There are times when being rational is a comfort. There are times, however, when one wishes that rationality simply wouldn't be around. In conversation today with a good friend, I was asked why I didn't pursue something that I certainly would have enjoyed greatly in the short term, and the only answer that I could give was that I knew it wouldn't be satisfying in the long term, and it would be worse all round. I am glad that I made that choice, but man, do I sometimes wish that I hadn't. There are times when I truly wish that I was more irrational.
29 August 2014
25 August 2014
24 August 2014
19 August 2014
a summative assessment
My marriage to Jo, the biggest, greatest, craziest story of my life so far, is coming to its conclusion. Nobody could have reasonably predicted that it would take the twists and turns that it did and it defied convention from the very beginning.
I don't know how many times I told someone about a first date that lasted two-and-a-half days, just to see the look of disbelief. I don't know how many times I helped tell the tale of a last-minute marriage in the hall of a hotel with no family around at a quarter to midnight on April Fools' Day. I don't know how many times I fondly reflected on dancing under pines in a parking lot or how many smiles, belly laughs, or tears were shared.
We lived in some terrible places. We lived among glorious beauty. We spent more time driving across the country together than anybody else I know. Together, we saw half of Canada and at least twenty-four US states. We endured and celebrated family. We ate fresh king salmon and Frito pie.
Over more than eight-and-a-half years, we learned just about everything there was to know about each other. We taught each other, shaped each other, and pissed each other off. My music collection, library, and taste in visual art will never be the same again. I know things about myself that I didn't when I was 24, and I know things about myself that I never would have guessed in January.
This story has interwoven with other stories. The stories of my profession, of our children, and of the hundreds of students we connected with over the years will never be severable from the story that is now ending. Singly and together, we have done things that stagger me when I take the time to reflect fully upon them. Those other stories will continue, as they must, for this is not their conclusion.
I recently read some advice to someone who was at the end of her own story, encouraging her not to "retcon" the entire relationship because things ended badly. All stories come to an end. Not all of them end in storybook fashion. It is important to remember that there was a lot of good before and among the bad.
I have no regrets. I cannot. Every moment, however fraught with tension or illuminated with joy, helped to bring me to this point. There is still a lot of difficulty and pain in our future, but there are also beautiful children, faithful friends, and irreplaceable memories. If you are reading this, you have likely been part of this story, and I thank you for that.
I don't know how many times I told someone about a first date that lasted two-and-a-half days, just to see the look of disbelief. I don't know how many times I helped tell the tale of a last-minute marriage in the hall of a hotel with no family around at a quarter to midnight on April Fools' Day. I don't know how many times I fondly reflected on dancing under pines in a parking lot or how many smiles, belly laughs, or tears were shared.
We lived in some terrible places. We lived among glorious beauty. We spent more time driving across the country together than anybody else I know. Together, we saw half of Canada and at least twenty-four US states. We endured and celebrated family. We ate fresh king salmon and Frito pie.
Over more than eight-and-a-half years, we learned just about everything there was to know about each other. We taught each other, shaped each other, and pissed each other off. My music collection, library, and taste in visual art will never be the same again. I know things about myself that I didn't when I was 24, and I know things about myself that I never would have guessed in January.
This story has interwoven with other stories. The stories of my profession, of our children, and of the hundreds of students we connected with over the years will never be severable from the story that is now ending. Singly and together, we have done things that stagger me when I take the time to reflect fully upon them. Those other stories will continue, as they must, for this is not their conclusion.
I recently read some advice to someone who was at the end of her own story, encouraging her not to "retcon" the entire relationship because things ended badly. All stories come to an end. Not all of them end in storybook fashion. It is important to remember that there was a lot of good before and among the bad.
I have no regrets. I cannot. Every moment, however fraught with tension or illuminated with joy, helped to bring me to this point. There is still a lot of difficulty and pain in our future, but there are also beautiful children, faithful friends, and irreplaceable memories. If you are reading this, you have likely been part of this story, and I thank you for that.
18 August 2014
the Rolling Stones song I love
I've always loved this song, but the lyrics have never hit as close to home as they do now.
17 August 2014
12 August 2014
05 August 2014
home
Years ago, I fell in love with the movie Garden State. There was a line in it about how home (for the male protagonist) was wherever the female protagonist (his great love) was. That line resonated for me, and it's basically been my working definition of "home" ever since.
It just occurred to me that I don't know where my home is. It's probably not here, but I don't know where it is. I do know that this is home for the kids, and they matter more than anything I want or think I need now.
Everything I will do will be focused on keeping them here and doing what I need to do to stay healthy enough and strong enough to provide for them here.
It just occurred to me that I don't know where my home is. It's probably not here, but I don't know where it is. I do know that this is home for the kids, and they matter more than anything I want or think I need now.
Everything I will do will be focused on keeping them here and doing what I need to do to stay healthy enough and strong enough to provide for them here.
They Say (a slight edit)
Better to have loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost and loved and lost than to never have loved at all.
01 August 2014
walking
I think I can safely go a few days here without walking HPR again. Six miles was enough for one day.
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