Love.

I'm flying home tomorrow, to the arms that taught me love.

Life has grown unbearably sweet, and I am in love.

Luck has found me, and it is springtime again in my heart.

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.

Weight loss.

Hey, guess what?  I lost weight!  Quite a bit actually, and it's continuing to fall off.  This is wonderful, as I am starting to think I might actually look good naked someday!  In addition, I've noticed that a number of you have started up C25K in my wake.

That's awesome!  I'm really excited that something I undertook for myself has reached out and inspired other people.

BUT.

Butt!

I want to talk for a second about the idea of losing weight.  I've lost somewhere around 20 pounds so far since I started the Couch To 5k program, and I can honestly say I've never felt more healthy - my lungs are in excellent shape, I can do stairs without feeling winded, and even run for 25 minutes or more without feeling like I'm going to die.  All of these are excellent achievements - but they don't have that much to do with my weight loss. 

As predicted by countless experts, exercise is vitally important to not sucking.  In so many ways - living, breathing, feeding, breeding, etc.  30 minutes a day, three days a week is the recommended minimum, and it's such a necessary component to feeling great, staying healthy, and making sure you are capable of avoiding things like tigers.  You know this, I know this, but what you might not know is that the Couch To 5K probably isn't going to make you lose weight.

Oh fuck.

If you talk to me in person, you know - the biggest change I made at the beginning of this program was in the way I eat.  This is probably the most important sentence in this entire blog post:  You are not going to lose weight unless you change the way you eat.

Case in point: my typical 25 minute run, now at the tail end of my C25K program, burns around 300ish calories.  Depending on intensity, that MIGHT go up to 400, but probably not.  That is exactly 3-4 slices of bread.  It is much easier to just not eat that bread.  Additionally, running only 3 days a week ads up to a grand total of around 900 calories a week that are being burned.  That's really not that much.  Think how many sandwiches you might eat in a week, and realize that 900 calories is basically a single subway footlong.  Want to lose weight?  Don't eat that footlong.

Look, it's a week of running!

I'm not advocating starvation - far, far from it.  In truth, since I changed up my diet, I've learned far more than I ever thought possible about how food works.  Let's get this out of the way right away: I don't believe in diets.  Never will.  To me, a diet is something temporary that you do to lose weight.  This is totally absurd to me, because the unspoken conclusion one gets from that sentence is that "Once I hit my goals, I will go back to eating like a moron."  Of course, nobody says that out loud, but it's exactly what happens.  Very, very few diets are designed for a lifelong course, because only people with Super Willpower™ can stick to them.

Traditional "End Of Diet" Hot Dog Feed

Alternatively, you find diets that have "cheat days," which all but encourage you to gorge yourself on a ridiculous amount of bullshit food.  This is also dumb, because now you're being rewarded with crap to be miserable the rest of the week.  Why would you do this to yourself?

In the last two months, when I wanted pizza, I had pizza.  When I wanted beer, I had beer.  When I wanted a danish, I ate that goddamned danish, and I did not feel guilty about it.  Why? 

Because I had a slice of pizza instead of four slices.  Because I had a couple beers instead of five or six.  Because I cut the danish in half.

The reality of life (or at least my life) is that there are always going to be situations where you're going to want to eat garbage.  Here at work is especially bad - every day, someone is bringing in brownies, cookies, pizza, sandwiches.  We have entire fridges full of sodas and Powerade, and the temptation is to just chow down on whatever is on display.  By far, the hardest thing to learn was how to say no.

C'mon, John.  Just one tiny, little, wafer-thin mint?

Now, I say I don't believe in diets, but I did change the way I eat.  I fully intend to maintain this way of eating for the rest of my life, because it is realistic.  The bulk of my meals are proteins and fats.  I eat a ton of chicken and lean beef, and lots and lots of vegetables.  These two categories, lean protein and fresh vegetables, form the entire basis of my diet - they are the staple.  I tend to eat as much as I want of both of these categories.

The "fill in the gaps" portion of my diet is high-fiber carbs.  I often eat whole grain oats of some sort for breakfast - usually just standard Quaker oats.  I include brown sugar, milk, and fruit.  The bowl has progressively shrank in portion-size over the last few weeks, as I've naturally needed less and less to fill me up.  Occasionally, I'll do whole grain toast with eggs for breakfast, but I don't eat a lot of bread.  I generally keep the carbs on the backburner, and make sure when I do eat them, they're loaded with fiber.

And that's really it.  I've learned to cut my portion sizes down.  I don't eat until I'm full, just until I'm not hungry.  

"Just one steak, please."

There are a couple of rules that I follow very liberally that have helped me stay motivated, and that are really contributing to the weight loss:

1. Don't drink your calories.  This is huge.  Stop drinking soda, and yeah, that includes diet soda.  Quit looking at it as a privelege if your company gives it away.  In the last two months, I've had maybe three sodas - one at my birthday lunch at work, one at Costco, and one at a movie.  Make them the treats they were designed to be.  Have one at a dinner out on the town, or at an event of some sort, otherwise, avoid.  They have zero nutritional value.  Even diet soda, which is technically calorie neutral, will fuck up your metabolism and trick you into thinking your drinking real sugar.  Which leads into...

2. Drink the fuck out of water.  Do not stop.  If you look down and see your water bottle is empty, refill it.  "But John," you whine, "then I have to pee more!"  Yes, you do.  For like, two weeks.  Then your body adapts, and you will be able to hold it without discomfort.  Drink water, drink water, drink water.  It does so many good things for you.  It fills you up in between meals, lubes your joints, keeps your body working.  Literally every system in your body relies on it.  If you do nothing else I'm suggesting, do this - you will lose like five pounds just from drinking water.

