Perspectives on Anger

I don't know when I'll fully be "over" my marriage. It will probably take years in many ways, though I think I'm doing a fairly good job coping these days.

I've been working to expell a lot of the anger that I have towards my ex. This is largely being done in therapy, something I was never all that psyched about doing, and have now ironically found real value in (yes, learning some lessons too late). We spent a session where I was prodded to let loose all those feelings that I'm aware of, but was forced to swallow during the attempts to build bridges and resuscitate a dead body of a relationship. Now releasing them, I sat there with tears pouring down my face, a litany of fury that seemed to last forever.

How angry over what she's done to Zach's future. How she never gave me a legitimate chance to fix things. How she never took her own, honest responsibility for the situation. For pretending that fixing the marriage was an option, whereas it clearly wasn't. For dragging out the pain to make herself feel better. For not standing up for herself until it was time for her to stand outside the marriage. For blaming me for her intrinsic dissatisfaction with life. For accusing me of being the source of her unhappiness, whereas I was her rock, her rescue. For thinking that our problems were that gigantic to begin with. For... giving up.

God, it felt good to say those aloud to someone, when they had been running around and around my grief-addled brain for months. This doesn't mean those feelings are gone, but having them out in the open was somehow so relieving. And there isn't anyone that I can really say these things to, because I have no interest in poisoning the air against my ex with people we both know. I'm not that kind of person; I am respectful to the people that I love.

The next week, we did something even more interesting. We discussed all the qualities I want in a partner, and then very objectively, laid out what my ex was, and what she was not. Both good and bad. Essentially creating a list that helps give a sense of where we just pulled apart.

Some things she was: exceptionally giving, incredibly smart and perceptive, emotionally evolved, thoughtful, selfless, funny, clever, beautiful. A great mother.

Some things she also was: financially irresponsible, discontented with her life, lacking self-esteem, incapable of forgiveness, always late, obsessive to a fault, and most importantly... unhappy. I don't think she was ever happy in her life, or in her marriage. Maybe she will be now. Clearly, I couldn't make her happy. But it wasn't my job to make her happy. If she can't do that herself after all these years, my weaknesses was not going to be the difference-maker.

This put into relief things a series of traits that I want in a mate: Self-confident. Professionally secure. Energetic. Upbeat. Optimistic. Able to tease and be teased. Attractive. Sexually confident. Open-minded. Smart. Thoughtful. Happy.

My ex was many of those things, but some of the big ones just wasn't part of her personality. This doesn't make her a bad person, or even flawed. It's just who she is. Obviously, I have (or lack) many qualities that she wanted in a mate. I hope that someday she will forgive me for lacking those. In learning to accept this, this helps to let go of the anger. Or at least give it some perspective.

Last of the Great Stars

Paul Newman died. He was 83.

And I am really, really bummed. He may be the last of the great stars of the late studio system, early New Hollywood era, as he was closer to the likes of Brando, Dean, even Jimmy Stewart than DeNiro, Pacino, Redford.

And when you say those names, it just makes you sad for what Hollywood has lost, and may never be replaced. There was a time when our stars were icons because they were great actors, but they were also just stars. They had something almost mythical about them, and they didn't have the feel of having been constructed or manipulated, to a certain degree (even though they were, of course). Who do we have now? Fading, embarrassing stars like Harrison Ford, sellouts like DeNiro and Pacino, good but not epic 40-somethings like Denzel Washington, Cruise, sometimes Crowe, maybe even Will Smith... and then pretty much no one after that.

Who is the modern day equivalent of Cool Hand Luke? Or Hud? Fast Eddie Felson? Nobody. DiCaprio and Damon probably summarize all of the under-40 male talent that really means anything, and that's just pathetic. And it makes you appreciate Newman all the more.

He was a manly without being macho, who women could adore, but who men didn't necessarily feel threatened by. You wished you could be Newman, and were jealous that you weren't. But there was something so unassuming and un-arrogant about his style that you couldn't hate him for it. And, jesus, yes, it's generic to say it, but those baby blue eyes. Holy shit. That's the definition of magnetism. I think he may have been the most attractive male star in Hollywood history. He may have gotten a long overdue Oscar for the wrong role, in "The Color of Money", but as a Scorsese fan, I'm an absolute sucker for that movie - it's alive with energy, sexy, dangerous, and Newman helps Cruise give one of his best performances. By that point, the Oscar didn't appear to mean much to him, saying "it's like chasing a beautiful woman for 80 years. She finaly relents and you say, 'I'm terribly sorry, I'm tired'".

