Good Grief

Missing my parents became a part of my everyday life the day each of them left this planet.

In the beginning the grief was shockingly painful. I did not know that I could be so miserable. Each of their deaths affected me differently.

When my mom died. I felt such a deep loss of love. It was like something in my chest had been removed and the wound was left vulnerable and open. I remembering telling a spiritual advisor the week we found out she was sick that I had a sick feeling in my gut that was constant and unwavering. She said, "Honey, you just better make friends with that feeling, because it isn't going anywhere anytime soon." That was 15 years ago and it still lays inside me rather dormant. It is roused now and then and I feel it yearning for a hug from the mother that took such good care of me and my siblings. With all her flaws, I truly believe that from the day she gave birth to my older brother until the day she died, her number one priority was the well-being of her children. Being childless, I can not imagine possessing a selflessness like that. Her techniques and living skills were far less than perfect I imagine, but her love and concern was complete. The grief I feel today is nothing compared to the beginning, but it it still there. I miss her smile, how soft her cheek was when it was kissed and how much I felt loved.

My dad's passing was different. I had been changed by my mom's death. I was no longer a virgin to the feelings a loss like that brings. I was older and had also been through a number of other intensely life-altering experiences. With my dad's passing though, a completely different set of feelings arose. The loss I felt with his passing was the loss of security, family and again love. I never doubted my dad's love for his children. I don't think he actually liked us much, and I know we often annoyed him. But watching how everything we kids went through affected him on such a deep level, I knew he loved us to his core. Even though most of his life at home with us was spent in an easy chair with Jack Daniels and the television, he consistently provided us with a deep feeling of safety and security. He was always there for us. He always provided for us.

He was there when my mom needed to declare martial law to keep order in the house, and he was there for medical emergencies. After my mother died, he did try to step in and do a little of what my mom did for us. We were adults by then. Everything was different after she was gone and filling those shoes was impossible, but he tried. He tried to talk. He began to let a little of his feelings show. He tried to show his concern.

I guess that If I really, really believed to my innermost self that there was life after death, I would not feel loss. I would just feel anticipation. If I stop and think about an afterlife, I do get a little excited. What I think most about is what their faces would look like. I imagine smiles free of any traces of stress, pain or angst. The faces of my parents beautifully peaceful and happy. No worries.

There would be no greater reward in heaven than to see that.

Miss you Joyce and Jerry.

Hold that thought...

James

Vanity Fare

Does this blog make me look fat?

Not only am I shallow, but I am gay and shallow.

Being shallow, being gay and being a man is the perfect storm when it comes to vanity issues. The same-sex dynamic combined with being a man-child with an attachment to all things material and beautiful whips up a vanity storm to be reckoned with. For myself, it has resulted in not only an obsession with my appearance but also the appearance of a partner or potential partner.

This has always been a sticking point with me, as I have never considered myself possessed of classical good looks. Now that I am rather advanced in age, the problem has been magnified. Ideally my spiritual and emotional maturity would match my years, thus easing my angst. Unfortunately, I am but rather adolescent when it comes to emotional and spiritual matters.

Like an aging film star, I am sure that I can still play 30. Frantically covering gray, willing away wrinkles and exercising the sags away - trying to stay ever-ready for my close-up. The way I see it, I have two choices at this point in my life. First is to continue seeking spiritual and emotional growth. The other is to keep looking for that rare, gorgeous, youthful, flat-bellied, gay guy who is so spiritually advanced he cares not a bit about my outward appearance.

So, I will continue to seek a little spiritually every day. Although, I don't think I will ever stop looking for that elusive dream guy. That's just the way I roll.

The result? I may still be shallow but I look pretty damn good for 50, and I today I have a fairly wonderful life with great friends, my two dogs and our home.

Hold that thought…

James

Aging Gracelessly

On Facebook today, the Dalai Lama said, "If we are becoming arrogant and self-important, the antidote is to think about our own problems and sufferings, to bring us down to earth. But if we are feeling overwhelmed, discouraged, helpless and depressed, it's important to reflect on our positive qualities or achievements to uplift our minds."

