v42

"where every future looms unsteady and unclear

I'm the sum of my fears

I'm the man of the year

I'm the man of  the year"

["The Man of the Year", Sean Panting]

My brother and I had a conversation a little while back in which we exchanged some ideas about what 'adulthood' is, really.  One of the concepts we agreed on was the ability to sit in retrospection and see yourself not as one person, but as an evolution of various versions.  The me of five years ago is not the me of today, and given a set of circumstances, the kinds of decisions today-me would make would differ greatly from mid-30s-me.  Once, years ago, when I made a decision that really surprised one of my sisters, I remember thinking 'yeah, previous-me would have gone the other way'.

Sometimes when I really reflect, I can even tell you precisely what some of those differences might be.  The me of today gives a lot more thought to the future, for instance, than mid-30s-me, who had no real plan for retirement and no real inclination to think about it.  Today-me has a much better idea of what makes him tick, makes him happy, or stresses him in good ways or bad.  There are physical differences, of course, as well.  I certainly don't have the energy I did at 20 or even 30, and I've become clumsier.  I often feel like my body has betrayed me that way.  My brain tells my hands what to do, and they disobey.  I know I know how; it's a dexterity I used to possess.  It annoys me when it doesn't play out as I know it should.  It is with much reluctance that I accept notions like 'I'm no longer strong enough' or 'I'm not longer coordinated enough to do this'.  It's one of those aspects of getting older that seems blindingly self-evident when vocalized or written down, and yet which somehow comes as a surprise when it goes undisclosed until it occurs.

The me of today is much more acclimated to the notion of parenthood, of course, which is a feature-addition I never even anticipated prior to mid-30s-me.  In fact, I think I've actually gotten pretty decent at it.  Today-me has accepted the changing nature of friendship, acquaintanceship, and other relationships within the context of people growing older, sometimes apart, sometimes together.  Today-me is much better at the skills required to maintain a long-term relationship (obviously), though he's also wise-enough to never rule out the role of Liza-Ann's abundant patience.  Today-me sighs thinking 'why, Pat, why couldn't you have just given a straight answer, you sarcastic prick?' to himself at least twice a day, but still doesn't manage to stop the initial response from coming out.  Here's hoping a future iteration has that bug fixed.

But that's not actually at the top of the feature list for next-iteration-me.  I already know what the next big shift has to be:  'to be mindful without being mind-full'.  I take too much work-stress home with me.  It impacts too much of my home-life.  Despite the fact that my conscious mind knows its relative (un)importance compared with various relationships and other activities, my solution-obsessed brain is often incapable of letting work stay at work, even when it's caught up on issues beyond my control.  It's not even just work.  Saturday night I realized that much of my social anxiety probably stems from the fact that I can't keep myself from mentally investing in any problem I overhear, even when it has absolutely nothing to do with me and I'm not in a position to help.  The moment I spot the smallest dilemma, I'm scheming and plotting and preparing advice, even when that advice will plainly go unspoken.  Can't not.  Brain sees problem, brain starts working on a solution.  Brain can't let go.  Stupid brain.

I look forward to the various incarnations of future-me.  I know what some of the future features will include.  But for now, I really need to work on that big change, and we'll see what else I can squeeze in with this cycle.

Om mani padme hum.

Poppy

"And the days they linger on
And every night when I'm waiting for
The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
Sometimes you're there and you're talking back to me
Come the morning I can swear that you're next to me
And it's okay"

["Come Back", Pearl Jam]

 

His body is gone but his wisdom remains.  

 

I imagine everyone was expecting me to write.  I expected me to write.  I planned to write, in fact.  I thought about it a lot of Friday, as to what I'd write, and how I might feel come Sunday.  I went through a range of emotions.  I considered writing that angry bit I didn't write when he died, with "The Noose" by A Perfect Circle quoted above. I considered re-writing or otherwise re-visiting For My Archer.  Then I read what my brother had written in his blog, and I thought "well, I can't put it any better than that", and all urge to write on Sunday left me.  Instead, I had myself a very typical Sunday.

This past year since my father's death flew by so quickly.  There were many times when I thought of him, even occasions where I sat quietly at work, closing my eyes for a few moments as a sudden, unexpected wave of sadness washed over me in the remembrance that there won't be any new conversations, even if we never did have much to talk about.  There were times at home when I put on that ratty old sweater of his that I kept.  It's joined my mother's signet ring on the list of my most precious possessions.  Sometimes when I sat by the fire, he sprung to mind.  Whenever I'm being handy around the house, I think of him.  Unskilled, untrained, we just make do as best we can.  I think of him most when I'm enjoying "the simple times", as he would have. 

And since I endeavor to make my life simpler as much as possible, I expect I will never stop thinking of him in those times, or missing him when I do.

 

I miss his smile and laugh the most.  In the last several years he was alive I considered it my most important objective when visiting him to make him laugh at least once.  Even a light chuckle was a victory.  A smile was not enough, and when I couldn't get even that, I left feeling disappointed in myself.  It felt a paltry repayment given all he'd done for me over the years, but he was by-and-large a man without hobbies.  He danced and he flirted, and I couldn't really help him much with those, save providing him some origami flowers to dispense to the nurses of the homes where he stayed in his twilight years.

 

I can never and could never pay him back; I will pay it forward as best I can.

 

He is tattooed indelibly upon my heart.

 

And in it.