dollars on long distance bills during this period. After two months of unfounded accusations I broke up and after a week of phone and e-mail harrassement I said enough was enough. Say what you want, believe what you want, those are the facts.

I don't know what to say. It's years later and I still get upset when I drive by your house to visit my parents. How could you throw away our friendship over slander? Was my friendship worth so little to you that it was easier to believe I was an abusive boyfriend instead of learning the truth, that I was standing up for myself?

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thank you for teaching me that time isn't necessarily an important component for a solid friendship. Thank you for being around in my darkest years. Thank you for some good years, some late nights smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, and for the laughs. It was good while it lasted.

July 8th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I'm really not sure what to tell you. I know things have been tough and sometimes when things get tough it seems like days can become weeks and weeks months and months years and things just drag on and on and on and you just want to scream STOP! I know, I know.

So what is it that you want? Have you really asked yourself thatlately ? Sure, there are some questions and some commitments and some intent...and that's the important thing, intent. Sure, you mean to do well but is your intent in line with your desires and your behavior? Are your rudders all headed in the same directon? And if not, how do you get them that way?

And so I'm not really sure what to tell you. I don't have any perfect advice, no silver bullets, nothing to say that you don't already know. I can't say be more social and I can't say find a hobbie nor can I say simplify, simplify, simplify, because I know in many respects you've tried all of these things sometimes with extraordinary success, sometimes without.

I can suggest that you keep exploring. Don't give that up. Sure, there will be times where you're dissapointed and yeah, sometimes you'll feel like time is just inching by and it's always same old followed by same old and you just get downright impatient and frustrated that even with the best intentions it may not matter because the world is a huge place and there's only so much you can do before you want to lie die down with a white flag and go, "I give up. Not interested in shouting about it at this point but if you'd just walk around me and try not to step on my feet I'd really appreciate that. Thank you, come again."

I digress. Keep exploring. And that too, I know, can seem like the same old, same old--the point is to make it something new. Sure, new often looks like old, new is birthed by old, new is an echo, a reflection of the old, but new is new, damnit, so just do it and keep on doing it and try to smile when you're doing it!

Keep exploring.

I also think it's important to find the things that are getting in your way and STOP! I mean it, stop doing them. I hear you talk about them sometimes but you really just need to fucking stop and I'm sorry for my french but there comes a point where you gotta say stop. Let me just make this simple, throw it in your face in hopes that you will hear me...

There are people who make mistakes and they don't know any better. And then there's you. You know better. You've admitted as much, albiet grudgingly at times. And yet you continue in the same behaviors. You've said that it's better to take baby steps, that eventually you'll get things figured out but the thing is you don't have three hundred year to do it! You've got fourty, fifty, maybe sixty years to do it and if you can't figure out how to get from impulse speed to warp speed you're going to retire a very lonely, jilted, and probably unhealthy person. You don't want that. So don't be stupid. Don't continue forward following marching orders because you're too scared of failure or too stuck in your ways. You know the things you want to do and you know there's a lot you want to figure out but that's not the real problem--the real problem is that you have x, y, and z, holding you back and poisoning your body and mind and yet your reaction is to simply shrug and you'll say you'll eventually get to it--but I'm sorry, those bills are long past due.

Again, I apologize, I don't mean to be blunt but I don't know how else to get this across for you. I care about you and I want you to feel joy, true joy, and I want you to be able to share that with everyone in your life (myself included!).

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thanks for making it interesting.

Goodnight,

July 7th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

There's a reason that The Temple is white on black.  No, it's not because life is black & white--you know I don't believe in such a simplistic view of the universe.  It's because light coexists with darkness, knowledge and enlightenment exist only because of ignorance and naivety, and strength and courage come from struggle.  The words I share with you can be read only because the knowledge contained within them was made possible by the darkness in my soul.

Today is perhaps the best day to be writing this letter to you.  Why?  Because I'm in an absolutely terrible mood.  I'm sick my of my job, sick of not being able to jog after work, and sick of virtual strangers telling me how to live my life.  I'm sick having few social support systems and I'm sick of this getting older thing (see note about knee).  And so what better time to answer your question regarding how to effectively combat Depression?  Here I am feeling like I have every reason to be depressed and yet I find myself actively using these strategies to get through the day with most of my hair still intact.  These aren't just pointers from someone who needs to feel like he knows it all, but some stress tested practices that work.

And so without further ado, Aslynn's Guidelines for Overcoming Depression:

1) Recognize and Accept the Present

Sounds simple, doesn't it?  But as you and I both know there are people that dedicate their lives to meditation so they can do this one simple thing.  The fact is, it isn't easy.  Most of us (that's 99.999999% of us) live very active fantasy lives.  Some of us live mostly in our (perceived) pasts.  Others of us live mostly in our (perceived) futures.  And quite a few of us create a present that has very little if anything to do with objective reality.

In my experience the inability to recognize and accept the present for what it is is a root factor of suffering.  It explains much of why our coping strategies don't work, why we communicate poorly, and why we make the same mistakes time after time after time.  On the other hand if we recognize where we are in the present, what our resources and limitations are, and move forward with that knowledge, we're in a good place to achieve our goals--and sometimes that means accepting that for now, in the present, we have to accept that our goals will either have to wait or can't be met.  This fundamental change in mindset is not easy, but it is a necessary beginning to build a solid foundation on which to build one's life.

So recognize the present.  Recognize what you have right now and ignore what you don't have; the latter is a waste of time and typically a source of suffering.  Think about what you have and how you can use it to achieve your goals and realize that your goals are included in that group of "things you have" in the present.  At the same time, recognize that some of the things you have are "positive" and some are "negative" just as some clothes you have in your dresser are "nice" and some "aren't so nice".  What's important is determining not which of these things is good or bad, positive or negative, but which you can creatively use to help you move towards your goals and which do not.  Those things that do not help can either be left or taken to Goodwill, if you understand my meaning.

But you won't know what exists in that toolbox if you can't see the present for what it is.  What you have in the present, that's your toolkit.  You don't have anything else.  I don't have anything else.  We're all in that same boat.  The difference between successful people and the rest of us goons is that the successful recognize and accept the present as their toolkit and along with their goals they move forward.

2)  Focus on Appreciation

One of the traps of Depression, or I should say the tricks it plays on us, is that it has this sneaky way of tricking us into believing that we shouldn't be happy because...   We shouldn't be happy because our job is stressful and we aren't paid enough.  We shouldn't be happy because we didn't get into Nursing school for the second year in a row.  We shouldn't be happy because we can't find a partner that will treat us well and who isn't interested in much besides steady sex.  We shouldn't be happy because we weight X pounds when we should weigh X - 50 pounds.  We shouldn't be happy because....