Beyond his career, the man was all class. A social activist while never making a show of it. Still, he was the kind of person who stood up for what he believed in. After learning that he was on Richard Nixon's shit-list, he commented that "a person without character has no enemies". What a line - and it didn't take a screenwriter to come up with it for him.

The last star whose death affected me like this was Jimmy Stewart. Another one of the irreplaceable. Even though it's been clear that Newman wasn't going to appear in any more movies, and that his fading health took a toll, the projector bulb just got a little bit dimmer for the rest of us in darkened theaters.

Iranian poetry is great for drinking

Tonight was my second date, and we listened to Persian music from multiple eras, across numerous geographic borders, at the Hollywood Bowl. We also drank a lot of wine, had great food, and spent the night making amusing asides to each other. And we learned a lot about each other.

Most notably, we learned that we really see the world in similar ways. The way we look at our children, at other parents, at our backgrounds, there are so many similarities that it's a little intimidating.  She's a single mother with a successful career, and a gigantic heart of love for the most important person in her life, who she has been dedicated to from the moment she found herself a mother at a very young age. She's also well-read, with a great sense of humor, and engaged in the world. 

And I do think she likes me, which feels pretty great as well. At the same time, it's difficult to tell if she likes me or the idea of me. The devoted father, the caretaker, etc. That worries me a bit, I'll admit. We all have emotional needs that we need to fill somehow, and I just hope that I'm not servicing the emotional need, rather than being a person that is compelling and intriguing to her. And the insecure part of me fears that this is what I'm doing for her. Because I find her compelling. We'll see what happens next...

Another Mozart Moment

This year I was tasked with starting a new business vertical for my company. As a result, I divested myself of many of my other job responsibilities as this project grew and grew and grew in scope. The first route we took was very one-dimensional, and mid-way through the summer, we realized that monetizing this vertical was not as simple as slapping up a simple website and driving traffic in and out of it (what you would call a pass-through site).

We reset out ambitions earlier this summer, and then I spent the summer envisioning, designing, and devising a plan for where to take this business. Now, I didn't do it all on my own, but I was the driving factor, the one getting things done, creating ideas, building the designs and plans, and generally being the engine to this little engine that could.  Our goal by the end of the quarter was a full-fledged marketing plan - the vision of where this is going, what it's going to be, and most importantly, why it's meaningful. 

Today was the big day to present our whole year's worth of work and seek his backing to make this a larger company agenda moving forward. At stake is, frankly, my job. The reason goes back to that first point I made - as this grew more complex, I divested myself of so many other key elements of my job. If this doesn't get the green light and the doors get shuttered... uh, hello...? I'm still here, right? On the upside, I'm well liked at my company, and people would likely find some way to make me "of use", as Dr. Larch would say. But this is my baby, my project, and what I get excited about at work, and where I'm making a difference and a stamp. So, it's not hyperbole to say today was a crucial professional moment. 

And, in short, I nailed it. The company CEO came in a skeptic, and came out a believer. He frequently stopped me to bring up his own ideas, and to express how he thinks we've hit on what makes it important and valuable. You could see the twinkle in his eyes. Now, this doesn't make it a slam dunk, because we have some challenging headwinds as a company, and we have parent company concerns to deal with. But we got his emotional backing, and his commitment to find a way to get this done. 

Later tonight, the CEO sent me a note that says, "And best of all your passion for the initiative left me inspired and ready to join your team myself.  It was a pleasant reminder of one of the fundamentally great reasons why I love working here – there are smart, passionate people out there who can inspire me every day.  So thanks for that."

No, Mr. CEO, thank YOU for that.

Definitely a Mozart moment.

When is it appropriate...?

When your marriage ends, when is the right time to start looking forward, rather than backwards?

In the early days, weeks and months, there's a constant state of self-examination, reproachment and self-hatred that comes out of the process. And you hate your (ex) partner too. On many days, it's debatable who you hate more - yourself or the other person. For myself, I spent the first couple of months hating myself, the next few months hating her, and now.... I'm just tired of hating.

I just want to be happy.

