On Hope, and love.

It's been a while since I've committed what I feel to words for an audience larger than a person at a time. There was, as my last post indicated, a period of loneliness, and a determination not to settle for someone who didn't make me happy. I had, by August, decided to focus on my writing, and to focus on self improvement. When I went to GenCon last year, I decided to try to make a connection in the publishing industry. Instead, I fell in love. With a woman in the scifi/fantasy publishing industry. Who is local to me, that I met 5 hours from home at an RPG convention.

It has been 4 months and 18 days since our relationship moved from friendship to love. 5 months and 13 days since I knew that I would love her. Every day I am moved by how much more I do, as though my capability to love is proportionate to the passage of time. It fills me up, makes me smile at the most random times, gives me hope and a vision of the future. We have more in common than I have ever experienced in a relationship before, so much more that it seems surreal sometimes. I want to wake up every day for the rest of my life next to this woman. She loves me unconditionally. Loves my children. Encourages me, and lifts me up when I have bruised my ego so badly that I see nothing good about me. She wants to be a mother, wife, partner, lover, and best friend. She is at the center of my happiness, and I know more contentment and peace than I have ever known.

I've noticed something else. I am closer to loving myself than I have ever been.

It's as though, in her eyes (that I love to see full of laughter and smiling), I can see the me that is, as she sees me, and not the me that I've always presumed that other people saw. She gives me so much warmth, so much joy, so much light, so much faith, so much hope. I don't have to worry about what I'm not, who I should be, who I need to be, what other people want me to be. I'm just me, and she loves me for who I am. Not only does she love me, but she gently disassembles what insecurities and fears that I might have, with warmth and patience, and leaves me with no other choice but to see that I have nothing to be afraid of. I have a life to look forward to with her, and I plan to live it, to be who I am, growing, changing, and loving, knowing that this is who I'm supposed to be.

I still need to finish a written work. You can't publish love.

Time and Time Again

I just got off of the phone with a woman that I've seen a few times recently. She went with the "It's not you, it's me." delivery. I can see her point, though, because she's been through a lot, and needs time and space to find and center herself again. I honestly just hope that she finds happiness and peace for herself. I had worried over how depressed she had become, and couldn't do much to help, as I'm in a precarious place myself. Neither of us needs to be in a relationship right now.

I am, children aside, alone. Alone, and terrified, of being alone, of being unloved, of being unworthy. I can't count the number of women that I sent hopeful messages to on various dating sites in the recent past. I can count on one hand the number of responses that I received. The equivalent, to my mind, of approaching a stranger and introducing yourself, having them look at you, and then walk away without acknowledging that there was ever an attempt at interaction. I've decided that dating sites are evil.

I had resolved to engage in things that would, theoretically, put me in contact with other people who shared my interests, thus increasing the odds of meeting a woman that would be compatible with me. I decided shortly after that I wasn't ready. I need to work on myself more. Lose more weight, tone up, bolster my self confidence and esteem. My lady friend this evening brought up an interesting point, though. I shouldn't need to try to make myself perfect in order to believe that I can be loved. I should be loved for who I am. Evidently, I have things to offer.

I've found myself thinking, over the last day or two, about my previously failed relationships. My marriage. Jen. Dawn. They all failed, and they all had one thing in common. Me. In the parenting class that I had to take before my divorce decree could be issued, the instructor gave us an interesting set of statistics. Over half of all marriages end in divorce. The percentage of failed marriages increased dramatically for those remarrying, with increases in failure rate per successive marriage. The theory is that, as you become accustomed to leaving bad relationships, it becomes easier. Serial spouses become accustomed to rationalizing why the relationships failed and walk away without holding themselves accountable. I don't know how true this is, or how it jives with the concept that we should be able to be loved as we are, without changing ourselves to meet the needs of others.

I just know that I keep failing. Failing at responsibility, accountability, maturity, patience. And that it doesn't get any easier. I'm an incredibly fortunate man. I recognize that, whether or not I have someone by my side through my journey, I'm still on this journey. I could focus on not having someone with me, or I could focus on the wealth of beauty and wonder that surrounds me, in a world that does not focus itself on me. I need to be more appreciative, and attentive, giving my all to my children, while I still have this time with them in their youth, time to make memories.

These things are easy to conceptualize, easy to understand, easy to vocalize. Much, much harder to do.

