No Longer Just a Little Person: Synecodoche, New York, Two Years Later

I started my online diary three years ago. I pretentiously resist the term "blog", because I was never looking for people to seek it out to read. It was always just for me, and was hugely therapeutic in getting through a divorce, and settling into post-married-single-father life.

During the lowest point of 2008 (the closest I personally have ever been to depression,though never settled into), I was hugely impacted by the Charlie Kaufman film Synecdoche, New York, which dealt with themes of post-divorce life, while also chronicling how one may feel miniscule and purposeless in a vast universe of misunderstanding and selfishness amidst the never-ending creep towards our own mortality.

In Kaufman's view, there is no such thing as solace or peace, and even if you are lucky enough to find your soulmate, you will be kept apart by your own obsessive need to lionize - or destroy - any semblance of self, preventing true, meaningful engagement with other people. Which leads to the inevitable question you grapple with day in, day out:

The Question: Are we all destined to be lonely forever?

When your spouse leaves and you're wondering whether or not you'll ever ever date again, much less find your soul mate, these were hugely impactful themes and ideas, and there wasn't much of a positive spin to put on any of it.

The impact of the movie was best captured in the painfully gorgeous, "Little Person", whose lyrics chronicle a protagonist caught in a sea of solitude, left only to "eat my little meals, miss my little kid and wife".

After posting how I felt like "just a little person", I was surprised to find that my secret-little-blog-I-wanted-no-one-to-know-about suddenly started garnering minor amounts of traffic from random places across the globe. With this being my most emotionally naked blog post, I was disquieted, to say the least. Was I revealing too much of myself?

But as an online marketer, I became fascinated, and suddenly started poring over geographic maps (the Ukraine, really?!) of where people who found the post were from, those who were equally drawn by Charlie Kaufman's painful but intensely human rumination on what it means to be human.

Being someone not intrinsically drawn to online self-exposure (and who now, ironically, must dive into it every day in my professional career), this was confusing. I didn't want to be sucked into that living-life-online vortex, but for a period it somehow made the lonely nights a little less lonely. Some messages shared with others led me to realize this film impacted lonely others out there - were we all in the same adrift boat, yearning for rescue? There's that question again: "are we all destined to be lonely forever"?

Fast forward two years later, to the question's answer:

No, we're not

Not long after wallowing in Synecdoche-magnified self-pity, I met the love of my life. The woman that I am matched with in every way. Our rhythms are perfectly suited for each other; with no disrespect to my ex-wife, we were just never on the same rhythm. We may have wanted ourselves to, but we simply were not meant to have been life partners. I think the post-marriage grieving period was more over the loss of an idea than anything else; this is probably true for both of us.

But I found another little person who wanted to come out and play.

And play we did, and play we continue to do. We endlessly have a ridiculous amount of fun, whether it's weekends away, hanging out with my son, long nights of wine drinking and laying on the floor listening to music, grabbing coffees and glances, or even (gasp) shopping together. There's absolutely nothing that we don't do together, and even less we don't do well together. She's truly been a blessing.

Certainly, the omniscient narrator/Millicent Weems would take a dim view of this turn of events, arguing that it's all a big nothing anyway, both in the beginning, the middle and the end of our time on earth. Talking quietly in his ear - and ours - she says:

"As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving - not coming from any place; not arriving any place. Just driving, counting off time."

I choose not to believe that.

That doesn't mean that I believe in an afterlife, or God, or anything else that suggests a higher consciousness than where we stand in the here and now. But I do believe there is meaning in this life, if you are lucky enough to find it, or choose to embrace it. I do think there is someone out there for most people. Sometimes you'll find them early, sometimes late; in some cases, not at all. I've been truly lucky to find mine, and hope for others to do the same.

Caden Cotard's journey through Synecdoche is one of futility, hypochondriac neuroses and pain, but it's marked by a genuine searching and yearning - the belief that there is something out there that may be found. Something or someone that makes it better. Makes it what you believed it could be. Caden whispers into the phone:

"I know how to do the play now. It will all take place over the course of one day. And that day will be the day before you died. That day was the happiest day of my life. Then I'll be able to live it forever. See you soon."

I believe I've found my way to live forever. For this time on earth, the time that it actually matters.

For so long it was those first few verses that rattled sweet and painfully in my brain, but all that resonates now are the final stanzas:

I know you
You're the one I've waited for.
Let's have some fun.

Life is precious every minute,
and more precious with you in it,
so let's have some fun

We'll take a road trip way out west. You're the one I like the best.
I'm glad I've found you,
Like being around you
You're the one I like the best.

Somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I'll meet a second little person
And we'll go out and play.

I am not just a little person, and never will I be. Hopefully none of us will be.

New Houses and New Beginnings

Feels like it's been a long time coming, but L and I have finally moved into a house together. We discovered the most perfect not-so-little three bedroom in Westchester, CA, a tiny residential community where kids ride their bikes all the time, and you have expect a neighbor to bring you a freshly baked apple pie. There aren't many communities in LA like that.

We instantly made the house our own, despite the fact that it's only previous resident was a 90 year old woman we've named "Dorothy", who owned the house since 1948. I presume that she raised her family there, and we are now renting the house through a management company. Everything is original and impeccably maintained, and amazingly solid. They really knew how to make things in the 1940s. We are putting our touches on it, from shelves on the walls to searching for a new dining room pendant lamp, but we instantly felt at home.

One of the most satisfying things was seeing how much Z loved it. He's an urban city dweller, and has spent his scant lifetime in condos and apartments. I hadn't yet had the opportunity to give him grass and green, and now I do. We went to Home Depot, bought a board and some nice climbing rope and built a homemade swing in the backyard. He helped sand the board and keep the rope straight while Dad was working. When it was all put together, the smile on his face was utterly captivating.

The smile on L's face when she comes in each day is equally captivating, and she's adored making use of our rather over-sized kitchen, which even fits her beloved leather couch. We had our second Thanksgiving together, and are making a home. A home that we hope to be in for a long, long time.

It's where we are meant to be.

Sprains, Sickness and Death

Not the greatest of weeks, one has to say, looking back on it.

It started by a ridiculous ankle sprain playing soccer with my kid. He's not very experienced, and I still have to endlessly remind him not to try to step on the ball to stop it. You trap it with your foot. Yet, there we are, at the park, and what do I do? I step on the ball. So predictable you could set your watch to it, my ankle rolls, and voila, I'm groaning in pain on the ground. I could barely walk the next day, and thought it may have been broken. Amazingly, I made a remarkable turnaround the next day, and after some minor hobbling, have been ok.

Meanwhile, L has suffered from a horrible cold all week, and was sick much of the week. While she's kept a stiff upper lip, it's definitely hurt our typical rhythm, and we haven't been quite as in sync as we usually are. The general, low-grade but pervasive stress has taken a toll on the week.

Then yesterday, my uncle died. He was beloved to me when I was a little kid, but we had fallen out of touch, and I hadn't been in contact with him for some time. My dad's younger brother, and the closest of his siblings. He was also a gargantuan wall of flesh who you couldn't even remotely accuse of taking care of himself. So when he has a heart attack while driving to play golf with my dad, at the age of 54, you can't be surprised. The truck crashes into a tree, but he was likely already dead. Leaving behind 3 girls between the ages of 18 and 25. Heartbreaking. My dad adored his flawed, but eminently likable brother, and it leaves my grandfather without a caretaker. I don't know what they're going to do about that.

I fly to Dayton, OH for the funeral tomorrow morning, and I will miss L terribly. I was so looking forward to us getting back in our groove this weekend, but alas, it will have to wait. Instead, I must go comfort family members, both dear to me and those that I haven't communicated with in years. It's bound to be a surreal weekend, and I won't have my special someone beside me to go through it all.

Wine in the Mexican Countryside

There's a rooster crowing in the Mexican countryside. Centered atop a hill within a nearly barren valley, twenty miles from the coast, rests La Villa Del Valle, a romantic retreat opened 5 years ago by two charming British ex-pats. The husband, Phil, is a conassuieur of social behavior and wine, so it would only have made sense that he discover a way to disappear from the regular world and start a winery, which serves as the backbone for this exquisite bed & breakfast.

L had heard of Del Valle from a Daily Candy email, probably 4 years ago, and kept it tucked away in her email box, a hovering dream waiting to come to life. It's not an inexpensive place to go, so it remained a semi-distant wish, until some money dropped into our laps in the form of a movie-gambling game run by my best friend and I, which I happened to win for the first time in 14 years. When I won in September, it was the easiest decision in the world to use the ill-gotten spoils to come here.

With my son on a vacation of his own, the perfect opportunity presented itself in the days before Christmas. Family is coming for the holiday, which meant no hectic airport travel, and the right time for such an escape. As for the escape itself, La Villa del Valle is just north of Escanada, which is itself about 70 minutes south of Tijuana. American fears of murder and death south of the border are greatly exaggerated, as long as you don't come down here as a cocaine trafficking mule. And, tempting though it was to make some pick-ups for some dudes on Hollywood and Vine, we're just a normal young couple. Who got our car searched by the Mexican military anyway. The 19 year old soldiers were friendly and unthreatening, however.

