The Older Man
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scottak66's LiveJournal:
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| Wednesday, July 29th, 2009 | | 10:10 pm |
Memories
This week is our foster daughter's freshman orientation at WSU, my alma mater. We picked up our extra kid a couple of years ago. She was Trouble's eldest's best friend, and didn't have a very stable home life. When her mother wanted to move to another city her junior year of high school, we told her if she wanted to, she could live with us, and continue to attend Auburn High School. While I never REALLY expected to be taken up on the offer, I also wouldn't have agreed to make it without the intent to follow up on the promise. She took it, and her mother agreed. And so began a great blessing in our lives. We have had the pleasure of watching an incredibly intelligent, driven, and talented young lady blossom before our eyes. She came to us carrying quite a few extra pounds, largely because she'd been provided with junk food and had to fend for herself for many years. We provided her with regular home cooked meals, and the pounds have melted off. I must say, she's the ONLY person who could possibly eat my cooking for 2 years and LOSE weight. She watched her portions, made good choices, and now has curves in all the right places. Funny that someone could consider our home STABLE, but for her it was. Trouble and I fondly remember her bragging to her mother on the phone one day that she actually had a bedtime, and got in trouble for being up past it! We watched her struggle with a full schedule of Advanced Placement classes. Acting in plays, and then stage manager for a play. A constant scheduling barrage of Job's Daughter's activities. She stressed, she studied, she went out the door. We dropped her off, picked her up, or she walked. She did more than her share around the house, and never complained. Somewhere along the line, she stopped jumping at her shadow, and became a confident young woman, with a damn-near full ride scholarship to the WSU Honors program. Oh, and if you failed to catch it from the tone, we have come to love this treasured addition to our household as one of our own. Now there are plenty of days that I pat myself on the back for my role in helping a young lady reach her potential. And, I suppose, some credit is due. But what Trouble and I did is trivial. Food, shelter and stability. Oh, and love. Lots of that. I shouted my pride (and cried a little) at the Senior Awards Night, when she got called up for her varied achievements and scholarships. That was our girl. We did that. We did diddly. It was her determination, strength of character, hard work, and desire for something better for herself that made all the difference. Note: This entry was going to be about the memories I'm having being back on an old stomping ground. I guess I digressed. Another note: Feels good to be writing again. | | Wednesday, October 29th, 2008 | | 10:15 pm |
It was one of my first nights as a permanent resident of the SeaQuester. The 34 foot Californian, leased by the skipper from its owner, a prominent Juneau lawyer, was named as a play on words for what the Court does with a jury during the deliberation of case. Weeks earlier, Craig, my captain, chose me to be his deckhand after a particularly grueling pleasure trip. Crew quarters at Glacier Bay Lodge were a cramped affair. 2 sets of bunk beds shoe-wedged into a 20'x20' room with a bathroom attached. Too confining for me, I had taken to pitching my tent on the plush moss in the woods just out of sight of the day trek path, bucking the Park Service regulation restricting camping within 1 mile of the Lodge to the designated campground only. My desire for privacy outweighed my need to comply with protocol. After I closed the bar and did the books, I would amble down the pitch dark path, padding quietly over the wood planks laid over the copious wet patches, counting bends in the trail until I reached the jump-off point. I had placed a small, almost unnoticeable ribbon to denote my departure from the trail. From there, it was only a matter of finding the old felled evergreen that provided shelter from daytime eyes. After clamboring over that dead and rotting monolith, I could slide into my sleeping bag, slung over 6 inches of moss, and slumber the night in the incredible absence of all sound, waking with my body warm and snug within the polyfil cocoon, my face wet with the morning dew, ruddy with the cool of the night under the canopy of Douglas Fir. As much as I loved the solitude of the rain forest, when the captain offered me a cramped fore-cabin bunk as my semi-permanent home, I didn't hesitate. Since we left each morning at 7am with a new batch of clients, being ON the boat already was an advantage to all. On this day, I had worked the day shift in the lounge at Glacier Bay Lodge. This was the job that (barely) paid the bills while I spent my off hours on the boat. At 5pm, I was just finishing my shift, and my new captain was just warming a bar seat after a day of charter fising without a deckhand. "The boat is anchored 200 out (yards). Take the Zodiak and keep an eye on her." Soon thereafter, Craig left for town with his girlfriend, now wife, a naturalist employed by the Park Service to enterpret nature for the uninitiated. More here, but it's time for bed for now. | | Sunday, October 19th, 2008 | | 2:46 pm |