Certainly, this is easier said than done. Yes, my son makes me happy. I adore my time with him. At the same time, I know that something is missing from that time together. Yesterday he says to me, "Daddy, when momma comes over, I want to have a Family Hug". This is something we used to do together - a big circle, group hug. How do you tell your son that you're never going to have a trio group hug again? So I picked Zach up in a big, giant bear hug and said, "You're my family, Zach, and I love you". But it's hard when you don't have any balance with your child, someone else to help pick up the slack, to help keep the energy high and the enthusiasm flowing. Each of you are relegated to accomplishing this on your own. Granted, you only now have to do it half the time, but that doesn't make it much easier.

But I'm working on being happy, and I'm working on being balanced, flexible about what is coming my way every day, and being open-minded about the future. Yeah, it all scares me, and I'm generally terrified about things like dating, single parenthood, not having a support system, etc. But I'm managing that fear and trepidation better than in the past - even better than when I was married. I had a minor car accident last week, and it was even my fault, but I chose not to let it faze me. That's something that would've once left me in a tizzy for days.

So, I recently found myself on a date. A really nice one. Didn't go searching for it, and I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of a situation, but it happened, and I liked it. It made me feel good about myself for a bit. Looking forward to a second date.

Yet, somehow the ex managed to put a giant pin in that balloon. Unintentionally, I'm sure, but it still infuriates me, because I'm doing everything possible to be respectful of her feelings. I wouldn't want to know that she's dating, so I think it's thoughtful and considerate not to shove that in her face. "Hey, yeah I know it sucks being a single mother, struggling to pay the bills, having a crappy new apartment, etc, but guess what - I had a date with an awesome woman!". No, I'm not doing that at all.

It started amusingly, with the ex popping up on IM to ask me who so-and-so was on my Facebook page, writing on my "wall". "Why do you ask?", I respond. "Because I think she has a crush on you", the ex responds. Now, these are extremely innocuous little comments on my profile page, but the ex is nothing if not preturnaturally perceptive, to an almost scary extent. But I ignore the question and move onto other topics.

Later, however, she realizes that a Hollywood Bowl show I'm going to on Saturday (though does not know that I'm taking so-and-so) is a more "cultural" show of Iranian poetry, Yo-Yo Ma and Persian music. So this gets the ex's hair in a bundle because two years ago I didn't want to see some Spanish singer with her at UCLA. She bitches at me over a text message. I politely respond that going to the Bowl is not about her, and that I'm just having a social life. She responds to say that she doesn't understand that I'm now doing the things that "I made her feel shitty for wanting to do". Um, because I didn't go to a Mariza concert two years ago? And which I fully encouraged her to go. I didn't want to see that particular show, so sue me.

But somehow, inexplicably, these two events are now linked in her mind. Is she wondering who I am going with? Does she care? I don't know the answer to either question, but I would do her a disservice to think that it never occurred to her to wonder who I'm going with. So I politely respond via text (defending yourself over text message is plainly absurd, but it was also a way to keep the conversation contained) that, again, this is not about her. I state that this year she had done an exceptional job making me feel like I wasn't an interesting or good person. Just like she says I made her feel. But I am a good person, and neither one of us want to feel that way. Going to the Hollywood Bowl is not a referendum on our relationship, nor is it an assault on her. It's just an attempt to have a social life. It's not worth mentioning that it's also an attempt to have a wonderful second date. Yet, the ex is so perceptive and clever that I wouldn't doubt if she already knows this.

So, somehow she's managed to make me feel shitty and guilty about something I shouldn't possibly feel shitty or guilty about. I haven't done anything wrong!

But it brings up the question: when is it appropriate to put yourself out there again? Are the rules different when you are the dumper versus the dumpee? As the one who was left, don't I pretty much have free rein to do whatever the hell I want without question, judgment or repercussion? Especially when this whole year has been playing by the rules that she started?Now when I'm trying to find and have a slice of happiness, she's  trying to take control of that. Now, I don't at all think it's intentional on her part, but it's rather thoughtless regardless, and I resent being made to feel like I've done something wrong, when I've being what I would consider excessively thoughtful about the whole thing.

I will not let her co-opt this moment. I don't know what it's a moment of, other than of hope. We all need a little hope.

