"When am I going to be a big brother?"

This morning while driving to work, I mentioned to Zach that my best friend's son, who is a year younger than Zach, is going to be a "big brother" soon. Our friends are going to have their second child.

Zach asked me when he was going to be a big brother.

I couldn't answer him, because tears started pouring out of my eyes. Zach pressed me for an answer. As I gained control, I tried to explain that mommies and daddies need to be together to have another baby, but that since Momma and I weren't together, it was probably going to be a long time before he is a big brother.

If ever. And by the time it happens, he may not want it anymore...

The carpool lane sucks anyway

It's no secret that traffic in Los Angeles is miserable. There are many other cities that can claim this painful distinction - Chicago, Atlanta, NY, Houston. Maybe it was the '80s, but Los Angeles may have a special place in the cultural consciousness when it comes to the hell that is freeways and traffic congestion. Hence, the carpool lane.

I've always been a big fan of the carpool lane. You need two people to drive it, and in some places on the edges of the city, even three. It's almost a statement - if you want to move forward, make progress... you better find yourself a friend. One of the greatest episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm featured Larry David picking up a hooker just so he could use the carpool lane to get to Dodger stadium. Somehow beautifully, they come to respect and admire each other too. That's the big joke: the process of movement is so fraught with peril in this city, that you will reach for just about anyone if it means going just a little bit faster. 

I came to appreciate the carpool lane. Grow accustomed to it. Accepting it as my city-given right as a couple and as a father. I can't tell you how many times I drove Zach in the back seat, perversely wishing that I'd get pulled over by some dickhead cop who thought I was abusing the privledge by being alone, only to point out my bubbly little kid in the backseat and say, "I don't think so..."

But recently, I've found myself driving alone more often than not. A lot of those trips from Hollywood, or downtown, back to my place on the westside, cruising down the 110, headed for home. And I am, frankly, habituated to using the carpool lane. Which is not an easy habit to break. More than once I've found myself driving in the carpool lane, listening to tunes at high decibel, only to glance in the rear view mirror and realize that... hey, Zachy isn't in the backseat.

No. I'm alone - in the carpool lane built for two. And I didn't even realize it until it was too late, until you know it's just as big of a fine to cross those triple yellow lines as it is to have unjustifiabily entered that lane to begin with. You dont know what to do. Do you forge ahead, waiting for the next turn-out? Or do you whip across the lane right now, calling even more attention to yourself as that single guy all alone in the carpool lane. The one who wasn't supposed to be there.

But which is it? The one who wasn't supposed to be alone in the carpool lane? Or just the one who wasn't supposed to be alone in the carpool lane?

Which is it?

The hardest part...

"The hardest part, is realizing you're in charge".

This is an exchange from the exceptional and necessary Mad Men, in which a divorced (and inevitably, ostracized through 1960s mores), single mother is counseling the protagonist's wife, who has thrown Don Draper out of the house. She doesn't know whether her marriage will survive or fail, in the long run. 

"That's the worst", the single mother responds to Betty Draper. Commenting on the uncertainty surrounding a troubled marriage. This line is so simple, and hard won experience has proven to me that it's absolutely perfect. My inner screenwriter deeply admires the deceptively simple feat.

Yes, it's always better on the other side, because at least you know. Uncertainty is replaced by knowledge and certainty. But it's a cold, cold comfort. You search for hope, and think there may be glimmers of it, but it's probably just a mirage. Or maybe this is all just an extension of my inability to cope with that uncertainty. 

"The hardest part, is realizing you're in charge", says the single mother to Betty Draper.

Yes, you realize you are in charge. You have to answer to nobody. You have the counsel of no one. It's deeply, truly scary to be making all those decisions, all those calls, on your own. Humbling. Making them within a partnership provided a comfort, even if there was friction, because you knew you were trying to figure it out together. Sure, you may have disagreed, you may have different perspectives, but there was a common goal. At least in theory. Now, no one has my agenda, except for me. And now I'm responsible for that agenda, as well as a little child, so open-hearted and helpless without me. He needs me to know the answers, and I don't always have them. Frankly, I feel like I'm missing them a lot of the time. 

Sometimes being in charge isn't such a great thing. In fact, it just might be the hardest thing of all.

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...