Thoughts From The Night You Said Let's Be Friends

 Two years ago I had a romantic relationship end that had popped up between myself and a good friend.  The ending was absolutely the best thing, but something being best doesn't mean it is the easy thing.  I wrote quite a bit over the following days and this script comes out of the general ideas from that writing.  When I was asked to write a performance to submit for a 10-minute micro-festival I instantly knew I wanted to go back to those journals and work them together into a single script that read as if it was the stream of consciousness from an evening where one can't sleep. The script was initially accepted but the idea for how it was going to be used within the festival changed and I never got to perform it or see it performed.  

So oddly enough with it being almost two years since that relationship ended it was weird to me when the script turned up while searching for something unrelated in Google Drive.  Distracted from what I was intending to find I read the script again and personally, I still think it captures the emotions of something romantic ending that wasn't really defined.  I decided it was time to go ahead and post the script here in case anyone else would like to read it.

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The Librarian and The Witch (a Facebook comment)

So here is my theory. In all ancient cultures the village witch, served as the protector of the community’s sacred knowledge. She was healer, teacher, therapist, and priestess. Her role was materialist, transcendent, and sexual. Our collective unconscious has not forgotten this despite Christendom’s best effort to drive this woman out because her role was co-equal in power with the chief. As the chief preserved the sacred masculine the witch preserved the sacred feminine.

Western modernity with its roots so deeply in Christendom patriarchy has attempted to excise the sacred feminine. However, despite all that work, our collective unconscious knows the need for the sacred feminine by both genders.

Call me crazy, but this is where the librarian fetish comes from, it is a fetishization of an unmet unconscious need. The librarian in her role as guardian of information is an illusion for the witch. She is the arbiter of the sacred feminine for our modern culture.

Uncommon Women And Others

A friend recently asked me to read and review "Uncommon Women and Others" by Wendy Wasserstein. I liked what I wrote so I am putting it here.

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This is a story of five women. Five women are suspended between two impulses. The mechanism of society and upbringing has predisposed them to fulfill their role of patriarchial feminity while the exposure to these early works of feminist literature is an incitement to reject this societal impetus. However, the college though exposing them to an education that can be a catalyst against the societal expectation placed on them is complicit in the discouragement to do just that.
Professor Chip Knowles an unseen male character teaches women's history. As if this does not illustrate the dilemma clearly enough Wasserstein goes further when Muffet recounts her conversation with the professor, "Chip’s wife, Libby, graduated first in her class from Vassar. When I told Chip I was a senior and didn’t know what I’d be doing next year, Chip told me that Libby doesn’t really spend the day mopping and catching tadpoles with Chip, Jr. She may be mopping with her hands, but with her mind she’s reliving the water imagery in the Faerie Queene” It seems important to note that the piece his wife is reflecting on is "The Faerie Queene." Since the dragon is only defeated by virtue Professor Knowles reinforces that she in her role as mother has chosen the virtuous choice. This enlightened male professor of women's history illustrates how their education is still secondary to their primary function as wife and mother.

Man's Voice (The School President) is the most clearly patronizing voice of the male dominated society. "Am I saying that anatomy is destiny? No, it is not destiny. Providing a setting in which these subtle constraints can be overcome is particularly the mission of a college for women." Although the voice is an attempt to inspire the assumption of the speaker is that womanhood is a deficiency that must be overcome. The result of that condescending encouragement is a deep anxiety, a disquiet that forces restlessness by its demand that uncommon women be super heroes. Throughout the play Man's voice presents this both implicitly, "The college fosters the ability to accept and even welcomes the necessity of strenuous and sustained effort in any area of endeavor," and also explicitly "The real problem for many educated women is the difficulty they have in recognizing whether they have been a success... Women will be part-time mothers, part-time workers, part-time cooks, and part-time intellectuals [...] Just like the pot of honey that kept renewing itself and educated woman's capacity for giving is not exhausted but stimulated by demands."

There are two other male characters that play into this complicity as well the Fathers and Robert. The fathers ostensibly are the ones paying for the Holyoke education, yet the pledge that the "girls" are saving themselves for Yale show that in the eyes of the family their virtue lies not in the education they are receiving but in the role they are to fulfill at home. Robert too is revealed to repeat this with his success and parties in which Samantha is expected to succeed vicariously.

