Tuesday, December 30, 2014

Home... Again


It feels somewhat appropriate that I am writing these words at one of my old stomping grounds, at the nearest coffee shop to the house I purchased more than nine years ago… so close to what used to be home. That house is now rented to someone I have never met, it is now home to a complete stranger, but this place still familiar, even nostalgic. I’ve written here many times before; undergraduate term papers, much longer term papers as a graduate student and several of the reflections that this blog serves as a repository for. Finding myself right here, right now with a few spare moments to reflect is yet another instance of unplanned perfection.

With just a little more than a day left in 2014, I am compelled to look back at not only the last calendar year, but also the last few years. While distinct lines of demarcation are not common in one’s life story, in many ways a new chapter in my journey began a little more than three years ago. I could never have predicted all that would happen, nor am I able to know what might come next. Indeed, this particular chapter was not even on the radar just a few short years ago. As little a six months ago, I did not know where I would be in a year, but now I do. I will be coming home.

But for any of this make any sense, a very abbreviated recap of the past several years is probably in order. About 17 years ago I hit a figurative brick wall. I moved from Silicon Valley in the San Francisco Bay Area to Truckee, California. I moved to where I always wanted to live, away from the hustle and bustle, away from all those people to what was still a sleepy little tourist town nestled near Donner Summit in the Sierras, not too far from majestic Lake Tahoe. I thought I had arrived; I was living in a four-season paradise. But it would not last. A near fatal accident in October 2000 changed everything.

After a long recovery and rehabilitation, I ended up in Sacramento, went back to school in 2003 and in a very literal sense I started over at the age of 40. I had no idea where the path would take me, but at least I was finally doing something again. I transferred to California State University, Sacramento in 2005 and graduated with honors in 2007. It was academic success the likes of which I never experienced before. After trying to make ends meet as a journalist in what was a crumbling economy, I went back to CSUS to start work on an MA in communications studies. I figured that I could use that degree to get a job teaching at the community college level and secure some stabile, long-term employment.

Towards the end of that degree, however, my professors at CSUS persuaded me to apply to doctoral programs at PhD granting (R1) universities. I did not think I was PhD material (sometimes I still don’t), but I applied anyway and got accepted to two schools. One of them, Louisiana State University, offered me four years of funding for teaching two undergrad classes each semester; it was similar to the deal I had at Sac State, except LSU also paid my tuition. A few months before starting at LSU in the fall of 2011, I got into a relationship that turned into a long distance relationship that turned into a long distance engagement that turned into a long distant marriage that ultimately turned into a long distance divorce… and the distance had nothing to do with it. The warning signs were there long before I took the leap, but I ignored them thinking “love will conquer all,” or something equally naïve.

How I made it through school with all that external shit going one is still beyond me, but I did. Now, with just one semester and only a prospectus and a dissertation left, my time at LSU is coming to an end. This chapter is coming to a close. It is time to move on again. While I could go virtually anywhere, it is the draw of my children and grandchildren (mostly), other family and some very close friends that is calling me back to Sacramento. And it is pulling me away from the friends I made in Baton Rouge. I used to joke around that I needed a clone of me to handle all I had to handle, but it is no joke anymore.

But that word – home – has taken on a new, perhaps deeper, meaning. The old cliché, “home is where the heart is,” doesn’t quite do the term justice, but the idea that home is a physical or geographic location is no longer prominent. True, I have a specific or primary place that I operate out of (currently Baton Rouge), but I now have strong ties to many different locales, and now one of them is outside of California, my “home” state. Coming back home to Sacramento means leaving home in Baton Rouge, and I find that idea unacceptable. Somehow, home has to be more than just where I reside.

As I reflect back on where these last several years have taken me, and as hard as it has been, I can only come away with a feeling of gratitude. I did not feel that way at the end of last year. Last year was not a “good” year, but in retrospect it was for reasons I could not see then. I cannot say what the coming year will bring or where it will take me, but at 52 years-old, my life has a newness, or maybe a freshness, that makes me feel at once much younger and much older than I am. And maybe that isn’t such a bad place to be. I have never been one to take the easy path, or the well-traveled path, or the “conventional” path and often enough it has made life harder than it had to be, but at the same time it is never dull. Moreover, it is the life I have and in the big picture, it is worth every second of it.