Turning off the 1 just before Escanada, you drive up Hwy 3, turning off onto a jagged dirt road amidst a long stretch of highway construction (good to see that Mexico has the funds for major roadwork). The car bounces along past a few modest homes, farms and dried wineries (December is not prime wine season), and you start to wonder where this place is. The beautiful scripted signs keep you pointed in the right direction, however, at each and every fork. An elegant invitation beckoning you further into the countryside.

Then it appears: a yellow stone home of significant size perched atop a small peak in the valley, ringed by semi-distant, verdant mountains. Turning past the gate, you drive up to the house, which looks like something out of Italy, with its huge stone archways and a giant wooden front door that is never locked. Friendly family dogs welcome you, quietly eager to show you the way. They quickly become your friends and guides to the exteriors of the property.

Inside, Alejandro, the home's manager, warmly welcomes you and gives you a tour of this sumptuous yet eternally tasteful country paradise. What most strikes you is how every detail was so carefully considered, from the tiles on the stairway to the fact that there are no locks on the bedroom doors. It is just that type of place - you are welcomed into the Gregory's home, and you treat it as such. L comments frequently that, were she to have this kind of money and opportunity, this is exactly how she would style something. She points out the amazing use of depth and space, as the Gregorys fill every room with art and objects at different levels, from the hanging metal lamps, which have a Morrocan/Spanish feel, to the frequent mirrors and stunning artwork. The first night we ballparked the decorating of this home at a massive amount of money, though perhaps with the endless Mexican artisans in Baja California, that number was much lower.

Settling into our beautiful, warm room, we look out over the valley from our balcony, and the question of the weekend sets in: what do you do with yourself when there is nothing to do? This is a wonderful question to ask, which I never allow myself to ponder, so this is a vaguely discomforting notion to me. But it's a wonderful habit to get into, and we threw ourselves into that amusing challenge with gusto. There's a cocktail hour at 5:30, where Alejandro brings wine made here to the guests, along with an organic botana (snack). It turned out to be a remarkable carmelized onion mixture within a chard leaf. A short while later, we had the recommended first night dinner at the house. This is a one-night affair, because it's a pretty pricey meal, charming though it was. It's a four course meal, where the first two courses were probably the best, especially the creativity of the ostrich spring roll. The entree and dessert were a little underwhelming, though one understands why the house chef is described as "visionary" - everything we ate was unexpected and original. Just not sure that all of it "worked".

After dinner, we retire to our room to drink more wine, talk about futures, people's attitudes towards marriage, and how our own opinion of those rituals have changed over the years. The Gregorys wines - especially their cab - are phenomenal, but at $25 a bottle, wasn't what we were going to spend the whole weekend drinking. We popped open our own, and had a wonderful evening.

After a wonderfully authentic and spicy breakfast, Saturday was spent lounging around, going to the gorgeously crafted pool to relax, read magazines and books, and do absolutely nothing. We wandered the estate, finding a stone labyrinth. When you first hear there's a labyrinth, you think hedges and getting lost. Instead, it's a deceptively simple circle of 6 inch high stones that you follow around to the center. There are no wrong turns, and you kind of wonder why you're walking around like a semi-homeless person following the path. But the longer you do it (it takes around 5 minutes), the more you realize this is a manifestation of creative energy that comes from living away from it all - the less time you spend on your self-imposed "to-do" list, the more time you have for free thinking. Reaching the center of the labyrinth, only 15 feet from the exterior edge, it doesn't seem pointless, but rather, serene.

We drive for an early dinner, hoping to make it back for cocktail hour, but the directions we're given to some restaurant with the word oranges in the name is deceptively complicated because of the heavy road construction. We eventually grow a bit worried and turn off onto a winery road to check out La Casa de Dona Lupe, thinking it's a restautant. It is, to the extent they make pizza to go (take THAT Domino's!), but more specifically, it is a shop of organic jams, jellies and aromatherapy products. And old Dona Lupe, a 75 year old woman, sits behind the counter, bagging your purchases, while her beautiful daughter, mid-forties, shows off how smooth her skin is from the products we're buying. They give us more exact directions, and we find the restaurant, where few speak English, but the food is good. More wine back at the del Valle, but watching "Coraline" on my computer is waylaid by other interests...