There are of course the men not addressed directly within the play, all men. The unconscious privilege that a system designed for you allows. All men are represented here, because all men are benefitting from the system. As Rita points out men are recognized as experts even as the speak to women on issues addressing women. "The only problem with menstruation for men is that some sensitive schmuck would write about it for the Village Voice and he would become the new expert on women's inner life."

Over and over again the play circles back to two key lines. "I don't know what I am going to do," and "When I am [age]." These two recurrent ideas illustrate the condescension of society toward young women. This confusion between their role in the nuclear family unit and their role in the wider public sphere is presented as an attribute of their immaturity rather than as a consequence of the insatiable demands placed on them by a patriarchal society.

This play is not written then for women to commiserate about the problem. Instead, it is a polemic against that burden. By illustrating how each of the five women have been damaged she convicts the entire system for its injustice.

This is best understood by looking at the women through Galen's Four Humors. Muffet, Rita, Holly, and Kate each represent one of these archetypes. Muffet is the Sanguine, Rita the Phlegmatic, Holly the melancholic, and Kate the Choleric.

Muffet's nature is to be amorous and carefree. She is presented as the optimistic encourager of the group. She plays the role of ditzy fun friend while recognizing it does not bring any fulfillment "I feel so so confused. I mean this chick is an obvious imbecile. But I didn't think she was entirely wrong either. I guess the truth is men are very important to me... Sometimes I know who I am when I feel attractive. Other times it makes me feel very shallow like I am not Rosie the Riveter. I suppose this isn't a very impressive sentiment, but I would really like to meet my prince. Even a few princes. And I wouldn't give up being a person." Though she meets the society demand of women to "Smile" she is left an anxiety that questions what submission to that ideal of feminity has achieved for her.

Rita is the living embodiment of overthinking. The enormous nature of the world and the challenges it presents have left her in an avoidant anxiety. She is a lost soul because there are no solid footholds. "The New York Times, Walter Cronkite, all the buildings and roads, the cities, philosphy, government, history, religion, shopping malls, everything I can name is male. When I see things this way, it becomes very obvious that it is very easy to feel alienated and alone for the simple reason that I've never been included because I came into the world without a penis." In adulthood she is still a coward avoiding the future.

Holly is the most introspective of the five lead characters. She has desires, and sees them for both their positive and negative both. "Yes, except if I fall in love it would be because I thought someone was better than me. And if I really thought someone was better than me, I'd give them everything and I'd hate them for my living through them." As an adult she remains unsettled and has still not left graduate school. Holly has an anxiety of being an incomplete entity which results in an apathy toward progress.

Kate is ambitious and driven. Yet she is part of a society that praises those characters in men while shaming them in women. So she is trapped by her aspiration and her need to remain being seen as feminine. "Carter, I'm afraid that I'm so directed that I'll grow up to be a cold efficient lady in a grey business suit. Suddenly, there I'll be, an Uncommon Woman ready to meet the future with steadiness, gaiety, and a profession and what's more I'll organize it all with time to blow dry my hair every morning." In the end Kate has all the success of the uncommon woman and yet settles for Kent who still condescends to her.

Samantha like the other four women serves an important character as well. Samantha has chosen the "other path" the traditional woman. Like Professor Knowles' wife she has rejected the promises of feminism. "Robert says I never grew up into a woman. That I am sort of a child woman. I've been reading a lot of books recently about women who are wives of artists and actors and how they believe their husbands are geniuses, and they are just a little talented. Well, that what I am. Just a little talented at a lot of things. That's why I want to be with Robert and all of you. I want to be with someone who makes a public statement." This rejection does not leave the audience with any sense that her life appears more fulfilled.

Wassertine's goal then is for the play is to illustrate to the patriarchial society itself the burden that it places on the women. The inevitable end of this is an ingrained mistrust of the woman to herself. No woman is allowed to be confident in herself. As Rita says, "Do you know what Samantha? If I could be anyone of us, first I would be me. That's me without any embarassment or neurosis - and since that is practically impossible, my second choice is, I'd like to be you." This impairment afflicts every single character, including, in the eleventh hour reveal, Mrs Plumm, who is the model of feminine sensibility.