I find it pertinent today because I have been thinking a lot about my tendency to be either arrogant and self-important or down on myself. It does not take a great many compliments or much positive attention from people before I begin to get a little big for my britches. In recovery we are taught to be aware of these things, as "bigshotism" can be dangerous. Twelve-step programs, at their core, are about the leveling of pride.

Because of a few extra strokes from folks who are reading this budding blog, I find myself in danger of boasting, preaching or generally presenting myself in a manner calculated to impress. These are very tricky waters for this clumsy swimmer.

So, I will take the opportunity to share something I am going through now that is not flattering and does not necessarily show great spiritual growth. I have thus far not mentioned the fact that I am now a half-century old and a little worse for wear. I have just wrapped up two weeks of medical tests to determine why this exercising at the gym is causing excessive pain. It turns out that I have a worse than average case of arthritis for my rather age. Why would I prefer to talk about losing weight, working out and spiritual progress rather than how difficult it is for me to accept my age, my health issues and appearance? I fear it is because I want everyone to think I am a bitchin' guy.

They say there is nothing wrong with being a half-century old. My mind says, yeah really? Ask that good-looking twenty-something, see what he says. Oy vey! Why do I think I need anyone's approval, especially his? See what I mean? I have a long way to go on this journey of enlightenment.

Why does it bother me to have arthritis? Is it the pain? Even if a malady associated with youth was a little more painful, I would probably rather have that. Crazy, huh? Soon I will have to get a grip and go buy that bottle of Geritol. I wonder if you get a discount with an A.A.R.P. card.

The truth is I was able to do a half-hour on the stationary bike this morning pain-free. My ego would rather see me running on the treadmill as people look on saying, "Wow, look at him running at his age."

Okay, I've told you what's really going on today. If and when I break a hip, get gout or cataracts - I will try to let you guys know.

Hold that thought...

James

Get Back Jack

I have begun a second unprecedented year of working out at the gym. This is amazing progress for me in spite of the fact that my attendance has been stop-and-go. I did not go for three months over the summer and gained 20 pounds.

 

My progress has been in perseverance. My pattern has historically been one of enthusiastically beginning a new endeavor and then quitting altogether the first time I faltered.

 

I was taught a very long time ago that when meditating it is impossible to stay present in the moment and impossible to keep the mind from wandering. I was told that meditation is about practicing "returning" to the present, returning attention to the breath or the mantra. When quitting smoking it paid off to try again and again until I eventually quit. The same idea is helping my diet. I am beginning to be able to return to healthier foods sooner after going on fat and sugar benders.

 

Often in recovery I hear people say, "Just keep coming back." I also hear sober people say that this phrase has saved their lives.

 

I am trying to apply the same idea to my exercising. I first began going to the gym about five years ago. I went almost everyday for three months, missed a few days and never went back. The trick for me is in "returning". Last year I fell off my routine three or four times between the summer and the end of the year but I kept going back. I have lost 18 of the 20 pounds I gained over the summer and now weigh the same as I did a year ago when I quit smoking. Yee Ha!

 

The all-or-nothing brand of perseverance never worked for me, but I would try it over and over again - always with a new pursuit. I was forever coming up with a new idea, a new passion to obsess on for awhile. Slowly, very slowly, some of the principles I am being taught about in recovery are being incorporated into other areas of my life.

 

I missed my gym day at the end of last week and I overate that day. I was able to return to a healthy diet over the weekend and made it to the gym this morning. Remarkable! I just got to remember to "Keep coming back."

Hold that thought...

James

Passing Stones

I continually discover that I really don't understand some of the things that I assume that I do.

I had the honor of sharing my story with a group of folks last night. Afterwards while talking with a fellow, I learned that I have for years been mistakingly thinking I understood Bill Wilson's line: "Someone who knew what they were talking about said, 'Pain is the touchstone of all spiritual growth.'" I had wrongly assumed that a touchstone was some kind of stepping stone.

In actuality, a touchstone is a very hard rock, basalt or quartz, that is used to test the purity of a precious metal by the color of the streak that is made when the metal is rubbed against it. So pain is a the thing that tests the quality of my spiritual growth. If I were never tested, I would never fall short, thus I would never be motivated to improve. This also tells me that "failure", then is also a requirement to continue to advance and grow. If I ever aced the test, I would just graduate and be done.