Sunday we head to Ensenada after L and I have a game of bocce ball. The shopping district is quiet, and we can't find much that really interests us, sadly. It's a somewhat underwhelming town, but when we get munchy, we stop for margaritas and nachos, and to watch the first quarter of the Packer game. Heading back to Del Valle, we pick up an early dinner of Mediterranean lamb, and then make cocktail hour, where we sit with the Gregorys and some friends of theirs, talking for a couple of hours over multiple glasses of wine. That Phil keeps pouring demonstrates that they enjoy our company, and we're not unwanted in their gorgeous living room after the close of the traditional cocktail hour. We eat our dinner and cheese-filled apple pie in bed, before retiring early from a evening of heavy wine consumption and rapturously sensual delights.

We don't want to go home, though we must. We'll head back via Tecate, and prepare for the rest of the holiday week, along with the arrival home of my little guy, who I can't wait to have a visit from Santa. Provided no one else dies this week (the weekend was cast under a shadow by the news of two deaths leading into the weekend, one quite impactful and important to our lives), it should hopefully be a wonderful holiday.

New Kinds of Scary

Life has been good to me this year. New professional challenges, and the wonders of L. Zach has done an amazing job of developing this year - intellectually, emotionally, behaviorally, developing a pretty solid baseball swing. I'm beyond proud of him.

That being said, sometimes life is still incredibly scary. My ex still doesn't have her shit together, with life throwing curveballs at her faster than she can swing the bat. Maybe she never learned how to hit a sinking curveball. Then again, I don't think I know how to hit one either... sometimes I feel like I just fake it.

And my own life sometimes scares me. Things with L are so incredibly wonderful that it feels like the stakes have been raised to a certain degree. I don't want to lose her, ever, and I want to do everything right. I want to be the perfect man. And that's impossible. No one is perfect. This past weekend, I demonstrated how I'm not the perfect man, and it ruined a potentially lovely day. We fixed things, and in fact got back on track better than ever, but it's intimidating. How do I continue to measure up? To be better than normal and everyday, when ultimately, life is normal and everyday?

I suppose that it's inevitable that my insecurities would always be just under the surface, even though L is amazing... or perhaps exactly because of that fact.

No June Gloom Here

Residents of Los Angeles have spent much of the past month bemoaning the "June gloom", which basically means, any weather less than 80 degrees in the second quarter of the year. Personally, as a guy who tends to break a sweat easily and likes any break from the sunny monotony, this is a welcome weather pattern, so no complaints here.

Yet, there's been a pleasant monotony to my own life, which has certainly impacted the frequency of my writing. Or, I should say, caused the infrequency of jotting down my thoughts. The word monotony generally has a negative connotation to it, but I don't use the term here in that way at all. Rather, the sameness of my life has been a sameness of satisfaction, where each day has been just as enlivening, enthusiastic, and energetic as the last.

This is due, of course, to L. Our relationship continues to grow deeper and richer, and we simply can't get enough of each other. Never have I been so endlessly ecstatic to see someone - and to be seen. We continue to find that we can do absolutely anything together, whether it's taking Z to the swimming pool, seeing childhood favorite movies in a cemetery, or celebrating her birthday in spectacular fashion at a 1920s inspired nightclub, the Edison Downtown.

This past weekend even featured our first trip away, where we made love in an actual bed for the first time (it had posts and everything), which is kind of comically absurd for a 35 year old, but due to a miscommunication with an ex-boss that actually left me without a bed frame (a minor anecdote not worth repeating here). We had an amazing time whitewater rafting on the Kern River with some fantastic coworkers. We jumped off a goddamned cliff together. We even had our first fight, a combination of alcohol and miscommuncation on both of our parts, but found that setbacks like these are minor, quickly forgotten speed bumps rather than full-blown car wrecks.

So, for all of those complaining about the June gloom, I say, try smiling for a change. There's nothing gloomy about this June. It's been a month of Mozart Moments.

Thunderstorms and Sunshine

Summer is officially here, though it kicked off in a singularly ominous fashion. A long-awaited trip to see my family at their yearly timeshare in Hilton Head, SC began with an absurdist comedy of traveling errors, which was followed by Z getting Strep Throat. An ER visit in the humid sunshine of South Carolina fixed my ailing boy, but a poorly timed tickle in my throat promised that I was going to return for an ER visit of my own. I was getting to be on a first name basis with the intake clerk. 

This cast a pall on the start of the vacation, and Z didn't help matters by being cranky and whiny for the majority of the trip. Worse, I had to finish a week of sickness and stress with a three day stay with my soon-to-be-ex-in-laws. The ex is currently estranged from her father, a man who doesn't seem to notice an odd trend that both of his children have gone long stretches without talking to their father. Interestingly, his own brother has barely spoken to his parents for the past 30 years. What's wrong with this picture? 