At the begining of the last scene Man's Voice fades and is replaced by Woman's voice, "Women still encounter overwhelming obstacles to achievement and recognition despite gradual abolition of political and legal disabilities. Society has trained women from childhood to accept a limited set of options and restricted levels of inspiration."

Wasserstein does not offer any solutions to these issues. Instead at the final climax of this play she uses this paragragh to ask the viewer if she has proven the statement to be true. If the statement is true then western society is found guilty of its injustice against women. As a woman enters adulthood the constructs passed from one generation to the next through family, education, civilization, and religion have already played their role in shaping her into the person they are and will become.

Despite almost 40 years having passed since the play was written Wasserstein's question remains relevant to be asked today. Perhaps more achievements have been made, and more disabilities have been aboloished; but the work is far from complete. Women are still expected to desire their traditional role in the marriage relationship. In the heteronormative majority women are still expected to be caretakers of their home, children, and spouses; the mental and emotional labor of a relationship still falls primarily and often exclusively on the woman. Women are still being asked to choose between their own desire and the desire of men. "I don't know what I am going to do," to navigate that space between her own goals and her role demanded by these old definitions of femininity remains a central challenge and point of anxiety to women today. The expectation to put off their own desires to some unnamed later point in time repeated in the "When I am [age]" lines are no less relevant.

Until women no longer encounter overwhelming obstacles to achievement and recognition in a male dominated society then the production of this play remains a culturally meaniful act. These five women are as representative of the challenges facing women in 2020 as they were in the challenges facing women in 1980.

The Historian (a Facebook comment)

As a "historian" surely you are aware of the "Southern Strategy" which began in the late sixties and continued as the main growth fact of the Republican party through the mid-eighties.

As a "historian" surely you are aware with the Republican party's marriage to the evangelical right to promote the control of women by limiting their access to the basic liberty of bodily autonomy and access to make their own healthcare decisions.

As a "historian" surely you recognize that the "Rockefeller Republican" which supported strong labor markets, the establishment and growth of the state university system, and the largest infrastructure projects in American history were all excised from the party by the Goldwater Republicans in the 60s and 70s.

I would love to have an engaged debate about the merits of how the Republican platform is the platform of classical liberalism, but it needs to involve the actual present platform not the accomplishments of those who would be labeled RINOs today.

However, let's debate the merits rather than use NewSpeak terms like "post modern neo marxist" which mean absolutely nothing but sound scary to those without a degree in philosophy.

Words

I wrote this over a year ago, and have decided to go ahead and post it now because I was going through old stuff I had written and I really thought this was about the best poetry I have written.

I don't know how to use my words

They don't seem to work like they used to.

Proud confident and sure of the message they had to share

I don't know how to use my words

Muddled, questioning, so in need of nuance now.

I feel sometimes like I have become too shattered to ever be put back together

I feel sometimes like all these pieces

is the only Me which has ever been the real me

I saw you there,

Seated at a table of peers

You poised and beautiful

I wanted to know who you were.

I listened, me Sipping that beer

but drinking deeply of your prescence

Your words like music and lyrics flowing through

I wanted to get to know you.

I felt you there, every idea, joke, and word

your soul being shared, you filling ours.

And I wanted to kiss you.

Renée Descartes said I think therefore I am.

I was academically birthed into the world of postmodernity,

suckled from the mounds of trust no one and question everything,

And cut my teeth on deconstruction

Now I am left to say "I am thinking therefore I am not being."

I wanted to slide my hand into the small of your back,

guide our bodies together no distance between us our lips warm softly touching

The space surrounding melted away into the peculiar particularity of that moment together.

I wonder if the other me was entirely another me.

I wonder when in that 16 years did he pass and if anyone shed a tear for his loss?

I wonder if I could summon him from his mausoleum

invite possession by that other me.

I wanted to learn your story, 

to share your journey, 

to know the whole of how you think; 

to stay up all night talking 

so the sunrise makes us laugh 

at our enraptured attention to each other.

I wonder if enchanted by the other me 

this me could have charmed you. 

The one with poise whose melody 

was philosophy, dramaturgy, and story.

The universe she made us in her image.

from singularity we shatter scattered out into a billion billion pieces

Mass - pressure - ignition -fusion

Stars born and burn hot and bright

Stars energize fostering life around them

Stars supernova, destroying everything in the exploding path

Stars expended die out to cold and emptiness

Our atoms forged in the heart of stars

I want to take these two fingers 

unzipping the dress down the length of your back.