If I wanted to I could come up with my own list anytime, any day, and when I do it puts me in the dumps.  I'm going to share one such list with you so you might contrast with your own situation and possibly see that if I actively engaged in this mindset all the time--well, I'd be miserable.  So here goes nothing (flashback!):

"I shouldn't be happy because I work long hours at a job that doesn't allow me to learn new skills necessary in my field.  I shouldn't be happy because I'm loosing my hair, am 20 pounds overweight, and feel absolutely unattractive.  I shouldn't be happy because even the most socially deviant human beings have children and though I've wanted one of my own all my life I haven't found a partner to have one with.  I shouldn't be happy because I don't have many friends and those few I have I rarely see and honestly don't know if I can count on in any substantial way.  I shouldn't be happy because I don't know anyone that truly understands the ramifications of being a psychic empath (i.e. someone to empathize with me).  I shouldn't be happy because I can't jog.  I shouldn't be happy because the people I love most don't seem to want to be in my life.  I shouldn't be happy because I was the idiot who pushed those people away.  And last but not least I shouldn't be happy because I don't get enough.  I don't get enough money, I don't get enough attention, and I don't get enough love.  Why should I appreciate anything?"

That's the thing with Depression, it'll trick you into putting together score cards.  At first it seems rational.  Here's the tally of the things that are good in my life, here are the things that aren't so great.  You compare them and things seem okay.  But after awhile Depression has a way of biasing the score keeper.  Pretty soon you're marking mostly negatives and only a few positives.  As your mood gets darker suddenly you find yourself ticking only the negatives because, well, you're not happy.  And it doesn't matter if there's more positive in your life than negative, the Depression tricks you, contorts you, twists you into only seeing the positives as a baseline, things that any looser has and you should have more and better, right?

So don't play that game with yourself.  You can keep score but don't keep count of the negatives.  Who cares?  Shit happens to everyone, every day.  Focus on the positive.  Make note of every time something good happens.  For instance, I love going into the bathroom and finding someone's changed the roll (not just left it on the counter) so I make a tick in the only column I have, the positive column.  I like when I'm not paying attention, trip, but regain my balance quickly and perfectly.  Tick in the positive column.  I love it when one of the cats comes up and snuggles with me for no reason.  And so I build up those moments of appreciation and even if they're far between, even if they aren't what I really really really want (God pleeeease give'me!) I feel better about life and I'm not tricked into keeping score in a game that only ends with me and everyone I love loosing.

3)  Write a Bigger Story

Another trick Depression plays with us relates to our personal stories.  When I was Depressed my personal story in large part revolved around my education.  Going to college and getting a degree was everything to me.  Yet much of the time I found myself poor and unable to afford classes so I was often between jobs, between stints at the community college or University, and between friends.  My personal story included this belief that I was a complete failure if I weren't going to school so you could imagine how tough it was on me when I couldn't and how hard I studied when I was (and how upset I'd get if/when I didn't get an A).  Though I had some semblance of a social life it could be argued school was my life for many, many years.

Our stories can limit us.  They say this is the type of person I am and these are the types of things I'm capable of doing--and by extension of that belief, this is not the kind of person I am and these are not the kinds of things I'm capable of doing.  We naively call this personality or identity but the truth is this attitude, this love affair we have with our stories, is a form of mental retardation.

Fortunately my personal story always included the beliefs that 1) I can get through anything, 2) I can change and evolve as a human being, and 3) I want to know the truth regardless of the difficulty finding it.  Though arguably masochistic, these beliefs about my story are fundamental to my ability to question and write a bigger one where I can do things like organize motorcycle trips with groups of people (many of them people I don't know) and go out and do new and sometimes crazy things (like take a 1400 mile motorcycle trip or eat somewhere like Hooters on a whim).

So figure out your story then make it bigger.  I don't care how you make it bigger just do it.  Maybe you could think about other things you want to do professionally.  Maybe there was a hobby you wanted to engage in as a kid but you'd just completely forgotten about.  Maybe you should travel or learn to program a computer.  I don't know.  The point is to feel around you and find where the edges of your identity are and then challenge them, push them, redefine them.  Sure, this won't magically make you happy but the point is this process of continually expanding and examining your identity is an essential tool for positive growth and exploration.

4)  Express Your Values

This ones simple so I'm going to quote some Madonna here:  "Express yourself!"

We spend most of our days repeating the same patterns, typically social ones.  Most of us forget that we have opportunities to express ourselves all the time.  We can express ourselves in big ways and small.  One of the ways I express myself is through The Temple.  Another can happen as I walk skip to someone's cubical at my work.  I can go through my day and take care of my responsibilities while continuing to be a weird twit that annoys half of the people he comes into contact with, but the point is I express who I am honestly and consistently and sometimes even wildly.

Express yourself.  Paint, draw, write, go out and dance, I dunno, it's different from person to person but the point here is do it, do it a lot, and don't stop!

5)  Take Things in Stride

Shit happens.  Don't fixate.  If you fixate you're breaking rules number one and two.  If you're fixated you're not living in the present.  If you're fixated your walking around blind to the things you could be appreciating.  Shit happens.  Deal with it in the present with the toolkit you have in the present and chances are whatever it is won't be around or immediately concerning in the next present moment so experience that moment for what it is.  To be static is to be out of tune with reality.  So keep walking.  Keep moving.  Keep breathing.

6)  Say no to Emotional Terrorism

I hate to agree with the Republicans but it's time to join the "War on Terror"--the Emotional one, that is.

You see, Depression has this funny way of convincing us that we can mistreat ourselves and others.  We're upset so we convince ourselves that passive aggressive behavior is merited.  The thing is, though, this is just another of Depression's tricks.  Emotional Terrorism allows us to put aside responsibility and feed the Depressive beast.  Depression loves it when we lash out at people, it loves it when we slam ourselves.  The more we terrorize, the more we make our situation harder.  Depression loves that because it gives us more things to be unhappy about but is that really in our self interest?

So when you relate to others or yourself ask yourself, are you being a terrorist?

7)  Set Realistic Goals, Acknowledge Real Limitations

Depression doesn't like goal oriented people, but it loves people with no goals and those with unrealistic or otherwise impossible ones. 

A goal oriented person understands their goals, can explain their goals clearly to just about anyone.  They know where the path is to their goals and if not, they do what's necessary to find that path.  Do they want to be a musician?  Then they surround themselves with people who play music or they get an instrument and take classes or find an instructor.  The goal oriented person defines a goal, defines the path to that goal, then begins hiking up it.