Fortunately, we avoided all delicate topics for the visit, and my sister-in-law showed a sweet solidarity by traveling with her daughter to come see me and Z. Perhaps the highlight of the whole trip was getting roaringly drunk, dishing dirt on just how tremendously fucked up my ex's family is. Not that everyone's family isn't a mess of neuroses and petty grievances, but the ex's family seems to make an art of it.

Throughout the trip, I veritably itched with loneliness for my love, L, who was similarly gripped by her own sense of loss and boredom. Perhaps our constant synergies went too far, however, as she was sick on the exact same day as me, also with a throat ailment. For a pair that is rarely apart for more than 24 hours at a stretch, this was something of a strain, with both of us trying to buoy our emotional neediness with a steady stream of text messages, emails and plaintive wails that would probably cause the average 15-year-old girl to cringe in embarrassment. Yes, we can be that kind of sickening couple. 

The trip wasn't all bad, however, as I closed a major loop in my life by having an in-depth talk with my father about my dead mother, a subject that he's made an art of avoiding for most of the past 30 years. I learned many things about her that I didn't know, such as how she reacted to the onset of her mental illness, how much she loved my brother and I, and how my father was advised to divorce her, ostensibly to give her the life choice of descending to rock bottom and dying, or to find a way to crawl from the hole and live. She died anyway, and who's to know what would've happened if he would have divorced her. She probably would've died, which would've made him feel an even greater, heavier guilt all these years. Wonderfully, the whole talk was cathartic for my father, who I believe appreciated my reaching out to ask those questions that I had always respectfully avoided, and he was too pained to bring up on his own. It was probably the highlight of the trip.

The night before we left, Z was treated to bone-shaking thunderclaps that shook the entire condo. He's never heard such sounds before, having grown up on the West Coast. Strangely, when we returned to Los Angeles, we were treated to thunderclaps and rainstorms of our own. Strange how so many things of the last week - illness on both coasts, two cases of Strep Throat, thunderstorms west and east, family secrets and histories being exposed - seem to feel circular and complete, as if things are being resolved. The most satisfying resolution was falling into L's arms at the airport, embracing with such relief and joy; we were both positively aglow. 

This leaves me feeling that the summer has now officially started. Memorial Day was just an unfortunate tease, but now the summer sun is arriving, with all sorts of treats and pleasures in store for the next few months: whitewater rafting, golfing in the evening, concerts at the Bowl, and lots and lots of rolling around the sheets... 

It's great to have the thunderstorms behind, and to be looking forward into the sunshine.

The new view

I found myself home this weekend. In a building I've never lived in before. 

From the moment my separation went from undecided to permanent, the notion of selling our condo was a massive, looming crisis in my mind, representing many things: the removal of the pride of ownership; the emotional, physical and financial investment that went into it; the physical manifestation of my failures, and ours; the loss of the only home my son has ever known. Hanging over all of that was the increasingly fractured economy and the knowledge that we'd already lost 20% of the value of the home in 12 months. Putting off selling was a way to avoid the inevitable financial disappointment, even though the separation of our one primary asset was key to moving onward. 

Eventually, the passage of time and the unspoken calamity of my ex's financial problems pushed me into action, fearing the worst. The asking price, jarring. The market, depressing. Yet, we found a buyer in six days, close to our price. What a relief! 

Then the American banking system kicked in. Our well-heeled buyer couldn't get a loan with 5% down, unless we got our condo an FHA approval, which means that a government backed loan could be acquired. A two-week process formality, I was told. We'll still make the 30 day escrow, the realtor opined. What no one anticipated was that virtually every buyer in America (few though they may be) were trying to do the same thing. Run for cover under the patriarchal umbrella of the US Treasury. 2 weeks stretched to 4 and groaned into 6. The ex's financial calamity turning into a full-blown Katrina, as I help out in any way possible while trying to maintain a positive attitude and not hold it against her (which I successfully did).

Meanwhile, my transition period became an emotionally chaotic limbo. I had to search for places to live, but couldn't commit. A place I adored held out for me, but had to move on after 3 weeks, which felt like 3 years. The inventory of apartments turned completely over during a month. Nights on Westside Rentals and days on Craigslist led to information overload and apartment apathy. Everything came to look the same, everything felt stale. 

The only thing making it bearable was L. A constant fountain of positivity and support, I found myself wanting to include her in this process, and gaining her implicit approval of where I was going was niggling in the back of my mind. One of the things you lose with the end of a relationship is a sense of perspective. Even if you have relatively good taste (mine isn't impeccable, but it's generally solid in most things), when you find yourself alone, faced with all those decisions, there's a gnawing sense of inadequacy and fear - if I can't hold a relationship together, can I really decide what I should be having for dinner, much less where I should live, where I should raise my child? And schools, overpriced rents, geographic enclaves of the westside... it all felt overwhelming. Even as I feel more content and secure in my life, there's that slight scent of fear behind your plastered smile of confidence. 