To take these hands 

slide them inside the slit of the dress. 

First pressing them firmly against your back  

savoring for a moment 

this first time their skin has touched this surface of you.

I want to rest a kiss at the base of your neck 

as I drop your dress to the ground.

Then piece by piece 

we together remove the fabric layers which separate our bodies 

from being fully touching enmeshed with each other.

Shards formerly propelled apart by the force of their own trajectory 

now coalesce into orbits round each other.

Orbits are added to orbits

Shards larger and more significant join, pass, yaw, and pivot in.

Planets and planetary Systems

bigger than the pieces

scraps spinning together

absorbing the energy of their shared fire.

Our lives dependent on the fire of a single star.

I want to taste the fullness of your soul.

Use these two listening ears; unzipping the barriers of your mind.

I want to scuttle inside your deepest self

Hear your passions, your pain, your strengths, weaknesses, dreams, fears. Savoring for just a moment touching the casing of your soul for the very first time.

I place just a peck at the base of your mind, dropping our masks and defenses to the floor.

Then story by story we tell each other

together we remove the layers which separate our souls from being fully touching enmeshed with each other.

Maybe you and me would have been a galaxy.

Maybe you and me would have been a supernova.

Maybe we could have found an orbit

Maybe we would have just passed by

The universe she made us in her image.

from singularity we shatter

scattered out into a billion billion might have beens.

Time expired

Leaving I only asked your name,

I stood there looking in those eyes

Windows in to the soul as they say

I wanted every bit more of you.

A morsel of your being

A spoonful of you mind

A tincture of your soul

But I said not a charming word more.

See, I don't know how to use my words anymore.

They just don't seem to work like they used to.

The Past Matters (a Facebook comment)

I have been thinking a lot lately about this relationship I had at 17. She was from a very religious, very wait until marriage type family. We never had PIV, but we certainly went further sexually than she was comfortable with. Our sexual activity was always consensual, but it was convinced consent not enthusiastic consent. She consented only because she believed our relationship was headed toward marrying each other.

About 8-10 years ago I reached out to her brother via Facebook looking for contact information to apologize to her. Her brother responded about a week later with a very formal, “She appreciates your apology but is not interested in communicating with you.”

I live every day knowing that I am possibly someone’s #metoo story. If someday she came forward and accused me of manipulation and therefore assault I would not deny it because THAT is what it means to be good. I was not intending to be manipulative, but that does not change how my words and my pressure affected and damaged her.

The past matters; especially when the past is not even admitted to.

Concealer (a Facebook comment)

Every woman close enough to share our confidences has revealed she wakes each morning having to apply a foundation of strength, her concealer over the scars of her sexual assault. Absolutely every woman I know intimately is living with the scars of sexual assault. Saying "Every single one" is not an exaggeration. It is an objective truth easily heard if you are listening. When you shame, dismiss, and invalidate the victim you become another piece of that trauma.

I Have This Friend

I have this friend. In physical appearance she is gorgeous. In conversational engagement she is captivating. In lifestyle she pursues the things she loves with passion.. Any man who meets her is going to be smitten; because in attractiveness she is the total package.  As I first started spending time with her I was taken by her. So, I did what any man enamored of a woman should do; I told her. I laid myself out there and told her all the reasons I was enchanted by her. My friend did not return my romantic intoxications.

I have this friend. I am honored to call a friend. All the reasons I find her amazing do not disappear because she is not attracted in a fairy-tale crush on me.  Most of the qualities that attracted me romantically are the same qualities that attract me to friendships. I want friends who are easy to lose time in conversation with and embrace their life with fervor.  She is both these things.

I have this friend who had a conversation this evening with another guy who found himself infatuated by her many charms. Yet, his response to her rebuffs of his romantic advances was very different than my own. See, like myself, she considered this person a friend as well. They had shared life challenges and she had been there for him when his life situation needed a friend to be there.  

I have this friend who was verbally assaulted, unfriended and blocked by a person she called a friend simply because she said to him, “No, I am not romantically interested.”

Men, this has to stop. We have to do better. How can a woman you considered a friend be discarded so easily simply because they do not return your attractions?  Are we as a gender so focused on our erotic passion that a woman uninterested in romance is discardable.  This is the pinnacle of objectification. 