People who set realistic goals feel good about themselves every time they meet a goal.  Each achievement reinforces the bigger story that they are capable, that they are successful, and eventually they really start to believe in themselves.  Depression does not like that attitude, it screams and whines and cries when goal setters set about their business in a purposeful and head strong manner.

At the same time beware.  Successful goal setters set goals of all shapes and sizes.  They don't put all their dreams in one basket and people who are stuck in a Depressed mindset tend to make huge or impossible goals.  They also make the mistake of making goals that are not completely in their hands.  Doing this is the equivalent of shooting oneself in the foot.  So vary your goals and do like they say when saving for your retirement:  diversify!  After all, this is your life you're saving for.  And make sure most of your goals are things you have 99 - 100% control of achieving--it can get pretty disappointment if a significant number of your goals depend largely on external forces.

8)  Learn from the past, plan for the future, live in the present

This may seem to be the same thing as the first rule but in truth this is an acknowledgement that we live in the past, the present, and the future, all at the same time, and there's no way around it.  How do we do this successfully while being true to rule number one?

Learn from the past - Those who think talking about the past is symptomatic of "baggage"--that's downright ignorant.  Our past is the only thing we have to learn from.  There's nothing else.  The past, what we've been through and experienced, creates our present reality and our perceptions of the future.  If we deny our pasts we deny ourselves.  If we ignore our pasts we ignore a wealth of knowledge that can help us to better understand ourselves and others.  The past makes for great eco-fuel.

Plan for the future - See rule number seven.

Live in the present - See rule number one.

9)  Feel what you feel and don't feel what you don't feel

Well of course I feel what I feel and don't feel what I don't feel! 

Don't I?

Most people assume their emotional states are what they are.  They're part of the personality, part of personal identity, part of the ego, part of reality.  "Of course I'm in a pissed mood," we say to ourselves, "That guy cut me off when I was trying to merge into traffic!"  Then we get home and guess what.  We're still upset!  We felt how we felt when we had good reason to feel it (we almost got in a traffic accident) and when we get home we're safe, we can sit our asses down and enjoy some tv while we relax, but like some insane creature that's lost its mind we're still feeling upset because of something that happened ten minutes earlier!

This is really a hard one to master and you really have to look deep inside yourself:  Are you really feeling the way you feel right now because you have reason to or because you're stuck in your personal story?  Are you really feeling the way you're feeling right because it makes sense to feel that way or because you've lost your mind?  Is the way you're feeling you benefiting you?  Or is it feeding the beast?

So for this rule of thumb I challenge you to question your feelings.  Are they legitimate?  Can they be something else?  I hate to say this but think like a Vulcan.  They may be fictional but their race saved themselves from inhalation by understanding and logically coping with their emotions.  Some would argue Spock doesn't have emotions but I'd say that's a fancy lie that makes us all feel nerdy.  His life is extraordinarily emotional, he's just learned to consciously choose his emotional states while the rest of us are functionally insane.

At the same time, don't fight your legitimate feelings.  If you feel like crying, then cry.  Your body is telling you you need to.  Do you feel like being angry?  Then be angry, but do so in a positive way (my outlet is often playing video games or listening to hard music).  Feeling depressed?  Then feel depressed!  That's the irony, to get over Depression you need to actually allow yourself to be depressed when your body says, "Yo, I'm depressed right now."  So what do I do?  I turn on the tv and crawl under the covers and eat something terrible (chicken McNuggets) and I take a cat nap--then later I let go, I let go of the "feeling depressed" feeling because I had it, I'm done with it, I'm moving on and living my life and that feeling is just one part of that rainbow and I allow it to happen when I need to and I walk away from it when I don't.

So, do you really feel what you feel?

10) Gravitate towards health

This is the one I've been working the hardest on for the last two years:  health.  I spent so many years filling my heart, mind, and spirit, with things that were not good for me.  Whether it was smoking, Jack Daniels, too much cheese in my diet, or hanging around people who took advantage of me and did not share the same values, I more or less acted like the tough guy who's body, mind, and spirit, could handle just about anything or anyone.

That wasn't true.  Physically I have acid reflux which is slowly, slowly healing and a bum knee, to name only a few problems.  Socially I've lost my ability to put my trust in anyone and I really don't like being touched.  I feel stupid because I know my health is nowhere near what it could be if I had actively, consciously, and consistently taken care of myself.

So take care of your body.  Listen to it.  Eat right.  Take care of your soul.  Listen to it.  Breath right.  Take care of your heart.  Listen to it.  Love right.  This is an exercise that becomes a life style and it's worth it.  The healthier you are the less capable Depression is of taking hold and the more capable you are of giving it the finger (and getting away with it!).

Anyway, that's what I have for now.  I realize you know much of this, probably all of it.  I'm sure you know how to use a hammer, a screw driver, and a hand saw as well.  But you've got to put those tools together to build a bird house and it's easier to build one with a blueprint and there are idiots, like me, that put together a hundred bird houses before they learned to do it right so you have the tools and the materials, here is a blueprint.  Build a home for your mind, your heart, your soul, and your life.

Or make a bird feeder.  Those are pretty cool too.

Sincerely Yours,

July 6th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

I recognize the sincerity of your concerns and I'm sure you've spent a great deal of time thinking about it. As we both know the subject matter can be tough to broach and I don't doubt you have the best intentions. Parenting, as you know, is one of the toughest (and possibly more insane) things a human being can do. You do your best, often under difficult circumstances. I do the same. So I'd be lying if I said I truly appreciate unsolicited advice in these matters.

I get plenty of advice--which is actually a huge understatement. The truth is at some point everyone I meet thinks they know better and takes the time to tell me so. I don't know what it is. Has our society forgotten how to respect simple boundaries? Have we become a bunch of back seat psychoanalysists? Does my atypical family structure just invite criticism?

So here are some words of advice for those with advice:

1) Don't project values

All parents have different values. I, for instance, value education and as an extention of that I encourage my daughter to read and write as much as possible. Your values might include Christian ethics or a strong environmental ethic. Parents want to teach their children different values because parents, who are people too, all have their own set of unique values.

When two or more people, married or otherwise, raise a child, it's important that they not only understand their values but talk about them openly and freely. Although not the case in all families this is the ideal. Such an atmosphere is beneficial to healthy family functioning, regardless of the values the parents have.