Having L go through this with me was both empowering, and also a romantic ritual in which we were gauging each other in unique ways that gave each of us perspective in how we see the world and our places in it. Her insight was invaluable, and to walk into a standard-issue Santa Monica apartment and put myself in the shoes of, "well, I could make this work..." and have her look at me and shake her head - "no way" - was such a clear, demonstrable demonstration of confidence and faith that it made me adore her all the more. We were learning each other's tastes and preferences, which is both illuminating and also important. Crucially, we were finding that we have very similar perspectives on many, many things. As crunch time neared, and I had to view a key property without her, it felt as if I had only seen it with one eye.

Because, deep down, I know there is something special and intense taking place, and wherever I find myself has to be a place that is emotionally expansive. It needs to satisfy me, and Zach, of course. But there's this new influence in my life, one of exceptional taste and grace and competence, and that place needs to fit those emotions and perspectives.

I finally got the call that took 8 weeks - the approval came in. GO!

I race to choose where to live, but at that point, there was only one contender in El Segundo, a very unique 3 bedroom that happened to be in the middle of a parking lot, and a new entry in Mar Vista, that seemed intriguing. A week prior, Mar Vista and it's shitty school system wasn't even on the map, but Zach's presumed acceptance into a charter school nearby removed the geographic limitations that I'd faced. A tasteful two bedroom condo in a quiet, relatively upscale community with a pool and a hot tub. Big rooms, giant closets, and a strong, confident color palette on the walls. Though it wasn't in El Segundo, it stacked up over the Parking Lot. I chose it, and then endured 48 hours of the landlord deciding whether it should be me living in her property. As a homeowner myself, I think I understand the grappling. 

My landlord mojo held true, and I got the place. Literally 24 hours later I was moving in a blitzkrieg of energy that lasted for 3 straight, exhausting days. One alone, one with energetic friends and hired movers, and one with L and her sense of style, unending helpfulness, and an uniquely OCD sense of organization (I always felt I was an 7 on the organized scale, but she's well past a 10). 

But a funny thing happened on that first day of the move. The moment I carried in those first boxes of belongings, all alone, I felt a funny, funny feeling. 

I was home. 

A home that I didn't own, but one in which I felt liberated. One in which I felt my life was starting over in an open, honest and meaningful way. Full of potential and opportunity, and a new love that I can only pray never dies. During the entire move, I couldn't stop driving myself, pushing myself, because I wanted to get it done, get it finished, but also, I wanted everyone out so that I could bring L in and have her feel that same sense. 

And she did. There's something absolutely electric, and yet utterly calming, between us, where we both somehow understand what all this means, and what it could be. We sat in the hot tub together, relaxing after an exhausting day of moving, and it was pure perfection. In the four days since I've moved, I haven't thought about my own condo once, aside from the irritating, major detail that we haven't yet been paid for it - and won't be until next week. I put so much time and effort into turning that condo into my home, but it had become as dead to me as the relationship within it. People frequently asked me how I feel about selling, and today, I can only smile, and in all genuineness say that I feel great about the whole thing. 

I feel reborn in this new home of mine, and to have Zach tell me that he wants to "live here for the rest of my life until I die" only confirms that my instincts were true, my judgment was right, and my future looks much, much more inspiring than it had two months before.

And at this moment, I only wish L was here to share it with me.

The Alarm Clock

I am a punctual person. Very punctual. Some I have known consider that anal retentive, but I believe it has a direct correlation to integrity, character and a consideration for others. My ex had a different view of the concept of time, and has long struggled to be prompt for anything, anywhere. Ironically, my connection between punctuality and character don't actually apply to her though, because her consideration of others is exemplary, and she's someone that has a great deal of integrity. 

But goddamn, it's infuriating when someone is always late, especially when you're a person who's never late. And she's pissed off more than her share of people over the years with that temporal blind spot.

As a result, we got into a habit, over a decade ago, of setting the bedroom clock 15 or 20 minutes ahead. It was a way to motivate her out of bed, by insinuating the time was later than it actually was. Well- intentioned, perhaps, but all it really did was demand raw math skills at a time far too early for that side of my brain (right? left?) to be undertaking calculations. Eventually your brain grasped the fact that 7:42 actually meant 7:22, and you went back to sleep; it never solved the lateness issue. Yet, it became a morning routine habit that has persisted even after she's gone. Habit calcified into a daily mental twitch.