Freeway Signs and the Weather

"A kiss may not be the truth, but it is what we wish were true" - Steve Martin, L.A. Story

When I was in college, the Steve Martin film L.A. Story held real, deep resonance for me. It was filled with offbeat, absurd humor, but every few minutes, Martin would slow everything down to a crawl and inject the story with an almost mystical sentiment. It comes across as completely unnatural - even in the context of such fourth-wall breaking film - but it's so intensely felt, earnest and, hell... honest, that it wins you over. It's a movie where a sooth-saying traffic sign can tell Martin that the weather will change his life twice, and when it does, it's utterly predictable, but so comfortable, a warm thought of the way the world should operate. The way that we all believe it should. On the best of days, we believe that it's the way the world could.

My appreciation of the film spanned my college years, before I even moved to Los Angeles. And I honestly don't think I've watched it in the entire 13 years I've lived in this particular, unique cement jungle. Sure, some jokes stood up to memory, such as Martin driving his car 20 feet to a next door neighbor's house, but there are so many throwaway LA moments that a Midwestern kid would never have appreciated prior to living here, like Martin's frustration at his girlfriend pretentiously stalling for 20 minutes of before a luncheon, just so they wouldn't be on time... and then still being the first ones there. Perfect. Or Richard Grant commenting that he lives in the Valley, and even the valets snicker mercilously at him.

After so many years, I introduced the film to a friend tonight (we had intended to watch "The Shining" on Blu-Ray, another nostalgia moment, but the disc he brought was bad). He's French, and has lived in Los Angeles for 5 years, and even though the movie is quite dated in many ways, the humor is still dead-on, and the observations about LA life hasn't really changed all that much. He loved it.

It's still the romantic yearning of the piece that resonates with me, and now makes me sad in many ways. "Why do we never notice the moment when love begins, but know exactly the moment that love ends?", Martin asks at the final turning point. It's a poignant line, and for Martin in his mid-40s, a happily married superstar, it was an easy pedastal to play artistic muse from. But shortly after L.A. Story, Martin divorced his co-star, and developed something of a reputation for liking women on the younger end of the spectrum. The SanDeE* types, perhaps. I even have a friend who was propositioned, of sorts, by Martin, who fled when she learned she was married. A very, very amusing anecdote for another time...

Martin's a true romantic. An erudite sensualist, and it's those elements that I try to hold onto every time I see him painfully cashing in another dreadful paycheck (he should play golf with DeNiro and Pacino, all laughing their asses off on how they've worked the system). Yet here he is, now in his 60s, with more money than I'm sure he could know what to do with, but he's still the picture of one of his most beautiful lines: "A kiss may not be the truth, but it's what we wish were true". That's so beautiful and sad, and I can't help but be a little pissed and wonder that if he can't get it right, is this the future staring at the rest of us? When you find yourself alone in your thirties, or forties, or fifties... in Los Angeles (a very, very important detail), is this the more likely fate than not?

Steve Martin had a magical freeway sign to point his way, and even the weather and the heavens turned to be on his side, and even then he just barely made it work. And in that great line, there's the cautious sadness in it - what if that kiss isn't true, like you want to believe? I'd like to presume that Martin wrote that film as a result of his love and adoration for the lovely co-star. It sure reads that way. And then they divorced. So if a kiss really can be truth, it suggests something even more ominous: truth is transitory and fleeting. So even if you find truth, you may not be able to understand it or hold onto it for long.

But Martin keeps trying (hell, anyone seen "Shopgirl"?). Best of luck, Mr. Martin... and maybe freeway signs and the weather will have pity on the rest of us.

Working out his feelings

Children are much better communicators than adults, and are also far more thoughtful or reflective than we probably give them credit for. I spend a lot of time watching my son in the rear view mirror as we're driving, and you can see it in his eyes - that he's really chewing over something, trying to figure something out.

Little kids are also able to make strong, tangential, thematic connections between seemingly unrelated subjects. We were watching the movie "Enchanted" the other day, and there's a moment where a 10-year-old girl is saying to the princess, Giselle, that she never got to go shopping with her mother, who died. Now, my ex is not dead, but Zach gets very serious and somber for a moment, and looks at me and says, "I miss my mommy when she's not here". Smart kid.

There is the amusing side to this precocious insight, too. Apparently while being driven to pre-school today, she asks Zach, "how are you doing?". He answers, "I have to work out my feelings".

I pray that he'll always keep working out his feelings. That will save him a lot of heartbreak in the long run.

Smart kid, indeed.