Since I have embarked on recovery my touchstones have included, the loss of my dad, my sister and my grandmother. Other touchstones of mine have actually been those that primarily belonged to others. They include the illnesses and misfortunes of the people that I love. They test my ability to care and be of use without making there pain about me - a tough one. Other touchstones have been the loss of a job, the illness of pets, depression and self-pity.

So life involves pain. Life will always test my spiritual growth and always has. If I am not actively seeking spiritually, I will continually to be tested and fall short without any benefit. If I continue to seek spiritual help, each time I am tried, the results will at least be of some benefit to me and those around me. If I can accept pain as a natural and necessary part of my life, rather than the result of some action from a supreme and sadistic god, it could bring me a degree of peace.

I guess the most important message this guy had for me last night, though, was to slow down and ask myself whether I do know all that I assume I know. I need to be more conscious of whether I am truly listening, seeing or understanding.

While researching this passage that Bill Wilson wrote, I was unsuccessful in learning the identity of the person he was quoting. The only answer I found online to this question was someone saying that he was quoting himself. Might Bill Wilson consider himself someone who "knew what he was talking about"? I will let you decide that one on your own. The exact quote may have been Bill's, but further research showed that the concept was not at all new or original.

I have a lot to get done today. So, I am hoping I am not going to have any touchstones in my path to stub my toes on, although am sure my path ahead is littered with them. I am just glad that these days I do not walk alone.

Hold that thought...

James

Mr. Right

Two very arrogant guys get together and discuss humility. Really? I mean, really.

Of course these are two guys who are, as I have heard it put, each an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. One of these characters is unfortunately me.

The discussion begins very civilly and escalates to a fairly heated debate. I tend to get intensely passionate when I think I am right. When I think I am right, by god, I know I am right. It becomes utterly inconceivable that any person I am talking to can't see that fact. In the midst of my trying to share my vast knowledge about humility, I lose absolutely any humility that I may have had.

I share with him a pearl of wisdom my spiritual advisor gave me. My advisor saw the need, early on and rightly so, to tell me, "James, no matter how right you think you are, you should always remember that you could be wrong." When I whipped this jewel out and used it on my buddy last night, he still does not say, "You're right James, of course, how could I have ever even questioned that."

In all my arrogance, I sit there trying to get my poor deluded friend to see his egomania and lack of humility. Still oblivious to the error of my ways, we hug and go our separate ways, but I am left with this uneasy feeling.

Upon reflection, I realize that I had once again fallen into the humility trap. I find any leveling of my pride to be so bruising. I really hate that, for me, it seems to require that I routinely show my ass. I am beginning to think that I should avoid the discussion of humility all together for awhile. So, I will one more time, ask my friend's forgiveness and try not to cram my self-perceived wisdom down anyone's throat today.

Maybe I haven't found Mr. Right because I think I am Mr. Right.

Hold that thought...

James

Gratification First

I actually have a friend who likes to plan things in advance so that she can enjoy the anticipation. I find that baffling. Everything in me screams for instant gratification.

I’m the guy who decides to get a new a car in the morning and goes to a dealership after work and buys one off the lot. Most times I am likely paying more for less. While this makes me very popular with car salesmen, it would appear to the untrained eye that I have not a brain in my tiny little head. When in fact, I consider myself to be of average intelligence.

If I order something online, chances are I will pay over-night shipping even when regular shipping is free. I do this regardless of when I really need the item. One may even wonder whether at some time in my life the oxygen supply may have been cut off to my brain. As possible as that actually may be, I suspect the root of the problem lies elsewhere.

Once I have decided I want something and that I am going to get it, the beast is unleashed. I scoff at the words, “No sir, we don’t have that in stock but we can order it for you.” Are you kidding? Hasta la vista, baby – off to the next store, the hunt is on. I will even accept a compromise now, rather than wait until next week for perfection. Not the quickest fox in the hunt?

I am not sure lower than average intelligence or moderate brain damage is at fault. The drive seems to come from deep within me, in spite of the fact that I know I am being none to smart. Is compulsivity and a touch of emotional immaturity part of the problem? Or is it that I am so uncomfortable with the present moment, that I am compelled to spice it up?  Am I seeking a high? Was I weaned to early? Do I need to get laid?

I dunno.