Men, since you are unable to hear it from the women in your life I am going to repeat it here for you. That woman, your friend, is an entire person. She like you is fully able to possess a range of differing emotions. She, like you, is entitled to the attractions that allure her.  You are not owed her carnal sensuality simply because you express attraction. If all you can see her for is how she responds to your advances than you were never her friend to begin with. 

Men, do you want to be used? Of course the answer to that question is no. So then, why do you feel the women in your life feel any differently? To have a friendship discarded this easily hurts. This kind of capricious response to her honest response proves you were using her for the entirety of the relationship.

Men, I have this friend who I want to trust me. In fact, I have several friends who are women and I want them all to trust me. I want them to trust that our time is safe, our vulnerability is genuine, and our friendship is rooted in the whole of their personhood. However, how can I ask this trust when the bulk of their investments in relationships with men end in this way? 

Women, I am sorry. I am sorry our culture did not teach this lesson to men when they were boys. I am sorry that the repeating actions by a string of men have positioned you to feel unsafe as your default. I am sorry that teaching the emotional responsibility of friendship has been so grossly ignored in our culture.

Men, I need us to wise up, grow up, and do better. 

Meeting Someone New aka I Am A Nerd

Today a Facebook friend linked to this article, "13 Questions To Ask Before Getting Married" and I clicked through to read it.  I honestly thought it was a really great list of important ideas to discuss before two people shared vows and joined in a committed partnership intended to be life long. Really, the article has nothing to do with this blog post at all, except it was the catalyst for reminding me that I had compiled a question list myself a few months back.  Although, my list is more about getting to know a person you have newly met and have romantic interest in.

The list started when a woman I had been chatting online with asked me to send her any questions I had about her.  The questions I sent to her were slightly different than these as they were inspired by our conversation up to that point, but those questions I sent her became the skeleton which I would refine into this list.  She never did respond to the questions and that at first got me wondering if the questions we bad, or if the medium was bad.  Obviously, I decided it was the medium and worked hard to refine the questions to where I have them today.

Truth be told, because I am a total nerd, I would use this list with anyone new I met whether there was romantic interest or not.  In my ideal world, meeting someone new I would ask them to a coffee shop and we would go over this list together. The medium of answering these together in a dialog would work much better and not feel like an assignment as I think the original emailed list did when . Going through the entire list together the other party and myself would both have a good idea of whether or not we were going to be compatible.

So here is my nerdy list of "First Date Questions" which can be used for both new friendship or new romantic prospect.

1. What are your favorites of all time and why?
A. Novels
B. Authors
C. Television Show
D. Movies
E. Philosophers
F. Stage Plays
G. Musicals
H. Albums
I. Songs
J. Board Games
K. Card Games
L. Role Playing Games

2. Famous fictional duos, marry one murder the other.
A. Kirk and Spock
B. Batman and Robin
C. Hermoine and Harry
D. Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck
E. Rachel and Monica
F. Buffy and Angel
G. Ted and Barney
H. Frodo and Sam
I. Arya and Sansa
J. (Bonus since they're real) Lennon and McCartney

3. What is your type on each of these personality scales?
A. Meyers-Brigg
B. Enneagram
C. Jungian Archetypes
D. World's Smallest Political Test
E. Dawkins Test
F. Chakra Center
G: Kinsey Scale
H. Locus of Control
I. Hogwarts House

4. If you were to receive a call tomorrow letting you know a distant relative had set up a $10,000 a month endowment in your honor how would your life change?

5. If you were invited to be the keynote speaker at a TED event what would the title of your talk be, and what thesis would you want to communicate to the audience with your 18 minutes?

6. Do you have one or more artistic outlets? How do you use these outlets to contribute to shaping the world around you? How have these outlets changed over the course of life events?

7.  Looking at your last major romantic relationship; When measured in the narrative arc of your life story would you consider the relationship beneficial or not?

8. What is your relationship with intoxicants? Legal and illegal?

9. What is your relationship with spirituality? How has your spirituality changed you? How has your spirituality changed because of changes to who you were?