Life's a Circle Caught Inside a Square

Funny how life can come full circle, isn't it?

Once upon a time, I was a screenwriter. Maybe not a great one, but a pretty good one, but one who struggled more than he succeeded. Ultimately, the balls bounced the wrong way, and I ended up taking myself out of bounds. I'm generally happy with that decision, to be honest, though I do miss it.

Going through the process of separation, you get nostalgic for a lot of things. Things from the recent past, things from times long forgotten. You're desperate to figure out who you are, so you reach at straws - if you can't figure out who you are anymore, maybe you can triangulate by figuring out who you were.

I got a pointless urge to re-read a script that I wrote over 10 years ago. In fact, it's the first one I ever wrote on my own (my first script was with a partner), which all but obligates it to being semi-autobiographical, navel-gazing, unselfconsciously pretentious, and mostly bad. And, sure enough, the script didn't disappoint. It's heart was completely in the right place, and nothing else was.

As a writer, I can say that it's very good to have gotten that out, created it and purged it... and only let one or two other people ever read it. Much better that way.

Needless to say, it was a typical coming of age story - young love, first romance, all that shit. Granted, the real life story behind it was... unique... in many ways and more. And I'm not just saying that - the framework for "first love" was atypical to a large degree. But the basic emotional thrust and arc, well... we've all seen this story a million times. But in revisiting it after 10 years, it was amazing to be momentarily thrust back to events that took place in slightly different form nearly 20 years ago. Jesus, I'm getting old.

In retrospect, however, what becomes interesting about the script (at this particular moment in time) is the structural device I chose. Can you possibly guess what it is? Of course you can: the flashback structure. Yes, using a flashback structure was horribly cliche, tiresome and silly, but again, what makes it notable now is how it cuts so unintentionally close to the bone.

In the script, the protagonist's wife leaves him, and this instigates a big flashback and memory of the one that got away. That first one that made Such. A. Deep. Impression.

Isn't every first romance that way?

No, the guy doesn't think at all about the wife who left him, but rather, the girl who first took his virginity. Rather horribly, I never even dramatized the wife at all - she was just a construct to make the guy think about how it was "so much better back when".

But how stupidly ironic is that? What was I doing here other than obsessing over a past that's long been cast to the winds of memory, all as a way of avoiding what's right in front of me. Finishing the script in record time (its quality didn't demand a careful reading of every line), the script ends with a group of friends toasting the protagonist on the day of his divorce, trying to buck up his motivation and self-esteem for what's coming around the corner.

I recently had a similar night, out with a divorced guy who was telling me about what I may find around the corner.

How strange to read those words from a 24 year old writer, who had absolutely no conception that he'd face a similar situation some 10 years down the line. A kid so immature and inexperienced that he couldn't possibly understand just how traumatic, devastating and complicated it all would become. A flashforward premonition without even realizing it. When it was all just a dramatic construct, a structural device, and not a very good one at that.

Somehow it all comes full circle, inside an inescapable square.

Young Love, Marriage and Mormonism

My son, Zach, married this morning. To two women.

Ella and Tala. He's either a Mormon, or a total stud.

Need I mention that my son is 3? Ok, 3 1/2, he'll tell you. Zach made sure to explain to me that, "We held hands and got married. But it was just pretend". Thanks for the clarification, Zach.

Needless to say, he's gotten his first marriage out of the way, which at this point in my life, I commend him for. I hope that the tattered ends of this marriage do as little damage to him as mine has done much. He deserves it.

I asked Zach who officiated said ceremony, though I didn't think to inquire about caterers, florists or placecard settings. Instead, Zach told me that a kid named Oliver tried to edge in on the proceedings, creating some emotional havoc between the happy threesome.

"But Tala and Ella didn't want to marry Oliver", he insisted. Zach didn't want to marry him either. Apparently he wasn't in the mood to share.

I don't know if he even grasps what marriage is. He obviously understands the dissolution of the relationship between mommy and daddy, but does he know that mommy and daddy are "married"? That they will someday be "divorced"? (I still haven't yet bought one of those helpful books of dinosaurs divorcing, because who better to associate with divorce than extinct meat-eaters who once ruled the earth?)