Writer's Block: Forbidden Reading
Mine was Forever as well. We had a copy stashed in our 2 story tree house out back in Gig Harbor. That is, until someone got a copy of Penthouse Letters... | | Wednesday, October 15th, 2008 | | 11:14 pm |
Alaska Premier
I've been too long from the sea. I still remember my first plane ride to Juneau, a graduation gift from my parents. I slept most of the early morning trip, having celebrated my departure the night prior with an old college friend. I awoke, cramp-necked in my seat as the plane's descent through the clouds made the 737 shudder. The view from that window in May 1991 was (I now know) a typical Southeast Alaska gray. Later in my life, I would experience the deep blue of tropical waters on one of my many trips to warmer climes. But this view of Alaska's waters was much more rugged. Much more symbolic. There was no seeing the rocky depths below. There was only the steely, uneven surface, wizened by ripples and whitecaps, agitated by the steady wind of Lynn Canal. Even then, with a rugged landscape opening beneath me, I knew I was home. I'm not a man who believes that one's future lies anywhere than where he takes it, but Destiny was my companion during that touch-down. I waited a fitful (though somewhat beer-induced, as I met another Glacier Bay Lodge employee in the terminal, and we sought the nearest watering hole) night at the Juneau International (quite a stretch, that) Airport, sleeping in short stints in the plastic terminal chairs, until the small commuter airline could take me to Gustavus, the gateway to Glacier Bay. How would I know that the next evening I would be calf-deep in water at tide change, catching Dolly Varden where the fresh water dumped into Beartrack Cove in the heart of a region where God showed his finishing skills. The ensuing summer would etch itself on the tablet of my life in deep relief. The events of that summer are noteworthy (and blog-worthy), life-shaping, and wonderfully lyrical. More later... Current Mood:  contemplative | | Friday, June 6th, 2008 | | 3:14 pm |
| | Sunday, June 1st, 2008 | | 9:25 pm |
Breaking the dam
Dania: Are you sad, Daddy? 'Cause you were sad the other day when I called. Me: I'm OK, Honey. Just going through a little rough patch. It'll get better. I'll sure be glad when you and your brother get here in a few weeks though. Dania: It's OK, Daddy, if you don't feel like talking. Just remember I'm always here if you need somebody to talk to. Me: Thank you Honey (sniff). I'm gonna go now, okay? Dania: K. I love you Daddy. Me: I love you too Princess. I'll talk to you tomorrow. How do you THANK your 10 year old for helping to make you cry? Current Mood:  gloomy | | 2:39 pm |
Forgiveness
Years ago, I ran a support group for people going through divorces. DivorceCare is a 13 week program that is a combination of an informational video on a particular topic, and then a group discussion/therapy session. The topics ranged from caring for children during difficult times, finances, depression, etc. The most trying unit, and also the most healing, was on Forgiveness. Being faith-based, the video urged the importance of forgiving the person who wronged you, even if they've not asked for it, or atoned for what they had done. Don't do it for them, it said, but for yourself. Only after you've accomplished this can you really heal and move on with your life. "I can't." These 2 paralyzing words were uttered by at least half of the participants in the following group discussion. Many saw the need in themselves, but the wounds were too fresh, the betrayal too much. Some could not conceive how there was any justice in forgiving someone who hasn't asked for it, or who handed them the "you drove me to do it, it's all your fault" excuse. These sessions were by far the most emotionally charged, with nary a dry eye by the end of 2 hours, myself included. Some saw the light that very day, and put one more demon behind them. Some called me a year later to share their triumph over themselves. And some never forgave. My choice of topics after a long silence is, as you might guess, not random. I'm struggling now with this very concept, and my strength is lagging. I find myself in that middle group. The ones that realize their need to forgive. I have forgiven many transgressions without being asked. This one is my trust, which I give too easily, and the ragged gash in my soul is just too new. Current Mood: Sad Movies and Whiskey Sours | | Tuesday, April 15th, 2008 | | 9:57 pm |
A Good Cry
I've never been able to determine if men are wired differently when it comes to crying, or if it's a function of culture. It takes a great extreme to bring me to that release. During my divorce, I had a good friend whose very touch provided the trigger that I needed. Of course, the tears were not often very far from the surface back then. Nor are they now. But the trigger is gone. I am at least self-aware enough to know what I need. I just can't seem to get there. I have always lived by the mantra "change is opportunity". At this moment, I'm feeling tilled under by opportunity. | | Friday, March 14th, 2008 | | 4:04 pm |
| | Monday, February 18th, 2008 | | 10:36 pm |
To Be Continued - 3 Freakin Years Later...