Saturday, December 06, 2014

No Big Deal

Today I “celebrate” the culmination of my 52nd journey around the sun. I feel like I should have something to say about almost 19,000 days of survival in what is often a hostile world, some profound reflection about being a 52 year-old fourth-year doctoral student, some words of wisdom about what it has meant to negotiate the curves life has thrown at me, but I’m afraid I don’t. I just checked the archives of this blog that is itself almost nine years-old and the last time I wrote a reflective “birthday post” was five years ago - for my 47th birthday. To say much has happened in these past five years would be a monumental understatement. Indeed, too much has happened. Yet I m still here, beat up and scarred but all that much stronger for it. Would I do it again? Probably not, but the question is moot.

I’ve been asked a few times if I have anything “special” planned for today. The answer is not only, "not this year," but, really, not ever. Of the December 6ths that I can remember, even when there was something “special” planned, it never really was. Part of that can be blamed on the time of the year, something I am sure many of those with December birthdays can relate to. Mine is early in the month, the holiday “season” doesn’t have a huge impact, but since many of those years (maybe most) have found me in school, the end of the fall semester comes right about the same time as my birthday. This year December 6th falls on a Saturday, but it is smack-dab in between the end of the semester and finals week. I have work to do - lots of it - and that, while no different than most other days, is special enough for me.

As I get older, other special dates have been added to my life, and as I get older still, some of those have faded back into the nothingness they were prior. Some of those anniversaries, to me, have far greater significance than that of my birth. I am not really sure why this particular day always leaves me so underwhelmed. Four years ago, a good friend threw me a surprise party for my 48th birthday (and it almost worked, I was surprised until just before I got there)... it was the first time anyone every threw me a surprise party. But even that, not through any lack of sincerity on his part or of those who attended, felt odd, uncomfortable and more than just a little weird. Two years ago, for the big 5-0, there was a profoundly unforgettable dinner celebration with friends that I’d give almost anything to forget. (That is a different story for a different day and one, I am quite sure, some wish I would not tell at all). Two days later my family came to celebrate, and that was nice, but any excuse to get the entire family together these days is nice - I was happy to provide one.

This morning I met some friends for breakfast. It was not a “birthday breakfast,” it’s just something we do from time to time. It just happened to fall on my birthday today and as such, in addition to in-person birthday greetings from those friends, one paid for my breakfast. That simple gesture may well be the highlight and the best gift I receive all day - and I mean that with complete sincerity. Because, as it turns out, it really is the simple things that mean the most; the relationships I have built in my life and especially in the last few years mean more to me than any compulsory birthday greeting or present ever could. While I appreciate those who took a moment out of their day to wish me a happy birthday, I am far more grateful for those who have been there every day.

Wednesday, December 03, 2014

Guest Post?

I occasionally get requests from others to post a "guest post" to my blog. Usually the solicitation is accompanied by words like, "We think this would be of interest to your readers," or "you may use this free of charge as long as you link it to our site," etc. They are almost never of "interest to my readers," certainly not of interest to me, and I can write my own stuff "free of charge," I don't need the graciousness of others to help me fill my blog.

The link I am posting is not a "guest post," but rather a story written by someone else about me in a new online magazine called Asphalt and Dirt. It is a magazine designed to appeal to all facets of motorcycling and the motorcycle lifestyle. I offered a story from this blog, but the publisher wanted to go beyond just the road trip story I wrote in 2010, An Epic Journey, and delve deeper into what could best be viewed as the "lifestyle" so many riders identify with. This story, Crossing the line, does that. Enjoy.


Tuesday, November 11, 2014

Here is Not Yet There


Although I don’t write here nearly as much as I used to, I find a great deal of value in rereading my recent posts (and sometimes much older ones) to gauge where I was compared to where I am. It can be a little bittersweet as I am always ultra-critical, thinking I could have said this or that better or uncovering the occasional typo, but generally I’m pretty happy with the writing, and even happier with most of the content being history. Sometimes I’ll re-energize emotions that fed a particular piece, but it never lasts more than a moment or two. Time is a curious thing. As it passes, things become clearer and much easier to look at as they are, not as they were.