Now imagine for a moment someone walks into my family unit with no knowledge or understanding of our values. They value culturally encouraged gender sterotypes: boys should act like boys, girls should act like girls. So they give me advice which they sincerely believe is necessary for my tweenage daughter to "become a girl". Ironically, though my daughter prefers playing super hero to house and throwing dirt clods to playing with Barbie (she'd never let me hear the end of it if I bought her one!) I have this strange belief that's she's already a girl--and try as I might she'll one day be a rebellious, hormone crazed teenager! Given that I do not value gender stereotypes (sexism) and have a strong belief that their promulgation limits the boundless expression of the human soul, can you see how such advice might be construed as highly anethema to my values?

To reiterate: know somene's values before giving advice.

(Otherwise what's the point?)

2) Do your Due Dilegence.

In regard to my first point, due your homework. They love their kids, certainly, but what do they value? Is your advice in harmony with their values? If not then there's no logical reason to open your mouth besides to push your point of view on someone else. Personally, I don't appreciate somene telling me what my family values should be. Do you?

As a continuation of this research learn about what a family is like before you open your mouth. I'm surprised by how many people who only seeing a family for a few minutes will believe they know all the struggles and dynamics of that family. Maybe I'm a little oversensitive but personally I take great offense when someone who knows very little about my family swaggers in with all the answers (and usually the related criticisms!).

So don't be rude. Keep your mouth shut and do your research. If, after doing that you still feel there's a problem that absolutely requires input and you believe your advice is still warranted and applicable, then...

3) Give Support

I have one good friend: Vipassana. I have a few other friends but for the most part all of my time is balanced between work, my daughter, Vipassana, and myself.

Other than that I have a lot of people that tell me how to parent. They seem to act like they know better than I do. The first irony is, of course, that I have a degree in psychology with a focus on child psychology. The second is that I spent more of my time actively engaged in parenting (and research into child raising and communication) than most parents.

So how do you think couch psychologists come across to me?

Personally I want support. Advice and criticism, I get plenty of that but I'd like a little goddamn support. Can you take care of my kid sometimes when I can't find a day camp for her? Will you extend a shoulder to lean on when I'm having a hard day and would rather nag and scream at my daughter than hug her? I've never experienced that kind of support from anyone but Vipassana and my parents and frankly, that's a lot more beneficial to my family's health than a constant barrage of unsolicited advice. I want emotional support as a parent and social support as a family.

That's really not too much to ask.

4) Ask before you preach

I have a sign on my front door that says, "No solicitation"--so you can imagine how ticked I get when door to door salesman rings my doorbell and acts stupid when point the sign out. Likewise, in most cultures parents have a virtual "No solicitation" sign up on the doorways of their family units--yet that seems to have been eroded in this modern American "I know better, I watched Dr. Phil" culture.

This may seem like a radical request but it's quite simple: ask me if I want advice before giving it.

For example say you noticed someone's child seems a overly upset lately and you're worried. You could analyse that kid's family and make a number of assumptions and then walk up to the parents with your advice which you're convinced will help the kid out--but most people are going to perceive you as being a know it all who doesn't understand boundaries.

Instead of attacking the problem in that manner go to the other parent and bring up your concern. You might start, "I noticed your boy has been withdrawn lately." That's it. Use that statement as an opening; the parent will engage in a dialog according to their personality and mood. They may have noticed something as well and say, "Yeah, he's been having a really hard time at school lately." And you know what, by creating a safety zone for them to talk they may do something as surprising as say, "You know, I've tried everything. Do you have any advice?"

That's it:

  1. Don't project your values
  2. Do your Due Diligence
  3. Give Support
  4. Ask before you preach

These four fairly simple, straight forward, and thoughtful rules will help you determine when your message will be beneficial and welcome.

Thank you for your time,

July 5th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

Today I've been in what you'd call "a funk". It didn't start first thing nor did it happen all at once but it started quite literally with a bump and the bump got bigger and bigger and bigger and then I didn't know if it was becoming larger of its own accord or if I were adding to it.

Ever have days like that?

It all started when my bike hit a bump. Everything seemed just fine and dandy until I stopped then rolled on the throttle to get around a corner. The bike rattled and coughed and finally got up to speed. At twenty/thirty miles an hour it seemed fine so I made a mental note, crossed my fingers, and continued towards work. Acceleration from the next stop caused the same behavior and again and again every time I started from a dead stop.

Years ago something like this would have just turned me inside out. I would have been upset, angry, depressed. But today I just felt nervous. My mind was full of "What ifs?", each of them pointing to the fact that I might have to cancel a summer trip I've been planning since January. After parking at work I listened to the bike idle and it didn't sound right so I went upstairs and called the motorcycle shop and described the problem. "I've only heard of that once," the voice on the phone said, "The engine might not be getting enough air-if you have a tank cover I've seen that be the cause once before." I said the tank bra had never caused a problem and asked could it possibly be the spark plugs (as it seemed one or two pistons weren't firing)? And so on and so forth we tried to diagnose the problem until I agreed to bring the bike in over the weekend.

After hanging up that little voice of intuition started yakking and yakking and it wouldn't stop! "Tank cover, tank cover," it said, "Go look at the tank cover!" So finally at noon I went downstairs with an Alan wrench in hand and took two chrome pieces off the bike so I could make sure there were no clogged air intakes when I noticed that the tank cover wasn't attached correctly. I did a double and tripled take before I allowed myself to recognize that something was really messed up on my bike-I'd been ignoring the obvious because it meant I'd been riding for the past few weeks with an incorrectly attached gas tank. So I looked "under the hood" and sure enough the tank was on wrong and one of the gas lines was no longer connected. No gas, no zoom-zoom.

Duh.

As you know this is my first bike. I've never worked on one before this one and leave most of the work to the certified mechanics. Six months ago I had to install a switch and to do that I needed to raise the gas tank. I'd performed this little operation in fifteen minutes with only a few simple tools so I had more than a little trouble believing that professionals with years of knowledge under their belts would make such a trivial mistake. If the power had gone out while I was going at freeway speeds around a corner I could have gone for a more interesting ride than I'm used to so to say I was a little pissed is putting it mildly. So I got a ride home, picked up my socket set, went back to work, then reconnected the gas intake and repositioned the tank.

I was pretty darn upset.

I knew a crucial conversation lay ahead of me. From my standpoint I wanted the bike shop to take responsibility for botching my baby and putting me in danger. At the same time I could understand it was in their best interests to help me and I knew I was more than likely to meet someone who would sincerely want to correct the problem. And yet I had to be realistic, I knew I'd have to take legal action if they threw their hands up and repeated the Mantra of American Capitalism: "Not our fault!"