A Road of Troubles

I broke up with the Girl last week. It was hard. It was painful. But it was the right thing to do. I started seeing a therapist not long ago, and when I elaborated on some of the problems that I had when trying to relate to the Girl, my therapist asked me two questions that broke the construct. "Are you happy? And if you're not, and it's because of the person that she is, do you really want to spend the next 30 years of your life this way?" I wasn't happy. Comfortable, certainly. Secure. But not happy. And I knew then, that if I weren't happy, it wouldn't be right or fair to her to drag it out. She had paid for tickets for the two of us to go to Mexico next month to celebrate her birthday. I knew, even before one of my friends told me, that going on the trip and THEN breaking up with her would make me a pretty horrible person. I couldn't do that. It wouldn't be right.

We have one life. Every day, in whatever way we choose to spend it, we aren't going to get back. If I had stayed in that situation, I would have been making the same mistake that I made throughout my marriage. I would have been settling for a situation that made me less than happy, and submitting myself to pain and suffering for the sake of someone else. I learned, in this, that even when you're comfortable, even when you have stability, if you aren't truly happy, it's all just window dressing.

After the breaking up was finished, a difficult conversation with some ugly revelations that only confirmed my suspicion that neither of us had truly been okay with where we were, I set out to make some things right. To mend some fences. I had, in the aftermath of our first separation, walked away from someone who was very important to me. I had allowed myself to be talked into believing that her presence in my life was what had kept me from being happy. No, actually, it had kept the Girl from feeling as though we could be happy together. I had never questioned whether or not her presence brought light and warmth into my life, because for as long as I embraced it, it did. Now I have to hope that I didn't burn that bridge. Not because I'm trying to run back into my past again and find comfort in memories and rekindled romances. No, I've learned my lesson in that too. I only want to keep one of the sweetest friends that I have ever had in my life from fading away again. I have very few close friends, and hate to think of driving one away.

I have hope for the future. Hope that I'll find someone who values the gifts that I have. That I'll find someone who isn't just looking for a body to warm her bed and drive the demons of loneliness away. Someone who sees giving and loving as ephemeral gifts, not to be measured by the worth of the material. Someone who shares at least some of my passions. Surely there has to be someone out there who would choose to be that person in my life. I just have to wait, until they've come into my life, and hope that I'll be wise enough to recognize them when they do. In the meantime, I'm going to be joining the local writers guild this week, and attending local literary events as I can find them. You won't find a diamond if you're looking in a salt mine.

Lovin is what I got

It's been a lonely week. I think that one of the things that I miss the most about being in a relationship is the physical presence of someone. The living, breathing manifestation of a choice rooted in love that blossomed into something larger than myself. My kids are a wonderful example of this, but I can't be with them every day. And the love that I have in me to give, the agape love, the eros, they live in a place within that wants to resonate with someone. That has resonated with someone. And, through a variety of missteps, I've had to turn the page on the chapters in my life that contained those people.

I miss hugging. Kissing is good, too, but hugging is special. When I hug someone, I'm not just patting them on the back without looking them in the eye. I'm letting them know that I'm there, to lean on in as much I have strength to be given. I'm leaning on them, to let them know that I appreciate their strength. I'm holding them tightly, to let them know that I'm attached to them, and that they mean something to me. Adults usually get skittish after being hugged too long, it's one of the things that's great about having kids. My son will hug me for as long as I hug him back. My oldest daughter will, as well. My two littlest have too much energy, but will tolerate the hugs just long enough to let me know that they appreciate them. To be hugged, genuinely held, is to know that you are loved.

I've been reading a few books lately, one of which is about learning that we don't need to look for love from someone else in order to know that we are worthy of being loved. That we can choose whether or not to be happy. That, by the magic of our consciousness reproducing the happiness that we have previously felt in love, we can be that happy without needing someone in our lives to give that feeling to us. I tried that this morning, on the way to work. I thought about how happy I was a year ago. I thought about how happy just reading "Te Amo" has made me. I thought about how happy looking down into the smiling eyes of someone that loved me, and seeing their tears of love and joy made me. I thought about the joy of having someone by my side telling me "I love to see you happy.". And I had an amazing day. Even in those relationships in which I am no longer a fortunate partner, I can still feel the love that I shared with those people, and it still gives me peace, and joy.

Even without someone next to me, I can know that at some point in time, I have experienced and known love. I am an incredibly lucky man.

Loneliness

The last few weeks have been rough. For a variety of reasons, things between Dawn and I didn't work out. I would like to say that it was all her fault. I'm inclined to say that it was all of mine. The truth is, we were both unprepared for what a life with each other would be like. I miss the time spent with her. There were more happy memories than sad, and that's better than the alternative.

I've been with someone, in some way, shape or form, for almost all of my adult life. As of the beginning of June, I'll be renting an apartment for the first time, embarking on a single life. The opportunities scare me, and exhilarate me, all at once. I find myself lonely, and really, I'm not sure that that's a bad thing. Maybe this is what I need, the doorway to changing myself that I've always needed but never had. I'm not sure about that, though. I didn't exactly do a bang-up job of turning my life around while away in college. That was 12 years and more ago, though. Surely I've learned something since then. I hope.