I am currently in a pretty good place, maybe too good. I find myself in a situation in which the completion of my doctorate is, for the most part, self-directed. Everything but my prospectus and dissertation are complete, but the prospectus should have been done some time ago. My general exams, commonly referred to as comprehensive exams, or “comps,” are finished - and I passed. That was a huge hurdle and one I faced filled with self-doubt. However, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I imagined it. I don’t “time out” (a seven-year window is allowed from the beginning of course-work to the completed dissertation) until 2018, but it would be foolish to think that I would complete it that late. If I drag it out beyond the next year, it will never get finished. That doesn’t mean my time would have been wasted, but it would leave the big prize on the table, one that is absolutely within my grasp. That is not the plan and I don’t believe it will happen, but at the same time – this time, right here, right now time – I am struggling to motivate myself to write my prospectus, a document that is really not all that difficult, especially compared to what I have done and the circumstances under which I had to perform.

So what is it? Probably a little burnout, a little fear and a little of just me being me. My modus operandi has never been that of a go-getter, the super-achiever, the “let’s do this” guy. Even with the numerous obstacles I have overcome in the last 10 to 15 years, and even with the achievements I’ve earned, I always seem to have to do it the hard way. Apparently, for me, that is the only way. The long short of it is that although I am stressing a little, I am not freaking out like I was going into my comps. Indeed, the pressure to “git ‘er done” is just about at critical mass, I can feel it coming. Soon, very soon, these words will be replaced with those I am here to write; the most ambitious challenge (I really look at it more as an adventure) I have ever undertaken. I know I can do it, but to do it, I have to actually do it. Rocket science, I know.

But as I write, conjuring up the next characters to spill out onto my screen, I can’t help but come around to an all-encompassing question, one that has plagued me not since coming to LSU, but rather one that materialized after my engagement/marriage turned into an ugly divorce. What next? Now as I look upon these words I think that part of my stalling (like I really need a excuse) could be hinging on that question. It’s not as though I always need to know what’s coming down the pike, or where I’ll be in x number of years, but rather that I had things pretty well nailed down before the rug was yanked out from under me. Could I still be seeking to regain my balance? That divorce also changed some very personal dynamics such that I don’t necessarily want to go back “home” to Sacramento, yet at the same time I know Baton Rouge is not going to be my long-term home either. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I am “homeless,” but slow-motion transient isn’t too far off the mark. And finally, at less than a month away from my 52nd birthday, I am feeling an overwhelming need to be somewhere, but I have no idea where that is. And I feel all of that while fully acknowledging that where I am is pretty damned good place.

Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Fine, Part Deux


My last entry in this ongoing life-journal, this blog, this open, public and world-wide virtual airing of some of the things going on inside my head, was more than two months ago. Titled Fine, it explored the nature of “finedom” and where I envisioned myself in relation to it. I concluded that not only was I decidedly on the not fine side of the scale, but also that I had been there for a while. Since then, a lot has happened and much of it, maybe even most of it, was pretty good. I set a sort of a benchmark in my last musing and from there I can clearly see that I am more “fine” than I was then. Much more.

Without going into a lot of unnecessary detail, some things in my life have worked themselves out. My outlook is much improved and as a result, my life in the present, right here, right now, is fine. The future has the potential to be much finer still, but the weird thing is that looking back I can readjust my level of finedom – a retrospective retuning, if you will. This is not a new revelation; I have been able to reassess large segments of my past and re-remember them in a different, much more positive light. It would appear that this is yet another example of things appearing much worse in the moment than need be. I’m not saying I overreacted, I believe that my feelings at any given time are valid; they are based upon what my experience is and has been, but part of that experience is that things have always gotten better, even when I couldn’t see it.

I was stressing over a lot of things last June. I was filled with doubt; I was exhibiting a profound lack of faith. Because I could not see a clear path in front of me, I felt as though there was nowhere to go but back. While I never threw in the towel, I sure wanted to. Several things carried me through that time – as well as the two or three years that preceded it. Among them was a 51-year track record of not dying. This may seem silly, but the mere fact that I am still alive despite events (one in particular) that challenged that reality gives me a baseline worst-case scenario. As bad as I felt things were, they weren’t that bad. Beyond that, I have these friends and family who love me and showed me the faith in myself that I did not have. I really didn’t think I could “do this,” they consistently told me I could.

