Rest

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

It's almost impossible to communicate anymore.  I feel surrounded by people who've already heard what I have to say.  Other times, I feel that there's nothing new under the sun for me to react to.

As falsely as the latter rings under even the simplest scrutiny, I guess I'm compelled to admit that most days, I thirst for any kind of human contact.  New experiences, new feelings, new anything.  Most of the time, I find little.  Sometimes, I'm reminded to be careful what I wish for.

With the trial behind me, and two weeks of my life wholly devoted to eating, breathing, and drinking in the details of a child molestation case, I'm finally given the chance to detox and just breathe.  Breathing means thinking, and thinking means writing.  How lucky for you all!

This place that I'm in, mentally, is mostly confusing.  Ostensibly, I'm in one of my "grey" phases of life - where not much is changing, growth seems limited, and I'm given fertile ground for this sort of masturbatory philosophizing.  But in reality, the world is constantly shifting under my feet, and I'm merely slow in reacting.

If anything, I've been reminded of my good fortune.  As the holiday season approaches, I can see I've never been so surrounded with love and family.  Friendships have blossomed, sometimes with unexpected results, and for the first time in years, I feel at home with just being.  Less and less are the times when I feel I have to justify myself, my feelings, my thoughts.  More and more are the times when I feel I'm loved just for being me.  It is a good time for being wanted.

But in other ways, I feel isolated and strange.  The continued patronage of my parents' good will is wearing on me, as anyone could imagine (and has).  As awesome as they've been, a small room in a house is not my home any longer - it is a place to wait for bills to be paid, for finances to adjust, and for life to take a new direction. Dating and relationships are continuously on the back of my mind, omnipresent, but dormant.  Fall has ever been the season for these things, seeking that comforting shoulder to snooze on, that partner for dodging the cold with.  Yet, without a home of my own, I feel outmatched in that arena, and it shines through with every romantic interaction.  The desire to be known, to be understood, can be poison or panacea, and it seems to have done me few favors this fall. 

I miss Vesper.  Her laughter, her goofiness, her intrinsic knowledge of how to make life better.  I miss watching Adventure Time and playing video games with her, or just making her breakfast.  The summers are too short, and the fall and winter is when I need her most. 

As always, we make due with what we have.  It is impossible not to be grateful, not to be filled with hope for the future.  Every way I turn, I see opportunity, and friends, and chances to be better.  I will drink beer, I will watch the skies, and I will emerge from the ice and snow better than before.  Life is, of course, a hike without destination, and I have miles to go.

On (Not) Writing

If you could compile a list of truthisms about me, distill the list to an almost-syrupy texture of pure extract, and brush it gently across a top ten list, the first position would be filled with handsome.  But the second position would be occupied by a scrawl of "seasonally bummed out," and only because "depressed all winter" sounds desperate.

Mars sunset, or my view of humanity November - March?

Of the confectious side effects present in my depression-syrup, probable the one nobody notices at all is that I don't write.  This is because it is no different from when I'm happy, but that's outside the scope of this blog post.

In my mind, writing is an effortless, lilting melody of stress relief, while I'm doing it.  That's about 1% of the time.  The other 99% of the time, when I'm not doing it, it's a chore that must be planned for, executed flawlessly, edited mercilessly, and which will still end up being unfunny or boring to everyone that isn't me.  The return on investment seems small, and yet - here we are.

It's already been like nine months since I blogged.  After that post, I gained weight back, spent a summer full of awesomeness with my kiddo and friends, lost most of the weight again over late fall, and now it's a year later and the only thing that's really changed in my life is my hairline.

How my hair doesn't look.  The rest, however, is mostly accurate.

There have been days full of joy, late night talks that seemed to plumb the depths of some hidden universe, times to hold on, and times to let go.  It's been life.  It's one more year down, and it seems like the choices and stories that used to define every week of my younger years are more and more slipping into legend and myth.  Everything feels so nominal.  Steady sailing, moving on.  I suppose "wisdom" is defined by recognizing the peace in your life as a gift, rather than boredom, but I get so restless with these endless days of... rest.

Pictured: John's First World Problem

As it stands, I'm living at home with my parents.  Glamorous or not, I'm lucky to have such generous people in my family tree, who are affording me a ridiculously lucky chance to get my financials in a row.  In a year or so, I may even be house hunting.  Who knows?

What little romance has drifted in and out of my life has been graciously accepted, gently held, and gracefully sent on as it comes.  I can afford no port for other peoples' storms, it seems, until my own berth is secured and battened down.  It's sad, but it's a good lesson.  Those who don't learn from history, doomed, etc., blah blah blah.  This is life.

Until such time as I feel prepped to really tackle the world head on, I suppose I'll continue to do my best at being available to others' needs, paying off my debts, and taking better care of my body.  It's a time of transition, but the pace feels like stagnancy.  Another great lesson to learn - not all growth is accomplished through quick and flashy bullshit.

Sometimes, you just have to stay still.  

For a little bit.