A story idea I posted in 2005 just for myself: Every man sipping scotch on the rocks in an upscale hotel bar has a story. Mine was simple. Or complicated, depending on how much you cared. Another deal closed. Another hefty check to the bank at month's end. A day of handshakes and "mutually beneficial, win-win" conversations. Some signatures on a contract, and the momentary rush of adrenaline from another goal reached. And yet there I sat in my isolation. My return ticket was 36 hours away. I could move up my departure, only to spend another weekend in my upscale Queen Ann flat, sipping more scotch and dabbling at melodies on the baby grand. The bar was mostly devoid of patrons. A couple sat in the far corner by the windows, looking out over the river . (new) The candlelight danced between their faces tilted forward like the dying Mazatlan sun jigged between the palm and banana leaves as night stole her time. He'd seen that look across a hastily wiped table just 17 days ago, directed at his flame-touched eyes in a quiet cafe in the Golden Zone. It was off-season, and he was one of a handful of Americanos that had not fled the rains and humidity. Shauna's timid request for him to stay beyond his planned long weekend found him spending his weeks of unused vacation pay accrued over 6 years, stalling his return until his very livelyhood was threatened by none other than the CEO. If not for his well-established track record of new contracts, he would never had been able to hold off this long. Grudgingly, he'd left for the States. Now, I'd closed the deal. Increased my company's revenue by 25% for the next year. I could go back to Juneau a hero. And yet, my mind and heart were pulled much closer to the Equator. I like my women tall and lithe. She was small of height and petite. I had a preference for brunettes. She was auburn-haired. I was drawn to women of a certain emotional control. She was a fireball. And yet the fire in her soult, the mischief in her eyes, and the bare sincerity of her heart had kept him at points South to his own detriment. I'd returned to my office in Juneau just in time to be briefed on the needs of the potential new account, and, after perfunctory admonitions for the extended time off, left immediately for St. Louis. And here I sat, in this $7 a beer lounge. Watching a young couple who had fought through their own personal roadblocks to be together. Would they retire to their room later, clammy warm skin melding together on the cool sheets? Probably, and soon, from the anticipatory look in their eyes. Another sip of ice-mellowed Maker's Mark, and my mind drifted to weeks past. Leisurely morning love. Her gasp as her own pleasure was her first sensation as she emerged into waking. Her lips nuzzled into the hollow of my neck as I filled her from behind. OK, I'm done for tonight. Let's hope it's not 4 years before I continue this again.
| | 9:42 pm |
I spent some time tonight going back over old journal entries, and found this comment posted anonymously in the entry titled "The Fear Factor":
Anais Nin has a wonderful quote that sums this up well: "And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Everyone must decide for himself or herself when s/he is ready to bloom.