Crucial conversations are tough. I'm not even going to try to convince you because you already know. We've had our crucial conversations. Hundreds of them. Some of them we handled with courage, love, and grace, while others we met with silence, innuendo, and letters.

Why did we choose silence over communication?

I've never said this to anyone much less admitted it to you but I wish you had forced some crucial conversations on me. I think I can understand why you didn't, though. For one thing you loved me and didn't want to hurt me. And frankly I didn't exactly make you feel safe when you came to me with one of your concerns. I might become defensive an argumentative saying things like, "I'm doing my best," or, "I need you to just accept me for who I am". We both know I had my excuses and I knew how to make you feel absolutely terrible about yourself for daring to bring up your concerns.

Sometimes I'd even say it meant you didn't love me.

For instance I'd once made a promise that I'd stopped smoking. I never did and you knew it, didn't you? But you loved me and though you were disappointed you didn't say anything. And so I lived this lie. Around you I washed my hands and brushed my teeth and didn't smoke-until you went to bed and heard me sneaking in and out as I chain smoked. At work I didn't have to hide but I lied to myself that I could come home and you wouldn't know. Every exhaled breath of smoke was a lie.

I can't even begin to imagine how disappointed you must have been. There we were living together and every day the smoke on my clothes must have reminded you of my broken promises. Did I really thinking I could hide it from you? Did I really think this didn't damage the trust we'd worked so hard to rebuild (and still had a long way to go!)?

I imagine our mutual friend told you what I was up to. You and I, we often avoided our crucial conversations but sometimes he'd asked me questions and in a round about way I knew you both talked to each other, that you were both concerned about me, about us. But you'd never confronted me so I rationalized that I could keep pretending and pretending until the lies got so big neither of us wanted to live with them.

Sometimes I selfishly wish you had pushed me in a corner and said, "I really love you but you broke your promise. We both know how important honesty is to you but you're being a hypocrite and it hurts our trust. And frankly, I'm not attracted to you when I can't trust you and I don't like the smell of cigarettes on your breath. I know this is hard for you to hear but I felt it was time to bring it up before this went any further and I'll do whatever I can to work through this with you because I know it can't be easy."

That crucial conversation never happened. A lot of them never happened. I wish you had pushed me into a corner and given me the dose of humility I so needed back then…

And so nowadays I do my best to spot crucial conversations before I come up with excuses to avoid them. Sometimes they're with the coworker I completely disagree with. Sometimes they're with someone who's crossed a personal boundary. Today it was the guy at the motorcycle day. Too often it's Vipassana and I as we navigate the sometimes difficult road of being best friends and parents in a society that keeps telling us to be something we're not.

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thank you for teaching me the importance of engaging in crucial conversations as our opportunities to do so are precious and limited. Though you may not consciously be aware of it you taught me that it's extraordinarily important to make a conversation safe for all involved. For that I thank you. Thank you for listening to my thoughts and feelings; your compassion and understanding has always meant the world to me. Thank you for accepting me for who I was-I'm sorry, I wouldn't allow myself to see that. Thank you treating me with patience and respect even when I behaved like a complete twat/asshole/jerk/prick. I so often feel my words are empty when I try to express my thoughts and feelings to you so I will simply close with three:

You amaze me.

July 4th, 2006

To whom it concerns,

Do you ever find yourself sitting down to watch tv or a movie and you're watching and enjoying your fried chicken and cigarettes and on the screen is the story of the family, your average family with their average problems. The plot has its average twists and turns then one of the parents dies and its then that the bullshit begins. And so we start refereeing from the couch. "Damn," we say out loud, "What would their parent think?"

I've always experienced stories like that vicariously. Until you, I never thought something like that might happen in my family. After the shit hit the fan I even asked my parents to make sure their asses were covered because I'm not interested into getting into a fray with my brother and sister when my parents die. I prefer no inheritance to games, manipulation, and lies.

It doesn't matter if a parent is a millionaire or a pauper, all families have problems and they either stick together or they start fighting over toys like spoiled brats. All you need to do to find the strength of a family is to wait until someone dies, then you'll know if you're really a family or not. And we did, didn't we?

Some say family is blood. Is it? It seems to me family is about people who yell, scream, and cry with each other, stand by each other, support each other, and always, always stick together.

Me? I've got family. And they're all pains in my backside. My parents are stuck in their ways and can drive me up a wall. My adopted daughter is a responsibility I never had to take upon myself and at times I want to escape, but I stand by her. Vipassana is the reason I'm going bald (or at least a good scape goat!) and yet our arguments always end in understanding and a deeper sense of friendship.

That's family.

Scientifically speaking we may have a quarter of our genes in common but so the fuck what? That didn't stop you from hoarding hundreds of thousands of dollars to yourself when our blood died. That didn't stop you from ostrasizing everyone for wealth and power.

Is that how your parents brought you up?

I remember two very different people. They were hard working and from some very sturdy stock. They were proud, worldly, and people of integrity. If my brother and I fought around them the consequences would be quick and severe: You're family, get along. That was the message they always sent us.

I don't think you'll hear me but that's the message I'd like to send to you. Get along. We don't care about the money, don't you get it? Family isn't about money, it's about standing together, it's about doing the right thing for each other, it's about loyalty, integrity, and strength. Until you understand this you betray the lessons of our ancestors. I cannot thank someone who's greed and arrogance continues to cause suffering in the lives of family that's still here.

Happy 4th of July,

July 3rd, 2006

To whom it concerns,

Twenty four years.  It's hard to believe it's been that long since we spent our weekends climbing trees and playing around in the top story of your family's garage.  At church we sang together, at the lake we swam together, in the wood pile we made forts together, at school we played kick ball and played on the monkey bars together.  You were my first best friend.  You were also the first person to show me the meaning of abandonment.

If you recall the grade school we were going to was split into two buildings.  One was for the first and second graders and the other was for third, fourth, and fifth graders.  I remember after we graduated second grade being overly anxious all summer.  Third grade was in that other building!  Would I be ready for the big leagues?  Intuitively I knew a lot would change but I naively assumed the classes would just be harder and I wouldn't meet the higher expectations.  You might say on a subconscious level I understood I was faking my way through first and second grades, I didn't quite yet understand the whole purpose of this school thing and had this weird idea that it was a place you went to spend the day and hang out with other kids.  So third grade, wow, third grade was where it got really serious and I knew because it was in that other building.  And so something miraculous happened as soon as third grade started:  I was taking my education seriously (in-as-much as a boy that age can) and within a week my teacher told me I should be in the advanced English class instead of the normal one.  I was excited because my motivation was already paying off and after two years of slacking I'd finally get to be in the advanced classes with you, my best friend!  So when I walked into the classroom I felt good about myself and I saw you there up front and I smiled and waved.  Jesus H. Christ was I happy!