I recall my own first wedding. I was six. I married Katrina. We walked down the "aisle", between a row of kids, and some kid probably mumbled something about us now being married. Then we went over to the chain link fence to find out if we could kiss for the entire rest of recess. I think our lips actually stayed locked that whole time, and didn't do much else. I subsequently remarried in fourth and sixth grades, which I think was the peak of my appeal with girls. I'm pretty sure Zach's appeal will last longer...

Maybe it's a good thing to get the first one out of the way. Maybe the second time is meant to be better. My second marriage was with Rebecca, a 4th-grade brunette who towered over me by a good 2 or 3 inches. Maybe it was even 4. Remember that age when the girls all shot past the boys? Yes, I remember that time. Unfortunately for me, the guys largely picked up on the slack... I didn't. But I've long come to terms with the genetic hand dealt me; it's not a big deal to me, though now that I am suddenly "single" again (shudder...), I realize and hate that it actually still is a big deal. My ex never cared... maybe there will be others.

Back to first marriages... Why can't we learn the necessary life lessons when we're three, or six, to avoid all the heartbreak, anger and resentful discussions over who gets what picture frames and bedding sets?

Three year olds are much better communicators, frankly, than adults. They feel something, and they say it. Adults don't do that. They hold it in, build up anger and misunderstandings, and eventually explode or implode. A 3 year old would never do that. No, they would speak their mind, just as Zach did today, saying "Oliver, I don't want to marry you". You tell that boy, Zach. Don't marry him. You got the girl (well, girls, actually), as I knew you would. Destined to be a little heartbreaker.

I just hope he takes some of the lessons from today and learns from them. I wonder if he asked for a pre-nup.

Going through a divorce - though I'm not even officially on that page yet - is a astonishingly debilitating experience from a self-esteem perspective. It doesn't help that I spent most of this year receiving a litany of blame for the failings of my marriage. And while I certainly committed many sins of omission, and had my moments of thoughtlessness and carelessness, I didn't create all of the failings that ultimately did in our marriage. It was a combination of both of our behaviors, and factors on each side. But I've spent most of this year taking the blame, acknowledging it and internalizing that, which takes a massive toll on your self-image, self-esteem, etc.

Needless to say, you go through this process, and you start to wonder... am I lovable? Can anyone even be interested in me, attracted to me, wanting to spend time with me? It's a terrifying situation, and it doesn't help being a single father with a solid, but not groundbreaking, career. Yeah, I do okay, but I'm not jetting off to Cabo on the weekends, and I'm going to suffer the indignity of even having to sell my condo in this horrible market to get through the divorce.

So, it's certainly not a time when you feel very good about yourself.

Meanwhile, there's a woman I know, who I casually asked out for drinks. With no overt agenda, but deep down, from the time I met her I had a crush on her. There was something about the way she looked at the world - with an amazingly well-rounded point of view, and an inquisitiveness and energy, that was captivating. Yes, she's beautiful as well, but it wasn't even that. It was her energy. She's the kind of person you feel you could disagree with, and she wouldn't take it personally. She's someone that I feel energized to be around.

So she agreed to go out for drinks, and in the back of my mind, I was hoping we'd get along, so I could have the courage to ask her out. Expecting, of course, that I would be turned down. Because that's what I've come to believe about myself, not to mention the fact that I haven't asked a woman out in 12 years, and the last one I did married me (then again, shouldn't that be a positive sign, rather than a negative?). But we went out for drinks, and got along fabulously, and midway through the night she made reference to "our first date". 

Cue contrived needle scratching a record sound effect.

Wait, this is our first date?

I couldn't believe it. Not only were we over the ask-her-out-the-first-time hurdle, but moreover, she wanted to be here on the date. And she was having a good time. Maybe I was even charming, or likable, or attractive. And at the end of the (what I now understand to be the first) date, she wanted to go out again. A brief kiss goodnight. 

And I can't even express what a pleasure it was to have a first date with someone who I not only enjoyed spending time with, but also made me feel good about myself. Yes, a very selfish emotional need, but I think there are times when we all need that.

There are good days

It's Friday. After a very long week. Thank god it's over.

But Friday night turned into a delightful surprise. What was supposed to be a casual night out, with personal undercurrents that I felt, turned out to be a a fantastically wonderful night where it turns out I wasn't the only one on that page.

Feels like a Mozart moment. At least for the night...