-Abraxas- And there is the truth of it. Look at that rain droplet on your window. For those of us that just know the basic physics of gravity and fluidity, the globe of liquid should immediately make its way down the smooth pane, join with other droplets to spill over the sill, and begin a long journey to the sea. But it doesn't. The damn thing just hangs there. Defiantly. Fact is, there are deeper deeper factors. Surface tension. Wind resistance. Glass porousness (sorry, that's all I got. I'm an English major, for shit's sake). Only when the major laws of nature gather their forces to override the minor ones does our droplet release its stubborn hold and continue its journey. Will our droplet be caught with others in a stagnant pool, stalling its journey, maybe until it evaporates into the ethereal clouds? Or will it be only an interim stop, until once again, forces bigger than it drives it forward? There are, after all, no guarantees that once we've been released to slide down that pane that the trek to the sea will be without a few more stops. ... Am I virtually pile-driving the metaphor here, or employing the right level of subtlety? I can't tell. I can only see the forest (Oh you Jackass, you threw ANOTHER metaphor in?). How much surface tension to we each have? How many pores in life's seemingly smooth surface help us hold on?
Gravity comes. Current Mood:  drained | | Saturday, February 9th, 2008 | | 12:06 am |
Healing Flame
They say that our reaction to diversity defines us. I'm not sure who THEY are, but I'd like to present them with the business end of a red-hot poker. Catharsis: A release of emotional tension, as after an overwhelming experience, that restores or refreshes the spirit. Yep, things are a bit rough around here. In the spirit of the half-full glass, here's hoping that the end result will bring with it a new clarity. | | Thursday, January 31st, 2008 | | 10:10 pm |
Change
One distinction of being human is adaptability.Of course, Darwin explains the ability for all species to change slowly over many generations through genetic mutation. We, however, can adapt to our surroundings almost immediately through creativity and reason.
"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Man discovered fire presumably by accident. And yet our predecessors were able to deduce that the elusive orange flame that burned might also provide light, warmth, and cooking facility. As early man found himself with fewer meat animals to hunt, he discovered agriculture. This was no accident. When forced with adversity - the looming cessation of the most basic of needs - his creativity takes center stage in his thinking. This is important. This is why man is not only here today, but the masters of our own world, the top of Earth's food chain. In our struggle against the ever-changing environment around us, we as a species show a remarkable ability to adjust our direction when faced with a threat to our survival. But what about those of us that are not faced with an end of an ice age? Or the loss of one of our primary senses? What if the consequences of not changing are not life-threatening? What if we can't see past the short-term pain of adapting to the better way on the other side? To be clear, I don't think that most people LIKE change. Just look at the reactions of most people when there is a management or procedural change in the workplace. MOST employees grumble and complain, seeing the worst possible outcome of the adjustments. Change is rarely easy. It engenders discomfort. The cessation of the familiar. Forced growth. We are mostly creatures of habit. We use phrases like "this is just who I am", or "I always do it this way". Really, though, whose limitations are these? Who is it that defines these as unchangeable absolutes (forgive me, Your Honor, for leading the witness...)? How often do we, as individuals, take a hard look at ourselves, and have the courage to hammer away at what we mostly thought of as impenetrable walls? The words are my own, but the concept has been presented many times by many deeper thinkers than myself. Hell, borrow a Tony Robbins tape at the library; it's all about self-realization. Is the short-term pain of self-discovery worth the outcome? I think each of us must make that decision. I have my own fears to surmount in this arena. But I WANT to be better, happier, more fulfilled. I can't do that without growth, striving, and discomfort. I want better for me. And for my kids. I wish to be a better friend. A better mate. I am happy with who I am, but not satisfied. Current Mood:  determined | | Monday, October 29th, 2007 | | 12:56 am |