On masks, and good company

Yesterday morning, while trimming my beard, there was an incident with the scissors. The beard had gotten a little unruly, and I was trying to trim it back to something more orderly, less like an aspiring Mountain Man. The first pass went smoothly, stray whiskers were brought into the fold. The second pass went just as well, as I mimicked the motions that I've seen hair stylists make when trimming what little hair I have left up top. I should have left well enough alone, but no, I decided to go big. I moved a little closer to my chin and tried it again, and was shocked to discover on the third pass that the hair on my chin was much, much more sparsely arrayed than I had thought. That thin spot had been hiding behind the surrounding whiskers as camouflage. With a single *snick* of the scissors, I undid a years worth of growth, and kicked a hole in the thin plaster veneer that I had been erecting in the mirror.

The goatee had become a mask. Originally started to appease someone else, the more it grew in, the less I felt that I looked like the old me. The me that had wasted so many years, that had neglected so much, that had been so foolish. The childish me, and not the new man. "Fake it til you make it!" they say, and the goatee had been helping me, I thought, fake "it". Granted, it wasn't some magical, all powerful totem that symbolized my increasing good looks, but it was, I thought, a good look for me, and hid alot of things that I didn't like. It symbolized my distance from the man that I was.

The initial damage done, I had to plow ahead and finish the job. The beard went, followed by the mustache. The amount of hair in the sink was shocking. And there I was, weak chin framed by a double chin. Weak lips in a pouty mouth, too small for the wide face that it had been planted in. Hair cut too short to effectively frame my head. There was nothing there that I found pleasant to see, and I spent the rest of my day brooding on it. I skipped lunch, determined to punish myself for not having come further, for not being more. I took stock of who I was, and found so many reasons to be so disappointed in myself.

Over dinner, after a movie, I poured my insecurities out to Dawn. I spoke of my fear, that my constant fear of failing in my life would become a self fulfilling prophecy. I shared my doubts over my ability to become the man that I should be. And found, after a series of insightful questions, that I don't really even know who that man is. I can't define what it is that I hate about myself. I just know that I'm not who I should be, when compared with other people of better station at my age. I should be doing more, showing more evidence of growth, demonstrating my value. If I'm not succeeding, I'm failing. Instead of acknowledging that I could be set out on the right path, that I could be worthy of something good in my life, I raise the bar of my self expectations higher until I find a place in which I'm lacking, and then flagellate myself over it. I set myself up for failure by allowing myself no room for error, no room for growth.

All of this, triggered because I took away the mask that I had been hiding behind. Well, not really. That implies that these issues were ever far from the surface even when I had the goatee. They were always preying on my mind, but now I felt that my deficiencies were out in the open, on display for all to see. That everyone who saw me would be as disgusted with me as I have been in myself. That I would be "found out", exposed for the unworthy man that I am. We talked about all of this, over some really good food that I had initially been reluctant to order. It was, I'm sure you can imagine, a pretty emotional conversation. I felt as though I were releasing some bitter poison, lancing a boil and venting to this wonderful woman who has been so amazing to me. She then, methodically, rationally, logically dismantled my self loathing. Cut through it with insight sharp as a scalpel, dissecting the root of my fears, and showing me where the reality diverged from my expectations. With the strength of her belief in me, her unconditional love for me, she reinforced how lucky I am. She is committed to me, and to seeing me become as happy as I can be with the man that I am.

I've decided to start a program of some kind, and am looking into options, so that I can learn to begin seeing the man in me that everyone else sees. I'm still growing the goatee back, though. Now I know why it's a favorite look for chubby guys with double chins.

One Year

Tomorrow marks a year passed since my leaving. I have known, in that year, more beauty and more sadness than I ever have before. I have seen things that I had never thought that I would see, heard things that I had never thought that I would hear, done things that I had never thought that I would do. I have lost love, found it again, lost it again, and found warmth, safety, and comfort. I have never known that I could be so happy, and never imagined that I would feel so alone again. I have been blessed with the love of a woman who has been very, very good to me. I have struggled with questions of my worth as a man, and as a father. Struggled with how to gauge the worth of my word, and the weight of what it means to make, break, and keep my promises. Struggled with the reality of the consequences of my decisions. More importantly, I have put my children through life altering changes. Changes that I hope, through the positive example of what I will become, they will learn from. A year ago, I would never have imagined myself where I am. It was all supposed to go so differently. I am an incredibly fortunate man, to have been given so much.