You?  You did not acknowledge me.

To say I was shocked is an understatement.  I'd never experienced anything like that in my admittedly short life.  And so having no frame of reference and being of positive attitude I sat as close as I could and tried to talk repeatedly during that first week but without success.  The situation made me feel ill in a way that was new to me.  Here we were, two friends who had spent years playing together, and you literally acted as if I did not exist anytime I waved, smiled, or said something to you.  Yet there you were with your tight little cabal of girlfriends chatting away.  I wasn't mad, I wasn't angry, but this was really the first time I felt an emotion that can best be described with the phrase:  "What the fuck?!"

I was blown away.  I didn't understand.  What the hell was going on?  For years we'd been almost inseparable, always hanging out on the play ground, during church, after church, birthdays, holidays, and the like and nothing's changed except we've gone from the small building to the big building!  It didn't make sense.  And your dad, your dad was our pastor and your family was deeply involved in the church.  Your father and mother and sisters and you sang and played instruments, you were all the very personification of the Von Trapp family from the Sound of Music and everyone looked up to you because you were all so positive and loving and honest...except suddenly there you were, anything but loving or honest, except on Sundays when a big smile shot across your perfect face and you and your family acted like the perfect little Christians.

I did not understand what was going on.

So I went to my parents and I asked them what was going on.  Do you know what they told me?  They said, "That's just how girls are at that age." That was the second, "What the fuck?!" experience of my life up until that point.  There I was, a positive and hopeful young boy and my parents were telling me that your terrible behavior was perfectly acceptable because you were a certain sex and a certain age.  Can you believe that?  There I was, eight or nine years old, and they were telling me sexism is okay under certain circumstances!  The truly scary thing is that's what everyone else told me as well!!!

I wasn't buying, though, and this was perhaps my first serious intellectual dive into sociology.  I knew their pathetic explanation didn't make any damned sense.  One day you're my buddy, then next day I don't exist.  Nothing had changed except the buildings we were in.  Sure, we were a little older but so what?  It's not like you were having hormonal changes and starting your period so the biological factor was simply out.  And no, I didn't quite realize it yet but as I started to look at society I came to the conclusion the behavior was completely socialized and supported by our culture, most directly our parents.  It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I had a penis and you had a vagina and it certainly had nothing to do with age as I seemed to exist only weeks prior to walking onto that darkened classroom.

At the time, though, my theory was something more fundamentally tangible.  You probably know about the incident because you've been told about it but chances are you still don't remember.  You see, one day you hit your head.  You were hanging up side down on the monkey bars, the one close to the first grade classrooms, and your legs slipped.  Your legs slipped and your head crashed into the concrete and you forgot.  You forgot who you were, you forgot where you were from, you forgot your family.  You forgot everything.  And you forgot me.

I'd heard of amnesia at the time, probably from that episode of Star Trek.  Kirk had beamed down to this planet that was oddly peopled by Native Americans when this ancient obelisk zapped him.  He forgot who he was so the Indians, finding him at the obelisk, assumed he was a god and made him their medicine man.  Thanks to Star Trek I knew about amnesia and though I sensed the tension in both our families I wasn't terribly concerned; I knew you'd be okay eventually.  It was strange, though, when your parents asked to have me come over to help jog your memory.  I remember being anxious, not because of what had happened but because I was internalizing all the worry of your and my parents.  I remember walking into your living room and you were sitting there on the couch and your face was blank and empathically all I got was a huge blank and it scared me, you scared me.  I couldn't find you anywhere that afternoon, you just weren't there!  And then my handlers, our parents, escorted me out as if the entire world might shatter if someone said or did the wrong thing.

It had to be the amnesia.  That's what I believed back then.  You hit your head and forgot who I was and that had created a huge rift between us.  Later, as I matured and started studying psychology, neurology, and sociology, I discovered your behavioral changes were caused by a number of factors including, quite possibly, the amnesia.  To date, however, I have not found one shred of evidence to support the sexist claim that there is a biological component to your pathetic excuse for friendship.

What's truly pathetic is how long it took me to recognize what had happened, say goodbye, and move on.  Even after your family had moved from podunk hicksville to the big city I wrote letters and thought we could be pen-pals and friends for life.  Hell, there was even a part of me that thought maybe when we grew up we could get married, I mean, that's how much I'd always liked you.  This was, of course, before hope and joy had been ripped from my psyche, before I learned people didn't always represent themselves honestly.  I hadn't learned to connect the dots yet.  I'd write a letter.  A few weeks you'd respond.  I'd write back and then I'd wait four to six months without hearing anything so I'd write again.  A few weeks later you'd respond with a shorter letter and I'd write back and then I'd wait and wait then finally I'd give up waiting and write back.  The dots were pretty obvious but I wasn't willing to believe you did not value our friendship the same way I did.

That all changed the day I received a one page letter from you.  It was on ruled paper that had been carelessly ripped out of a binder and had obviously been crinkled up, as if you'd thrown it in the garbage then decided to take it out again.  On it were two or three sentences.  You'd write when you had more time you said.  That was it. 

The world fell out from under me. 

The positive outlook of a world where people said what they meant and where friends really had your best interests in mind--that world was over.  Since then I began to realize these two moments, the moment you first ignored me in our English class and the moment I received that letter, were the initial seeds that grew into a decade long Depression that almost caused me to take my own life.  You were the first to abandon me, to take me for granted, and to abuse my loyalty and my friendship.  And so I did only what I had the capacity and understanding to do at that point in my life.  I sat down and made a friendship bracelet for you then sent that in an otherwise empty envelope.  I finally saw the situation for what it was so I wasn't surprised when I never heard back from you again.

I don't know what to tell you today, my old friend, but I am being honest to my experience.  You were the first and the seeds you planted in me sprouted and ripped the foundations of my being for decades to come.  How I have hated you for that.  How I have hated your father when, after years of silence, he showed up at the hospital to see me--as if your family had ever been there for me--then didn't leave a message or a card when he was told only family visitors were allowed.  And it wasn't until a year ago where I could watch The Sound of Music without going into an angry funk (after years of healing and personal evolution I actually love the film!).  So I've asked myself what you've taught me, what you've given me, and I can honestly say it's been harder for me to find something to thank you for than anyone I've ever known and it's in the darkest corners of my suffering that I've discovered it.