But it pissed me off – no one really understood what “this” was. As it turned out, neither did I. “This” isn’t necessarily succeeding at earning my Ph.D., it isn’t necessarily succeeding in a marriage that never should have happened in the first place… it isn’t necessarily in the “achievement” of anything. “This” is navigating through life, simply doing my best, honoring my commitments and living with honesty, integrity and respect. That is the “this” I was not taking into account, that is the “this” that my friends and family knew I could do, and that is the “this” that, for the past 10 years plus, I have been living in and through - successfully.

All I have to do is stick one foot in front of the next and gradually things change. I didn’t want to. I wanted to quit and I didn’t even know what it was, exactly, that I wanted to quit from. School? That was the easy target, but it was far more than just that. The last three-ish years have been a pressure cooker – shit was coming at me from all sides - and I was just done. While much of that pressure is now released, it is not gone yet. I doubt it ever will be. But now I have yet another experience, another “past,” that I can look back to when things get all fucked-up again. Because, eventually, they will. Life is funny that way.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

Fine


It’s been a weird day. Some days are like that, but today is different, the stresses I have in my life, the recent past, the distant past, the immediate future and the distant future… everything is weighing heavily upon me. It’s Father’s Day, 2014, and I am far away from my boys and my father, but that’s not it, either. We have had formal Father’s Day celebrations in the past, but it is hardly a yearly tradition. This year the day was marked with a call to my father this morning, a call from my middle son this afternoon and text messages from the other two. I didn’t expect or not expect anything more or less; we all talk to each other all the time, we all love each other all the time, and as much as I miss them, I know they miss me, too. There is nothing about this day that changes any of that. From a Father’s Day perspective, it was fine.

But this life I am living today is not fine. I am not fine, though if I asked I would say I am. I am not in any danger, I am not “unhappy,” per sé, I am not deprived of anything, I am not in need of anything. I should be “fine.” But I’m not. Some days I am finer than others, but for the past year or two anyway, I haven’t really passed the midpoint on the “fine” continuum. And today I can’t even see it from here. Is it depression? Demoralization? Frustration? Regret? Overstimulation? Understimulation? I have not a clue, but whatever the cause, the result is decidedly not fine. So much has happened in the recent past, so much will never be the same. I went from the high of highs, from looking forward to a future filled with new hope and possibilities to having the rug yanked out from under me in what feels like one humungous “what the fuck?” moment. Maybe I haven’t quite caught my balance yet. Maybe I never will.

And maybe I never had it in the first place. Maybe that’s what I’m feeling – the loss of something I never could quite grab ahold, something that was once again within reach only to see it fade into a nonrecoverable past – the loss of something I’ve never had. That process turned my entire world on its head – more than just one relationship was permanently destroyed. Although I can “go back home,” home will never be the same. And as much as I have a home and feel at home in Louisiana, that was not the plan as recently as one year ago. I would have been back home by now, teaching and working on my dissertation from there. Now there is no “there,” not even physically; my old home is now just a house, an asset, it makes me money, that’s all. Little things like trading in my (California) motorcycle for a new one that is registered in Louisiana, changing my car registration over to this state, no longer getting any mail forwarded from my old home, getting used to the weather here, a divorce proceeding that is finally proceeding, hearing from some of my old friends less and less frequently - and a hundred other little things – none of that was ever part of any plan I had.

And now I am faced with a very unsure future. It’s not unsure in terms of whether I will “make it” or not. Even if I can’t overcome the two very large hurdles between a PhD and me, I will be “okay.” I have sufficient credentials to be able to work and earn a decent living almost anywhere. That is not the issue. The issue is that I am tired of starting over again all the time. I am tired of not knowing where I will be even as little as one year from now. And I find myself wishing I didn’t try to take on so much, wishing I didn’t purposely complicate my life so much, wondering why I am doing this and, sometimes, who I am doing it for. In a nutshell, I can’t seem to figure out what the fuck happened and why it is so hard for me to find any real stability. And, it’s not really even that, because, technically, I am “stable” and have been for a while. Sometimes I just wish I had a regular old job where I went to work Monday through Friday with maybe a little overtime on the weekends; one where I could come home and forget about it until I went back to work the next day; one where I knew, exactly, what my job would be and what it takes to get it done. I have enough “adventures” under my belt to fill two lifetimes; all I need is the time to write the book… I’m just tired of it all. I want off this ride.

Tomorrow will be better, but probably not fine.