Winner in 3

Finding yourself single again is supposed to be about discovering new things to enjoy, or reconnecting with old things. I've caught up with old friends, including my college girlfriend, who is a wonderful woman going through some shit of her own that she is, frankly, too good a person in my opinion to have to endure. I tracked down one of my first co-workers in LA, who I haven't seen in 8 years, who is still in the Hollywood rat race and loving it, though... she seemed quietly sad too. 

But one of the things that I've really enjoyed the last few months is playing tennis. I play with my friend Stuart, and we're both guys who hadn't picked up a racket in 10-15 years (I think I last played in high school). We're both naturally athletic, but obviously not great tennis talents yet. We play every week, almost without fail, and we're pretty evenly matched, and getting better each week. The matches are pretty competitive - we both like to win, and we both like to push ourselves. Since I haven't had many physical outlets the last few years chasing around a little kid (I haven't made the time, and am fortunate not to get fat naturally...), this has been great. 

Stuart led the series 6-4 up until a couple weeks ago, and we had to call a tough match because of darkness. So that didn't hit either win column. I've had a bear of two weeks of work, doing nothing other than working or caring for Zach since... god, it feels like forever. Or at least since the camping trip. So I really, really needed to work out some aggression tonight. Took the first set, 6-4, lost the second 6-3 and then jumped out to a 5-2 lead in the third before collapsing and letting him tie it up at 5-5. After finally stopping driving the ball long, and held on for the win, 7-5. Felt pretty good. A minor Mozart moment. 

Though Stuart still has me, 6-5.

I am, but I'm not

Today was my wedding anniversary. 8 years. Except she all but ended the marriage 5 months ago.

A piece of paper says I'm married. Nothing else does.

If you're married in a forest, does anyone notice?

I Will Not Send You To The Darkness Alone...

"You forget what you want to remember, and remember what you want to forget" - The Man, to his Son, in "The Road"

In all likelihood, there aren't many people around in America that have read as many books as I have. That's not meant to sound arrogant. Rather, it's just math. I used to be paid to read books and screenplays, so over an 8 year period, I probably read 1200-1500 novels. Add in a bunch of Stephen King, Hardy Boys and mystery books as an adolescent, an English degree, a genuine love of reading, etc, and the number rises.... So aside from longtime literary agents, readers and proofreaders, I've probably read books more than most Americans. Then again, that's not a very high bar to cross these days, and whether I've internalized most of those books, or can even remember them, is another story entirely. And not a very good story, sadly.

The downside of doing that kind of work, which I did for so many years, is that I never had time to read books for my own pleasure. The only exception was John Irving novels. Irving's my literary idol, and I'd put everything aside, from food to sleep, to devour his latest books which took him so long to create. Unfortunately, the last couple of books could've used far more time in the womb, because they came out pretty much stillborn. I wonder if he'll be able to climb that artistic mountain again... the last two books fell so, so flat.

But now that I've been out of that career for some time, I'm finally finding the pleasure in reading fiction again. And I just read Cormac McCarthy's, "The Road". Which was perhaps the most devastating reading process I've ever experienced. Or endured, as the case may be. It was an utterly terrible, haunting, transcendent, emotionally wrecking experience.

The book follows an unnamed father and son wandering in a post-apocalyptic America, trying to reach the coast while avoiding dangerous marauders who sporadically dot the countryside - and the Road. Not much happens aside from their search for food, shelter and warmth, and the considerations of their slowly crumbling moral compass in an amoral, empty world.

It's a novel about endurance and morality in a world that's been laid utterly bare, but more than anything, it's a father and son story. About how a father will do anything to keep his son alive, even though he knows there's nothing at the end of the road for them. There is no hope, there is no future.

In the current state of my life, this has a poignant, very real resonance for me. There are times when I feel like me and my son are alone on a road just like that, with no one to turn to or rely on. This thought is, of course, complete hogwash, but in my darkest, solitary moments, it somehow rings true. And every page and passage tore my heart out, with the spare dialogue, the poetic depictions of a world without life, sustenance or possibility.

"I will do what I promised, he whispered. No matter what. I will not send you into the darkness alone."

I don't think I've ever had a passage from a book cause me to spontaneously burst into huge, wracking sobs that wouldn't subside for a number of minutes... at least not until I encountered those words. I was crying so loudly I thought the neighbors would be concerned.

The man says this to his son as he holds him during the cold night, convinced that his boy won't survive until dawn, and I often think of my own son the same way... and yet it is I that needs someone to say those very words to me.