3. Cheat.  Don't have cheat days, but do cheat.  If you haven't had a soda in a while and you're out with friends, have a soda.  If you've had a long week, drink a couple beers with your buddies.  Don't suffer.  But try to make a plan with yourself.  "Normally I have five or six drinks.  Tonight I'm sticking with two."  You still get the taste and awesomeness of the beer/pizza/danish/chicken bake, but you moderate it.  This is your life, this is how you're going to eat forever.  Don't deprive yourself of your favorite foods, just scale them down to account for how horrible they are for you.

4. Cook.  Learn to cook.  It isn't as scary or daunting as it sounds, it saves you a crap-ton of money, and you are going to learn more about food than you ever cared to know.  It teaches you to look at food not only as stuff to shove in your gaping maw, but as art, and as something that is worth the time.  I am by no means a great cook, but people seem to like what I make, and that can be just as satisfying as people telling you how good you look.  Tonight I'm going to make seasoned chicken with marinated mushrooms.  Sounds tough, but I'm literally going to sprinkle a frozen chicken breast with seasoning, put it in the oven for 40 minutes, and then put a little butter and soy sauce in a pan with some mushrooms.  Job's done.

5. Exercise.  Not because it's necessarily going to make you skinnier, but because it's going to make you feel amazing.  It is going to suck major balls for two weeks, but after that, your body adapts, and you will feel great.  Walking, running, biking, elliptical, hiking, sports, whatever.  Your body is a thrumming hive of amazing narcotics, just waiting to dump themselves into your brain and make you feel amazing - it's how we're built, and it feels awesome.  Put some strain on your skeleton with weights, push your cardiovascular system with a game of tennis, feel your body "switch on," and you'll understand why people actually like this bullshit.  Yes, it's basically just a big drug addiction, only instead of rotten teeth and yellow skin, you look more attractive, feel better, live longer, and can do more.  Not a bad trade off.

Overall, more than anything else, talk to your friends about it.  Post about it.  Blog about it.  Hold yourself accountable through the attention you get.  I have a shitty, well-deserved reputation for trying something new, getting bored of it, and quitting.  This is the first thing I've done in, god, forever, that I haven't given up on - and it shows.  People who used to be derogatory towards my shiftyness are now telling me that I look good, and that does more for my desire to keep going than anything else.

And if no one else gives a fuck, feel free to call/text/check in with me.  This has been an overwhelming, eye-opening experience for me, and I'm always happy to learn, to talk shop, and motivate.  Happy trails.

Sunshine and salt-air.

Things are good these days.

My lungs are full of air, and I can run for a good distance without stumbling or tiring. It makes me feel young and vibrant again. My kitchen is filled with good smells and fresh ingredients.  My daughter laughs at my jokes, and holds me when I have to go. My friends are awesome, my job is rewarding.

I look out the window, and I see sunshine today. I smell the salt-thick ocean air, and my memories take me back to trips on my dad's old sailboat, adventures in Ocean Shores, kites, geocaches, and days when the light just seemed to never go out.

There's a great power in taking control of your life, of something as simple as pushing yourself to do things that you've never done - as though you need to remind yourself sometimes that you are not as old and weak as you felt before, not as powerless over your circumstances.

The summer looms, hot days, nights filled with friends, games, cooking. Family, new friendships, old stories being written anew in the seemingly forever-days of July and August.

It's hard not to feel content.

Vernal Resurrections

I started this as a place to blog, and then I stopped blogging almost immediately. My friend Taylor started up a running blog, and seeing someone else write is usually enough to break me out of my own rut and start writing. It was, after all, enough to get me to start running.

I'm halfway through week 4 of the Couch to 5k program, and in truth, it's deeply affecting my life. Having a reason to go outside alone has helped to push the clouds away, and keep me generally upbeat. It doesn't hurt that the jeans that had become too tight on me are now too loose, and I'm having to resort to using old jeans that long since stopped fitting.

It's been a strange month. Running, the abolition of dating, dietary changes too numerous to mention, and the fat-trimming of time spent socializing. No more soda, no more wasted nights drinking with people I don't really care about unless I'm drinking. I have weak moments, to be sure, but I just cram a slice of whole-grain bread in my maw, and that seems to settle me down.

As is always the case in the Pacific Northwest, springtime arrives with a monochromatic canvas of grays and browns. Mudslick puddles, rain, wind - it's a veritable cornucopia of seasonal depression, softly paving the way for days of sun and woodsmoke, s'mores and stories told in hushed reverence at the hallowed cathedrals of our great forests. For the first time in many, many years, I am filled with optimism and hope for a summer well spent.

My body will change, though it will take months, and maybe even a year or more. My energy is coming back, and my interests are expanding. My friends are falling by the wayside, save for the ones who bring out the best in me. It took me 30 years to get there, but I think that things may finally be looking a little sunny.

If the sun appears to set, I will run after it, until I catch it.

Sea.

I am overwhelmed these days by thoughts of the sea.

I miss too many stories, and I don't want to let them go. When you see death as your ending, you look for every opportunity to connect with everyone you can. I worry that this makes me look desperate. I worry about too many things. I worry that I worry about too many things.

I think I've pinpointed a lot of what's been thinning out my head lately - I lack a best friend anymore. I have a lot of people who fill parts of that role, but with Jess's departure, I lost a sanctuary, and I'm beginning to feel like it's too late to find one again.

I know that is a clinically retarded thing to say, I'm only 28, blah blah blah.

Some days it's all I can do to keep from watching the waves, and wishing I was alone, with nothing but an endless sheet of glass to sail, wind to push me home, and nowhere at all to be.