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thank you for teaching me that my actions, whether intentional or not, whether I recognize their significance or not, can and do directly impact other people's lives in substantial ways.  I may never know the results of my thoughts, words, and actions, but something you did almost a quarter century ago provides me with a useful lesson, an important parable that is a reminder to me to live a fully conscious and loving life, to do so with humility, integrity, and with the knowledge that what I do now, at this very moment and all the remaining moments of my life, has the potential to heal or harm, rob or benefit, all those I come into contact with.

Your old grade school friend,

July 2nd, 2006

To whom it concerns,

When I think back to that first moment we met it doesn't surprise me like it did back then. I was at my best friend's house in the back room and you'd just happened to be there. I'd seen you around school, you were the antisocial kid than seemed to create a swath of uncomfortable people around you. I think a lot of people viewed you as mysterious, dark, maybe even dangerous (I can only say I saw you fitting into the first category).

So there I was plunking around on my best friend's parent's old IBM 8088 and you were there too, the quiet, introverted computer genius. Why was my best friend hanging around you? What was this new comraderie about?

They say it's interest that connects one person to another but I've found it to be energetic. That is, we have a tendancy to find energy in someone that matches our own or fills a gap in our own and that reality causes an attraction. I'd been so naive up to that point in my life, the universe was much more static to me. It seemed to me that you were just one of those random events

Back then I assumed when you said "friend" or when he said "friend" it meant the same thing as when I said "friend". Then I began to see my highschool buddy more clearly. When he said friendship it only meant something to him when he was directly benefitting from it--the moment he didn't he'd go off and if he did something to step on me then oh well.

And so I watched as his and my life went two different ways and I desperately wanted to fill that gap. And there you were. I hate to admit this to you now, but what attracted me to you was that similarity of energy, that in a way we were both alone. My best friend for seven or eight years showed less and less interest in real friendship and you were there to fill that void.

And of course the drugs...

You see, that's the thing about being attracted to someone energetically, once you're in the same room you start to experience the other aspects both positive and negative. In terms of us I was introduced into another world and I was so in need of seeing and experiencing something different than I had been (e.g. a spiraling suicidal Depression) that drugs were a useful way of exploring and seeing the universe from a completely new perspective.

And that's what it was for me. Sure, it was fun. But the truth is experimentation opened my eyes to the fact that I was capable of feeling happiness. There I was sometimes on the verge of committing suicide as I never felt good even after being a test rat for dozens of antidepressants (that seemed to work for everyone else) and I'd never felt an ounce of happiness or "okayness" until I'd experimented with "recreational" drugs. It opened my eyes. I saw I could be happy. So it wasn't about addiction, it wasn't about fun, it was about the personal evolution of my soul and psyche and when it wasn't facilitating that growth anymore I stopped and looked elsewhere.

(That's when I became addicted to the only chemical I've ever been addicted to and the irony is it was legal: cigarettes!)

I don't think we were on the same page in that regard. For awhile I held that against you but now I simply recognize that we've often done the same things for very different reasons--and that's okay.

Back then, though, I was a much less secure person. I became nervous when I started to recognize a huge gap in the way we saw the universe. And I started to feel like your puppy, like I'd just been following you around for years wherever you went because that's what I was supposed to do. And then I started to see that I'd been my old friend's puppy for almost a decade, following where he went and sometimes getting stepped on or even kicked when I got in his way. That's not to say you treated me that way--I honestly don't feel you did--but I felt like the loyal lap dog following you around always trying to fulfill your expectations.

And sometimes that made our friendship really hard for me.

The truth is we weren't connecting. That one night when we played that game, do you remember the one? That's when you opened my eyes to this.

You see, we were walking back to my home and you explained you'd played this intellectual game with another mutual friend and you'd like to play it with me. Sure, I said. You told me it was pretty simple, that we all keep things to ourselves so lets tell each other the one biggest secret we kept from each other. I said that sounded good so you told me your secret (I don't remember the details) and I said okay. You asked what the biggest secret I kept from you was and I told you it was that I was really irritated with your guilt trips and lack of understanding when it came to my studies. You said, no, no, no, that's not what I meant, you're supposed to tell me your biggest darkest secret that you'd never tell me. And I said I just did, it's that you really upset me when you push me to walk around town and that you don't demonstrate respect for my priorities or goals. To this you became angry and started shouting--something you'd never done with me--and I became angry for having my honesty questioned. This was my darkest secret, the absolute last thing I ever wanted to admit to you and it wasn't easy for me to say. I was scared to tell you that your behavior ticked me off. The truth was that I was a complete coward when it came to setting and maintaining my personal boundaries because I didn't want to loose a friend. Abandonment was what I knew when it came to friendships so bearing an irritation in silence was highly preferable to saying something that, in my view, would jeapardize the friendship.

So I was open and honest and what happened? You yelled at me and walked off. The next day I'd learned you'd slandered me with several people and I lost several more friends because of your dishonesty. Sadly (or ironically) when you got in touch with me years later you didn't remember what had happened.

But I did.

There was a part of me that felt enormous pain at the loss of our friendship and shock at being back stabbed (and I won't apologize for saying that, I lost many friendships because of the things you choose to say about me). At the same time I felt a weight come off my shoulders. I wouldn't again have to feel I had to meet your expectations without some snide remark or passive agressive act. I could study and chase my own goals without being pushed, pushed, pushed. You gave me the chance to see what it felt like not to have a best male friend for awhile and just be. You gave me the opportunity to take a little more control over my life during the darkest and most fucked up years of it. I believe that gap in my social life helped give me the strength to stand up on my own as I do today.

A few years later and out of the blue you got in touch with me. We started hanging out and it was as if that other shit never happened. And then you were gone, in the army, and then you were back living next door and living with and dating a good friend of mine and things were good. Then the pushing came, more and more and she broke up with you and I didn't have time or the interest to wander aimlessly, drink, or do drugs. I was focused on school and the love of my life and you were in a different world and it seemed to me that I saw less of you as you recognized I wasn't a willing puppy anymore.

Years later you'd moved up north to live and work so we often chatted on the computer. When I lost my job and wanted to look in your area you were gratious enough to provide me with a floor to crash on many a weekend and weekday. Then I got my first job in Portland and though we were a hundred miles away we kept in touch for awhile. You were one of only two friends I had at the time.

Then one day I kicked my girlfriend out and I needed a friend to talk to so I looked to you for support. What did you tell me? I don't recall your words but it was essentially to shutup, get over it, stop whining, and when I said I needed to talk to you, de ja vu, you blew up at me and I haven't heard from you since!