All I know is that being aware of this problem and sharing with others about it has already helped a ton. I am a little more accountable and when I say this stuff out-loud I can here the insanity of it. All I do know is that I can’t whip problems like these by myself and I am grateful that I have the support and help of so many friends. That is real gratification.

Hold that thought...

James

Dramalicious

Who me? Dramatic?

When I first began recovery, I would hear people talk about an addiction to drama. I absolutely could not relate. I new that I was a little "flamboyant" but the drama in my life was scaring me to death. What I did not know was that I was creating it, I was accustomed to it and its absence would become uncomfortable.

As I started to feel better, things began to calm down and I began to experience boredom. In other words my days were no longer spent figuring out what I did the night before, trying to cover my tracks or wondering what jail was going to be like. The hours of nursing resentments, plotting the demise of my adversaries and arguing with people who were not in the room were waning.

Then, suddenly I would hit a bump in the road, get thrown through the windshield and end up wrapped around my own axle. How can life do this to me? Of all the rotten luck, here I am just trying to stay sober, not hurting a fly and look what happens. Poor me.

Today, I have all these folks in my life that don’t let me get away with that for long. Before I can completely explain my woes and how they "done-me-wrong," one of them will say, “So, what did you do to put yourself in a place to be harmed?” They help me to see that I am the one that chose to depart the serene and head into the unknown.

After going through this repeatedly, I began to notice that I would be cruising along just fine and get an idea that would turn out to be the seed of chaos. Here are a few examples of drama starters from my repertoire: “I need to move.”;  “The more I think about it, she and I need to have a talk!”; “I know what I need to do, I need to go back to school.”;  “I’m going to call a realtor and see if she will show me some houses.” or my all time favorite, “I’m going to walk over there and ask that guy out on a date.”

Not that there is anything inherently wrong with any of these ideas, but going into what follows with open eyes helps. If I decide to stir up a hornets nest, I have to take responsibility for the consequences. Did I say responsibility? That is hard for a professional shirker to say.

Now that my feet are more firmly planted in sobriety, an occasional venture into the land of drama can be fun. Not so in early recovery. It took very little to throw me off balance, and I benefited by running my bright ideas by someone before I took off down that rocky road. And honestly, I may still be a little overly-cautious.

Hold that thought…
James

Pulling Hair

The Dalai Lama said, "In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher." Recently I have had the opportunity to do a little practicing in this area. Not that I really have any enemies, but I do have people in my life whose behavior I find particularly assaulting.

The childish part of me, which is a substantial part, wants to pull their hair and call them names. It sounds like the Dalai Lama is suggesting it may be a golden opportunity to better myself. Ugh. I would much rather that the people around me better themselves so I won't have to. It's beginning to look like that is not going to happen.

It is so difficult for me not to make other's offensive behavior about me. That is because my tendency is to make everything about me. Everything actually works pretty well when I am helping myself to other's joys and toys, but when I am putting myself in the center of their fears and tantrums it is painful. My reaction is always withdrawing from the latter and clinging to the good stuff.

My spiritual advisor consistently has to bring me back to the core principle of love and tolerance of others and the basic idea that all solutions are to be found within myself. Try as I might, I can not and should not try to change the person I am finding so offensive. My only hope is to nurture a compassion for them and try to be of help. Oh boy.

I mean really, can't I just snatch a patch of that hair out? Who is going to let them know how screwed up they are if I don't? Thoughts like these come so naturally but ultimately cause me so much pain and trouble.

So, I guess it is time to twist myself up in the lotus position and meditate on tolerance. There will be no hair pulling today.

Hold that thought,

James

A Blind Eye

All this blogging about the kid I used to be has made me think of my mom. She has been dead for 16 years but I think of her every day. Although I am like my dad in many ways, I believe that I got my coping skills in regards to anything with shame attached from my mom.

Denial, self delusion and avoidance kept me from addressing a number of self destructive tendencies within myself for a very long time. They include, but are not limited to, hypochondria, alcoholism and addiction. I was 20 years old before I stopped calling my attraction to other men "merely admiration". There are probably others that I am still in denial about.

When anything icky would happen at our house my mom would say "Let's not talk about this. I tell you what, I'll put a roast in the oven and everything will be alright. James, why don't you come in the kitchen and help me." and that would be that. I could always see worry and hurt behind her eyes though, and eventually she would go to her room with a "sick headache".