The gaps in entries are far too long, but then so are the moments in my life that afford reflection. This is not a negative, but merely a change. Life's in-person challenges far supercede this journal. I do, however, miss these chronicles. I suffer from the lack of both the constructive comments of my friends, and the clarity from which penning my thoughts provides. I'll not attempt NoNoWriMo this year. Realistically, my time is far too fragmented. There are meals for all 5 of us (all females, save me), managing our apartment complex, and added duties at the office. While I'm not fond of using this medium as a mere diary entry, it's been so long since I've been here, I'm compelled to give an update of my life as fate has laid upon me. Shannon and I are still together, and have traversed some rocky crags togehter. We're still not all the way up the mountain, but hand-in-hand, we move closer to the peak. We've moved to a new home. An apartment with the most abundant space. Through the toils of renting, I've become the manager of the whole complex, and the challenges therein will fill my weekends for many months. I've also been promoted at work, and find myself the supervisor of not only my beloved, but a couple of other talented employees as well. The transition has come with its difficulties at home, but we've gotten through them, and made this partnership successful, and through our efforts, we've become the darling of the company. We've also gained an extra child. Just days prior to the school year, Shannon's eldest's best friend found her family life unnacceptable, and her mother and she decided to take us up on a long-standing offer to take her in. So we now have an extra 16 year old under our roof and rules. For the first time in her life, she has a bedtime. She has adults who quiz her about her schoolwork. And her happiness. We treat her as our own. She is family. Just as I call Shannon's girls my own, so do we both claim this one as ours, and we revel in her high grades, her desire to be here with us (who would have ever thought that WE would be the stable environment), her gradual reduction of excess weight brought on mostly by ready-made meals, and her reduced stress level, knowing that she has 2 "parents" who love her, and celebrate her successes, and hold her hand through her roughest times. This extra child ups our commitment to each other. It may not make it easier, but it does ramp up our efforts, both for the children and for ourelves. We love each other. We love those that thrive in our household, whether they are of our blood or not. There is much we will endure for this family that we've made. There is much more about our newly-made family that I would like to share. But slumber summons, and soon another day will be upon us. Forgive the inconsistency of contact. Know that our efforts that keep us forum are honorable and neccesary. I hope, with efforts from my household, to be back here soon. | | Wednesday, September 5th, 2007 | | 11:32 pm |
Tropical Heat
The sticky heat of autumn threatened to weight him down as he left the cool climate control of the party behind. Instantly, his pores fought to release a cooling sweat, even as the hot coastal air soaked his silk print shirt. But he'd spent too much of his life this close to the Equator to let the heat daunt him, and he scanned the dimly lit street for signs of movement, thankful even for the slight breeze that seemed to pause and stutter on its journey from the nearby sea. Nothing. His dalliance had cost him a definite direction. Now, if he was to turn fate his direction, he would need to guess correctly. He knew only that she was staying in the guest house of a friend on the northernmost 9-hole course. There were several ways to reach this destination, and he knew them all. But which one might she choose? She'd already been here 2 weeks (God, did it take him that long to act on his feelings these days?), and had played all 3 courses a number of times. He knew that she'd been on the road routes to the outside of this private enclave as well, as he'd seen her riding shotgun in the golf cart with Mrs. Schall, her hostess, on the way to the local fruiteria. Indecision at this point would only guarantee a lonely night. So Aidan moved. Stealing quietly west, his river sandals made barely a "chuff" with each stirde. With some luck, he would either catch her on this route, having navigated a few well-hidden shortcuts, or end up ahead of her if she wound her way up and down fairways. If she took the eastern road route, he would not see her this night. He didn't find her on the road. And as he approached the starting holes of all 3 private courses, he began resigning himself to a Bacardi Limon and tonic poolside as he checked his email from the States. There might be another night, and hopefully he would be there, with courage as bolstered as it was tonight. The scream from the other side of the clubhouse froze him momentarily. | | Monday, August 27th, 2007 | | 11:25 pm |
Tropical Heat Part - Oh hell, who knows...