How should I respond to that?

I was going through a really tough time and I needed some support. My life consisted of 50 to 60 hour work weeks and coming home to a girlfriend who was consistently unhappy with her life. She wanted to be a model and I supported her but I found her becoming more and more depressed and unhappy and likewise I was going into debt trying to pay the bills and keep her marginally happy with her addictions (digital tv, smoking, drinking, internet, etc.). Up until that point in my life I had never cut such a clear boundary with someone, I'd never said, "It's time to get your shit together or you need to go back to your mom's," and it was fucking tough, even devastating for me to do. I felt a part of myself die that day, my friend, and I knew I had to do it but at the same time I felt like my insides were being ripped inside out, that I was being a horrible person for standing up for myself, that I was a hypocrit to say I valued things like hard work and loyalty. I was having daily panic attacks, smoking like a chimney, and doing my damnest not to backstep into a Depression I had only peeped out of a few years ago--and I was scared to death of falling back into that abyss!!! I didn't expect you to come to my salvation but it wasn't too much to expect I could count on you for support.

Apparently it was...

I've learned a lot about myself since then. I know what I want and what I don't want, what I need and what I don't need. One thing I need is friends who will listen to me with patience, understanding, and compassion, especially when I ask for emotional support. That's what I need, that's what I want, and for whatever reason it's not what you've had to offer me.

That being said I want to end this letter by thanking you.

Thank you for teaching me to see the universe in a different way. Thank you for introducing me to experiences that opened my mind, allowed me to see things from more perspectives, and taught me I could one day find happiness if I dug myself out of a Depressive mindset. Thank you for the many things you taught me about computers. Thank you for the letters while you were overseas and introducing me to new exotic foods. Thank you for being hospitable and helpful when I was out of work--I really needed a friend when everything in my life was falling apart (if you recall I'd lost my job and my wife, the love of my life, and was in a sink or swim situation). Thank you for the many late nights exploring the city on our two feet and thank you for that night when we sat under the bridge where the airplanes land.

Sometimes when I go back to Eugene I sit under that bridge. I sit there, watch the river, I remember, and I wish you every joy and happiness for the rest of your days.

Yours,

July 1st, 2006

Fear is a funny thing. Without fear organisms would not have evolved from single celled organizms into multi-cellular organisms. All successful species, humans included, survive because they have an instinct to cover their proverbal asses and get out of the way of mortal danger. The antelope jumps when the lion pounces.

As highly intellectual creatures the human special has done what intellectual creatures do, that is, we've taken a lower brain function, that is fear, and intellectualized it. So unlike other species we have the time, luxury, and mental ability to project non-instinctual fears onto our experience which in effect makes our lives, both on a personal and social level, highly unnsuccessful. And so for those of us who think we're the world's most intelligent creatures I have to wonder, I mean, here we are all full of ourselves and the antelope doesn't fear the boogie man. My cats don't fear the boogie man. Your average slug does not fear the boogie man. Yet you and I do.

I was thinking about fear today while Vipassana and I were taking a 260 mile trip up the Columbia River Gorge, around the backside of Mount Hood, and back to Portland again. It was early into our ride and we'd just turned off I-84 onto the old historic highway. I noticed quite a few bicycles (bicycles, not motorcycles) on the curves so I maintained a high sense of alert to insure I provided them ample room and safety. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

I used to bike when I was in Middle and High School, but most of that was between my house out in the country and town--and when you don't have a car you take advantage of whatever wheels are available to you. For a fair amount of my time in Eugene I had this awesome Trek of a bike which I got around town on (great biking town). A few years back I bought another mountain bike for Portland but I quickly found I didn't like biking in a big city that wasn't biker friendly (I used the bike ten times in three years so I sold it this last winter).

In fact biking in a non-bike-friendly city downright scared the shit out of me.

So when I'm shooting around a corner at 40 - XXX miles an hour on my hooligan and see those cyclists pedaling uphill I feel a great deal of respect for them, not only for the physical stamina and patience required for these trips, but also because I'm too big of a wussy to ride a bicycle in this fashion because I constantly worry about that idiot driver coming up behind me who's going to shorten my life because he (or she) couldn't put down his (or her) cell phone.

Conversly, there are bicyclists who couldn't imagine being on a motorcycle because they feel that's dangerous! Are they nuts? I feel extraordinarily safe on a motorcycle as I 1) ride within my limits, 2) can keep up with traffic, and 3) can quickly escape dangerous environments/situations when necessary.

Rationalized fears are irrational. A cyclist can be careful but they won't be able to stop the drunk. Neither will I. So it's all about keeping your head on straight, paying attention, and increasing your measures of safety. If you assume life is inherintely dangerous and apply this rule regardless of what you're doing, then that's a pretty good place to be. And you're not going to spend your life worrying about the boogie man.

But we don't do that (most of the time), do we? We associate the idea of fear where it doesn't belong. And some of us create facades for our fears, rename them, pamper them, repress and ignore them. We say we're such an advanced species but in terms of fear we haven't evolved past the level of the ancient Romans, Greeks, or Egyptians. We still have war. We still hoard our wealth (this results in inequality, poverty, disease, and yes, war). Our perceived fears cage us more than any physical prison might hope to. That is the legacy of an intellectual mind that is not well trained.

As to other things...

The ride was beautiful, if a bit hot at times. Vipassana and I stopped at one of the water falls on the gorge and then in Hood River where we stopped downtown and ate lunch at a cool little place with awesome energy called Trillium Cafe. Then we took off, headed up highway 35 around the East side of Mount Hood, stopped in Government camp to stretch our legs, then came back home. After that we went to eat at Hooters (I'd never eaten there before and wanted to do something different--not terribly exciting but if you don't get off your ass and make the choice to have an experience it's harder to have, n'est pas?). Then we went to the movies and watched Superman Returns which I enjoyed, especially since they honored the original 1980's version which stared the late Christopher Reeves.

And then we came home and she went to bed and here I am typing as I often find myself doing late at night. I'd much rather have a significant other to cuddle with but I can't complain, I have a good life and writing is cuddling of sorts (though I've found I end up doing all the work). Later I will get in bed and I will think about my day and my life and I may pray or meditate and I might think about the way to improve my life and/or the lives of those around me, I will think about enlightenment and ideals and looking under rocks for truth.

For now know that this month (July) I'll be writing letters. No more rambling journal entries, just a month of letters to people I've known over my life. Will one be for you? Maybe, maybe not.

Oh yeah...one last thing before I hit the sack...new pictures are up in the Visions area.

Goodnight and take care,