She just wanted all of us to be okay and had no idea how to make that so. I think she felt terribly guilty for not know how to fix everyone. Cooking a roast - she did know how to do.

Just like me, she was unaware that she was not supposed to be able to fix everyone and everything and secondly it wasn't her job in the first place. What she did not know was that she was a wonderful, wonderful Mother and that there is nothing wrong with making mistakes. I had to be told that by a great sponsor and a wonderful therapist. In fact the word mistake seems to imply fault. I hope that someday I will think of "making a mistake" as missing a mark that I have set for myself that may or may not be valid.

Turning a blind eye to the obvious in my life only worked for me for so long. Falling down stairs, waking up in the backyard, melting cookware on the stove and alienating friends and family forced me to take a look. It was the best thing that ever happened to me and something I could never have done without the help of others.

Not that I don't cook a roast now and then just like my momma taught me. I just try to eat a little humble pie with it and ask someone for help with my problems.

Thank you Mother for being exactly who you were.

Hold that thought...

James

Dark Closets

I have been an imposter my entire life. An imposter is defined as a person who practices deception under an assumed character.


I had learned at an early age that life was easier if everyone thought that I was just like them or better than them. The problem was that no matter how hard I tried, they saw right through me. So, I would just try harder. I only fooling myself. Most of the time I was actually quite impressed with myself.


Every adolescent boy on the playground new for a fact that I was different. They sensed that I was more like one of the girls than like them and did not hesitate to be vocal about it. I could not tolerate that thought. I was 20 years old before I could bring the thought of being gay into the conscious part of my brain.


I know today that I can be gay and one of "the guys". The two are not mutually exclusive. The emergence from the dark closet was gradual and took years of therapy and the help of many enlightened people. Moving to a larger, more cosmopolitan city helped. I have never wanted to be a girl, as much as I adore them.


I can dance as wild as I wish, I can were loud shirts, I can sit with my legs crossed, I can walk with a bit of a swish, talk with a bit of a lilt and the majority of the world does not take issue with it. I suspect those who have a problem with who I am just avoid me. That works out for everyone.


When I got into recovery and started getting a little more honest with myself and others, I began to realize that this character I play is also confident, artistic, worldly, free-spirited, honorable, perceptive, highly intelligent, superior, exceptional and so, so unique. Toward the end of my alcoholism and addiction my role also included being the victim, the persecuted and the wrongly accused.


But hiding in the closet was the real me, a scared, insecure, ordinary, aggressive, deceitful addict/alcoholic of average intelligence. As a light is shone on my true nature, I can begin to be okay with who I am now and begin to become the person that I want to be.


I was ashamed of so many things that turned out to be perfectly normal, and so many of the things I had so vehemently defended about myself, I am all to eager to be rid of today. The more comfortable I become with myself the more I am welcomed into the life of others. I am blessed with many friends today, gay and straight, drinkers and non-drinkers.


Beware dark closets.


Hold that thought...
James

Strange Cravings

A spot on a television show about people with bizarre addictions
featured  a woman that is addicted to a scouring cleanser. It reminded
me of a song we used to sing when I was a kid. It went like this:
“Comet. It makes your teeth turn green. Comet. It tastes like Listerine.
Comet. It makes you vomit. So, get some Comet and vomit today!”

It does not have that effect on this poor lady. She is addicted in spite
of the fact that there is no narcotic high but does have some nasty side
effects. I guess that is kind of like peanut M&Ms for me, as well as
shopping, sex, fried foods and getting attention from people.

The dangers of these activities pale in comparison to the dangers drugs
and alcohol posed in my life.  Sobering up though, has presented me with
a new class of problems. When restless or stressed, I often find myself
yearning for these subtler highs.  Once I indulge, moderation is almost
impossible. It seems to get a little better every year that I am sober.
At six years, they can still kick my ass.

There might be an argument for devine creation here somewhere. According
to the theories of evolution and natural selection, the creatures that
craved Brussels sprouts and wheat germ should have had an advantage over
those loving to eat whale-blubber chitlins and sugar cane. The mutations
that loved their veggies and scorned nature’s candy should have survived
to eventually populate continents. Maybe there is a big guy up there
that just like to dick with me.