Aidan watched her from across the crowded townhome. She stayed close to her hostess, accpeting introductions, and making the small talk of a cocktail party. But as each conversation turned to local happenings, he could see her interest wane. She was an interloper here. A visitor, with a life in the States, mixing with Mazatlan expats. She feigned interest. Asked the right questions. But when gazes were averted, her ennui showed through. Once, during that hour, when she turned away for the conversation for a polite sip of her margarita, she met his gaze. He thought he saw the widening of her eyes just for a moment before she turned her attention back to a dialogue she clearly cared nothing about. He sipped his scotch, half-participating in the conversation among the other couch-sitters around him. He was but a seasonal resident here; the rest had given up their lives in the U.S. for the snail's pace here. He knew all the same people down here. He just didn't care as much. Roger, an old friend who had now made his life south of the Equator for more than 20 years now, smiled as he saw Aidan's attention pulled from the conversation about construction and the rainy season by the small, auburn-haired woman in the violet sundress quietly refilling her glass from the pitcher in the kitchen. Leaning forward, he said, "I can't blame you, son. Were I a younger man, I'd pick that over this," he swept his hand, indicating the handful of men engrossed in conversation, "Oh hell. I'd STILL pick that!" His smile contained no lechery, but rather an older man's appreciation of a young man's appetites. "Take it from me. Life provides us a few opportinities to change our fate, and most of them we look past without blinking an eye. The best of us act on one to two. Is this one of yours?" Aidan sighed. The trusted old man's words tipped the scales of courage for him. The brightness in this woman's eyes had stirred him since they first met a few days prior. But the craziness of thinking she would fancy a jaded, rootless drifter like himself kept him from any pursuit. But now Roger's words rang in his head as he watched Shauna nod polite goodbyes, rinse her glass in the sink, and steal silently to the door. He knew that this woman had more than just the sway of a sundress in all the right places. He'd heard the intelligence in their brief discussion at the cafe. But it was the way she moved silently towards the door. Was there a fleeting glance in his direction as she looked back into the room? A small, slender hand eased the screen door closed behind her, and then it was gone, into the night. "Boy, you've been brooding far too long over a part of your life that didn't work out." Roger's trusted, time-tested advice rang true. "Take a chance, for Christ's sake!" Aidan raised his glass quickly to his lips, draining his scotch, the ice cubes spilling forward to tickle and freeze his mustache. "For once, my old friend, you speak wisdom." The vacant ice of Aidan's drink sang as he set it on the cofee table. "I'll never know, unless I try." He went for the door, ignoring host and guests, and fled after her into the night. | | Monday, August 20th, 2007 | | 10:48 pm |
Letters to family part 1
A while back, I started to write a personal biography for a long lost family member. I never sent that entry, and then I lost the address. I recently found it again, and the following is the first installment to him. I've changed a few items to maintain anonymity, but otherwise it's complete. I'll likely include some more of these, as they are a glimpse at me as well. First off, I’m very sorry it took me this long to write. Truth be told, I lost the address that J gave me for a couple of months, and life got a little hectic. My kids were here for a month, and during that time, my gal and I came pretty close to splitting up. The kids are gone back to the Mother’s in Boise, and Shannon and I are managing to keep things together, so I’m going to take some time the next couple of nights to write down a few of the happenings with me. I emailed your address to C today, too, so don’t be surprised to see a letter from her as well. Christ, where do I start? Cheri knows what’s going on with you, but we’ve agreed to keep your confidence where Dad is concerned. Mom and Dad are doing fine. They are on their 3rd fifth wheel RV, and 3rd truck to pull it with. They take several trips per year, and for once, last time they went to hang with Auntie Pat in Arizona, they didn’t feel much pull to come home. They’re living in Port Orchard now, not sure if you knew that. Just 2 doors down from Pat and her new husband, George. Killer view of Vashon Island from their living room and deck! Now that I’m living down here again (Auburn), I get out to see them every month or so. I got Dad hooked on brewing his own beer a few years back, and now he makes about a batch every 2 weeks. More than I have time for, that’s for sure. But there’s always something tasty on tap when I get over that way. C and J are doing very well. C is the office manager or something for our old church, and J is doing sales at a medical supply company in Gig Harbor. Their oldest son, D, recently finished Marine boot camp, and will likely be deployed to Iraq in the next few months. He’s a good kid, but in the next year, he’s going to grow up a lot. We just all want him to come home. He’s going to be driving a HumVee; not