Today I set my alarm clock for the exact time.

I am living in the present. And I intend to stay there.

Doesn't make getting out of bed easier though on those days when the most spectacular person lays beside you, a gentle, warm smile on her face that appears to have not faded throughout the few short hours we dozed.

I suppose the alarm just gets set earlier now. That's why god invented the snooze button. Because even when you're in the present, eventually you have to get up and make the coffee.

Revelations can be good

Today was a significant day for important relationships in my life. I have started seeing a wonderful, amazing, continually captivating woman, and we find ourselves reaching levels of connection and intimacy that I couldn't have forseen. Amongst other things, that brings up the Zach issue, as that's obviously a factor in whether or not we find a connection with each other: is she a person that I could envision around my son? Is my role as a father something that she can contend with? This isn't to remotely say that anyone is picking out doilies and china patterns, but these are the natural and necessary questions that come up in this kind of adult-world dynamic. Because if those things aren't even conceivable, what are you doing with each other?

Needless to say, I have absolutely no concerns on the first point, and she has been astonishingly wonderful on the second - sensitive, thoughtful and engaged. The speed and uncommon intensity of the bond we're building led to a somewhat inadvertant meeting with Zach, which brings up the next, natural question: when does my ex learn that I'm dating someone? The initial plan was to loop her in first, but, alas. Due to the ex's oft-mentioned struggles, I have a perhaps undue sensitivity when it comes to adding to that. I can only presume she doesn't want to hear about me being happy, etc. This doesn't make her a bad person; it's completely natural and I'd probably be the same. No, at a certain point in time, I can guarantee that I'd have been the same. Loneliness and unhappiness breeds resentment.

But now the issue was coming to a head, and when do I deal with that? I aimed for what I thought to be an appropriate sense of timing, but as with so many things, making plans can be pointless; the situation resolved itself at a time - and in a manner - that was not of my choosing. As I largely expected, my ex figured it out on her own due to the amount of time she spends dropping in on the condo, though certain ill-placed evidence made it hugely obvious. Yet, she brought up the situation in a completely unexpected and seemingly arbitrary fashion, absolutely launching into me for a perceived sense of selfishness, along with a rather ridiculous claim that she is, in some way, "taking care" of me. This couldn't be anything further from the truth, and just demonstrates just how differently we view the world and our relation to each other. It was surprisingly ugly, and had nothing (on the surface) to do with me dating someone. When it finally came up, she brushed it off with a "good for you. I'm happy you have someone" blanket statement. I think this is just her taking the high road, and I credit her for that, but the whole thing was just so strange that it was impossible to know what to make of it. 

But more importantly, it was out in the open, and that felt great. And the special person this is all about appeared to appreciate it as well.

What this led to, however, was a larger discussion about how the ex and I philosophically view dating new people and the introduction of those potential people into Zach's life. This led to the revelation that the ex actually dated someone late last year for a couple months. If I had learned that back then, during what was one of the hardest periods for me, I would've likely not handled it well. Yet, as it was shared now, there was something so distant and vague about it that I, frankly, couldn't care less. Good for her, I suppose; it didn't hurt in the way that I expected it would, and had been emotionally preparing myself for most of the last year. In fact, it didn't hurt at all. It was strange hearing of the contrived scenario where this guy met my son, and there's a natural relief that he's not still around, as there may not be a more sensitive issue for a devoted parent than the (mostly unfound) fear of being emotionally replaced. In fact, that's a scenario I saw play out in my own childhood, as my step-siblings shunned their own father and latched onto mine. But still, it's the rhythms of life, and I felt surprisingly fine with all of it. It probably helped knowing it still wasn't going on.

Also, my person is someone that I think would be a wonderful influence to Zach, and who I am eager to get to know him better. They actually have a similar, mad (mean that in the good way) energy that is utterly endearing and captivating. I think they could become good - even great - friends.

Later, the ex and I had an even more in-depth discussion where it proved that we're both gaining some valuable distance and perspective from our marriage. She even made the comment, parroting a friend, that "everyone should have a first marriage". That's perhaps a bit too smug, but there's a truth to it. We were so young; we didn't even know who we were, much less who the other person was. And, clearly, we couldn't handle it. We didn't know what we wanted out of ourselves much less another person, and so it went so very, very wrong. We're both sorry for the choices we made, and how we let them happen, but at the same time, I think we recognize that it was perhaps meant to happen that way. We weren't perfect for each other, but we did help build the people that we became. She told me that I helped her become the person she is, which can't be anything other than a compliment, and I feel the same way about her. Though I also think she inadvertantly helped unearth things about myself that I don't appreciate; this is not her fault, however. 