Maybe someday, when I grow up and am self-actualized I will crave small
portions of lean meat and will go on broccoli binges. Maybe, I will
spend less than I earn. Maybe, the thought of sex without a deep meaningful relationship
will just seem tawdry.

I guess I just should be grateful that blackouts and the risk of being
arrested are not on my radar today. Nor is a bizarre compulsion to eat
cleanser or toilet paper. A burning desire to clean house a bit more, make a little
more money and exercise daily would make life a little better, I think.

Hold that thought…
James

Dead Birds

It has been a bad week for birds in the news - with them falling out of
the sky and all. Although, it should be a boon for the end-of-days
crowd. Kirk Cameron has already gotten some press.

The thought of the world ending does not bother me nearly as much as the
thought of getting struck by lighting and dying. I don't like being
singled out. I tend to take things a little personally.

Either way it seems a shame that I should go anywhere now that I have
quit drinking, quit smoking, started working out and completed four
years of therapy. If anything, it would be nice to have a little advance
notice. Are dead birds falling from the sky advance notice? What about
earthquake swarms or the mass acceptance of Fox News as being fair and balanced?
It's hard to know for sure. But I find myself planning what I would do with a couple of
days warning.

Would I get a case of Tequila? Would I snuggle up with the Marlboro Man?
Would I tear all the tags of my mattresses? A couple of weeks ago I told
the lady down at our gourmet chocolate shop that when the missiles flew
I was headed her way. I had a picture in my head of her and me sitting
on the floor stuffing our faces with excellent chocolates like Lucy and
Ethel at the candy factory.

I suspect anything too self-destructive would not be a good idea just in
case the dead birds falling from the sky were just that - dead birds
falling from the sky. Either way it's good to have a plan. Seems like
such a pity to die with an empty stomach or a healthy blood sugar level.

Hold that thought...
James

Let's not even talk about dodgeball.

My trip to the gym this morning is proof that there is life after
complete and utter humiliation in grade school physical education (PE).
It took many years before I could bring myself to walk into another gym
for fear that Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome would reduce me to a
sniveling mess. Or worse yet, someone would make me climb a rope.

Students that were in band or athletics were excused from PE. I did not
belong to anything so there I was with one overweight kid and a bunch of
juvenile deliquents. The overweight kid occasionally spared me from
being the last guy picked for the team, but usually a chubby kid was
preferred over a kid who dodged fly balls instead of catching them.

In elementary school and junior high, I had a sadistic coach who seemed
to loath weak boys as much as my peers did. Once when everyone on my
basketball team fouled out but me, he made me play alone against the
five guys on the other team. By the end of the hour I was exhausted and
horrified to have been the object of catcalls and hoots like I imagine
might be heard in a coleseum in ancient Rome.

But, then came high school and my savior. I had a young, good looking,
compansionate coach who seemed to like me in spite of the fact that I
could not do a single chin-up and threw the ball like a girl. That man
saved my sanity.

I am sure that there have been countless times that a teacher like him
has saved the life of a depressed, discouraged and lonely student just
by being compassionate and understanding. I will never forget him.

As for most of those athletic guys, well by our ten-year reunion their
muscles had settled in around their midsections and their thick necks
sagged into swollen jowls.

I'm no longer bitter - just glad to be who I am, and at 50, to be in pretty
good shape for a guy who was the last guy picked for the team.


Hold that thought...
James

Why Pink Plaid Briefs?

In an effort to communicate something of myself as well as impress everyone with a clever play on words, I came up with Pink Plaid Briefs. I anticipate that while sharing brief bits of my sometimes checkered past, it will become obvious that I am not heterosexual nor am I a conformist. I am a bit irreverent, a little crude and a survivor of several "shameful" maladies.

I hope my recollections will give hope to a recovering momma's boy, a recovering Catholic, a recovering alcoholic, a recovering dope fiend or the bullied. With the help of some very good folks, I have been pulled from the wreckage of my best attempt at life. I am still standing, relatively happy and healthy and not ashamed to show anyone my Pink Plaid Briefs. God knows that when I was drinking, anyone could see my privates just for the asking.

Hold that thought...
James