the safest of jobs over there right now. And then there’s me. I think the last you knew, I was happily (on the surface anyway) married, and raising 2 kids in Juneau, and a successful real estate agent. Well, obviously that blew apart, about 5 years ago. The divorce was very ugly, with custody battles and all. I actually had to go to court to fight for the right to claim D as my son. He’s not my blood, but I’m the only Dad he’s ever known, and he wanted it that way. The court sided with me, but like most men, I got hosed with all the bills while she walked away clean. I’m still fighting out from under that. I stayed in AK for about a year after my ex announced that she was moving the kids to Boise, and then decided to get a little closer to them. I decided the Seattle area was close enough to see them and still set me close to the rest of the family. My ex-wife’s sister was getting a divorce at the same time as we were, and her soon-to-be ex and I became very close friends through the ordeal. That makes him my double X brother-in-law! We typically just shorten it to “brother” just so as not to confuse too many people. L started as a stockboy for a distribution company with a warehouse in Sitka, AK 20 years ago. Now he owns the company, and runs it from it’s corporate headquarters in Kent. He got me to move south, and for the first year I was here, I lived with him in Maple Valley (not far from Renton). I’ve since moved out on my own, and I live in Auburn, with Trouble and her 2 daughters. I’m not going to give you too much detail on her this time around. Not because I have nothing to say, but rather I have SO much to say about her, it’s worthy of another whole letter, which I’ll get to eventually. About 6 months ago, L hired me as a sales rep, and I’ve more than double his Washington sales since I started. I’m loving every minute of my job. After being self-employed for almost a decade, it’s nice to know how much each paycheck is going to be! There’s lot’s more to say, but I’m going to wrap up for tonight. It was a long day, I’m wiped out, and there’s a beautiful redhead waiting upstairs for me. Scott Current Mood: exhausted | | Sunday, July 15th, 2007 | | 1:13 am |
The adage says, women are weak, and men are strong. A woman expresses her feelings with abandon, while we men look on, shake our collective heads, and move on to the task at hand. We, as a gender, are hard-wired to fix the problem. Always will be. The solution is simple and quick, and action must be taken. How confounding when our female counterparts get swept up in the PROCESS of the solution, rather than its final goal. Lucky women. What happens when a man needs to cry. To rail against the injustice of it all. To momentarily succumb to self-pity. To allow for the catharsis of pure outflow of emotion. Society has taught us from an early age that we must be strong. We, as a gender, outcast those who show too much emotion, labeling them feminine, gay, or worse. And yet, women expect that from us. They value the strength. They have little respect, as we do, for the over-emotional male. They are drawn to the "strong, slient type". But are we, as a gender, better off in our subjugation of our emotion? Sometime, the answer is yes. We NEED to be the ones unaffected by trivialities. It is our yang to the femaile extreme. But what happens when, due to our innate need to suppress our emotions coupled with our society's expectations keep us from releasing? Are we healthier? Show me a man who exhibits uncharacteristic anger or anxiety, and I'll show you a man who needs a good cry. We are without a doubt different from women, but we're the same in this. There is a release, a catharsis, an epiphany, in the unbridled release of emotion that brings clarity to all of us. We need it too. And it it much harder to achieve, thanks to genetics, and societal pressures. When I was divorcing, there was a friend whose comforting touch could bring me instantly to tears. I sought her ought often, being self-aware enough to know that the release was what I needed to again see the world clearly. That friend is long gone from my life. And no person has replaced her. There builds a storm within my heart. And so far, convention and pride prevent its release. It will eventually burst its confines. I only hope that the ensuing damage does minimal damage to me, and those around me. | | Friday, July 13th, 2007 | | 10:55 pm |
Musings
Once again, it seems that my creative side resonates when my soul hurts. The beautiful auburn-haired woman I love has given me a writing assignment, but I've never possessed the aptitude to deliver particular subject matter without inspiration. So I think I think I'll wait until my muse visits me on her request. I spent a lot of time today reading her words, and my own, over the years that we found each other. I came home very melancholy. Actually, I've been looking to the past a lot recently. There are lessons there. Reminders of what matters. I think I would like to drag some of it forward. In fact, I think I will. | | Sunday, July 8th, 2007 | | 11:02 pm |
Chances
I read a column today in our local bi-weekly newspaper and, between the doses of religion, a very strong message hit me hard. Each day that we awake still on this ethereal plane, we get another chance to love. Man, that's simple. I shall try to live it. |
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