We also talked a lot about her family, and the poisonous gossip and aligning that people will try to engage in about us, and how I, in particular, won't play that game. I've expended a lot of energy and effort trying to have a solid relationship with my ex, and I intend for that to continue. We even commented that maybe we could even be those kinds of ex's that are sometime again real friends. And that may be a good thing. Certainly we couldn't possibly want each other, in any way, shape or form, but we do care about and respect each other. So, ironically, what was a situation that I somewhat dreaded, actually put things on a much more elevated, honest level, and that's a good thing.

Most importantly, it gives me an even greater level of confidence and comfort in this new relationship, if that's even remotely possible. Which it honestly doesn't seem to be. Going through these discussions and revelations were, ultimately, about what's best for my son, and how two ex's relate to each other, but there was also a strong pull to address some of this because I want the most honest, fair platform for a new relationship that is developing a meaning for me that I didn't expect. I needed to address it for me, but I wanted to address it for her. 

I'm just a little person.

And the full lyrics for those hunting for them:

I'm just a little person,
One person in a sea
Of many little people
Who are not aware of me.

I do my little job
And live my little life,
Eat my little meals,
Miss my little lid and wife

And somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I'll find a second little person
who will look at me and say,

"I know you
You're the one I've waited for.
Let's have some fun."

Life is precious every minute,
and more precious with you in it,
so let's have some fun

We'll take a road trip way out west. You're the one I like the best.
I'm glad I've found you,
Like being around you
You're the one I like the best.

Somewhere, maybe someday,
Maybe somewhere far away,
I'll meet a second little person
And we'll go out and play.

-- Little Person, "Synecdoche, New York"

I'm at one of my lowest points in the last couple of months. Much of it, though not all of it, has been brought on by Synecdoche, New York, which created in me an overwhelming sense of malaise and alienation. It's almost like I saw the exact movie at the exact wrong moment to create the exact maximum impact on my psyche.

There are many reasons, I suppose. Work is a big one. The closure of my vertical has left me adrift in our department, waiting to find out what the Next Big. Thing is. In the meantime I'm doing mundane, tedious work that I graduated from nearly two years ago. I'm suddenly not important, central, creative or, frankly, very useful. It's a miserable feeling.

Second, the movie brought on a new round of discombobulation over my impending divorce. The protagonist (Philip Seymour Hoffman) of the movie never really recovers from the failure of his first marriage, which is dramatized in a way that he never fully knows what went wrong. That hit me so hard, and I could relate to it immensely, but then Hoffman spends much of the rest of the movie trying to find a way to connect with the child who was taken from him, poisoned against him in disgusting, horrible ways. It's a dark, horrific vision of parental alienation... Alec Baldwin shouldn't see this flick. He may end up making more angry phone calls...

I'm just a little person

One person in a sea

Of many little people

Who are not aware of me

I do my little job

And live my little life

Eat my little meals

Miss my little kid and wife

These are the lyrics to the heartbreaking closing credits song of Synecdoche, New York. These lines caused tears to pour down my face as the credits rolled. Everything about my failed marriage pouring out of me, channeled through those simple, simple lines. Which is followed by...

And somewhere maybe someday

Maybe somewhere far away

I'll find a second little person

Who will look at me and say...

I know you

You're the one I've waited for

Let's have some fun

And there's the third reason... my new friend is disappearing from me.

I don't know if it has anything to do with me. I can tell that she's reaching out to experience life in many forms. Sometimes includes me, but it seems that now it doesn't more often than not. Our last date was fantastic, with promises of more that week. She opened up in a lot of meaningful ways. We appear to be on the same wavelength. Then things started stalling out, and it suddenly feels like it turning into an one-way street, and I'm tired of being the chump going the wrong way.

And I absolutely know that I shouldn't be worked up about her at all, but yes, we're all reaching out for that bullshit that makes us forget just how alone and scared we all are, all fearful that it doesn't mean anything, that we can't get anything out of this world. Which is, after all, what Synecdoche, New York is about in many respects. It's a pretty nihilist film, though in a beautiful, tender-hearted way rather than caustic and bitter.

So it's been a perfect emotional storm this week. I'm rarely a depressive, morbid, sad person. But I feel like I've been one big ball of sadness since Sunday night when I watched that movie. I don't have any direction, I don't feel any hope...

Yes. I'm just a little person. One person in a sea of many people, who are not aware of me.

Part two of this story came almost three years later. Feel free to read it.

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...

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.

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.