10. What is a story that exemplifies the transition that defines who you are now?

I have never actually used this list explicitly and I am intrigued to know what other people would think if they had met someone new and there first time going out socially that person pulled out a list of questions for discussions.  I personally would be intrigued to learn more about the person with the list and to see what the list questions were.  But I am a self confessed socially awkward nerd and geek, so I also acknowledge I am not the best measuring stick.  I can definitely see where another person would find this intimidating or invasive. If you like the list idea and have other questions that would improve it let me know what you are thinking.

A Reflection On Mental Labor

My friend Scot Moore on his blog 21st Century men started a conversation about “Mental Labor” and the stress its disproportionate distribution on women adds into a marriage. As a divorced man man myself, who was very surprised when my “good marriage” ended this post has really had the wheels churching in my head today as I processed his post and my thoughts resulting from the post.

At that time I honestly thought I was an extremely good husband. I worked a full time job and made a comfortable income. I made sure the kids got to their extra-curricular activities. I did my share of chores. I honestly always thought I was emotionally supportive and loving. I was a good man with a good marriage; if you asked me my wife was doing alright.

This was not her perspective however. In the tense conversations that occour when a relationship is ending I was both called controlling and also accused of ignoring of our family’s needs. Understandably, by a person who feels controlled and ignored, she found the freedom and attention she was desiring in the affections of an old flame. We tried counseling, tried polyamory, tried everything we could to save our “good marriage.” In the end it was too late.


I have spent many hours in self reflection over these three years, looking for that golden arrow that would slice through and explain her, myself, and our breakdown in such a way where I would not repeat the same mistakes. I want to be a good male partner, and that means honest acknowledgement of my failures so that I can be intentional about my actions in future relationships.

There is an oddity in our culture. When you separate from a relationship encouraging friends want to assure you that it is all your partner’s fault. You become surrounded by people, all of whom assure you that you are the victim. I was never one to entertain these platitudes. Yes, my ex played her part in our split, but I also played my part. The principle goal of my self reflection has been on understanding that role I played.

Social scientist talk about the four forms of labor present in a bonded pair relationship. These labors consist of economic, physical, mental, and emotional. Although we were never anything above comfortable middle class I always provide it sufficiently in the economic labor.

Emotional vulnerability was definitely a skill I desperately lacked early in our relationship, it was also something I was progressively working on in the years we were together. Though I struggled to be open about my own emotional needs, I was very responsive to listening and responding to her emotional needs. If I were attempting to be as self actualized as possible about my role in bearing be emotional labor of our relationship I would not paint myself as a shining knight, but I do believe it is fair to say I bore a near equal role in this load.

The physical labor of our relationship was never equal. Do not get me wrong, I did my part when my part came up. I was never the kind of guy who sat on the couch and expected my dinner and beer after work. I helped prepare meals and assisted with other chores when those chores needed my assistance. Laundry, dishes, picking up, dirty diapers, and shopping were rarely ever performed by me while the children were small. Naturally, I could defensively explain that in those years I was working outside the family and my wife was working within the family; therefore the discrepancy in physical labor was to be expected.

That arrangement worked very well for our family until the youngest child was starting school and my ex wife was returning to the workforce. At this same time, she was going back to work out side the family my work situation had changed and I was working from home the majority of the time. Working from home I picked up more of the chore load. and if you had asked me at the time, I would have swore I was performing an equal contribution to the chores.
It is three years later now. I have been the custodial parent since our split. It is only in these couple years as a single custodial parent that I realize what a minimal portion of the household labor I was performing.

Which brings me back to my friend Scot’s blog post this morning on “mental labor.” Perhaps more accurately to the comic by French feminist comic artist Emma. Please, stop reading this post now and return after you have read all the panels of Emma’s comic on mental labor. This comic strip is my Golden arrow. I never in our 16 years together carried any more than the most negligible portion of the mental labor.

I have learned about mental labor in the years since our break up just from the practical results of having to learn to effectively manage a household of children. We have implemented systems together to make sure people have the food and other shopping needs they require. I have learned to recognize what tasks need to be completed and assign them out to the best family member for completion. I laughed out loud at the portion of the comic strip where the female partner started to complete one chore, which led to stumbling across and needing to complete the other fifteen chores: as this is now a regular occurrence in my life.

My complete lack of an acknowledgment of an entire quadrant of household management was the ticking time bomb of our relationship. This ignored quadrant was acceptably balanced when my ex was a stay at home parent and neither of us felt the impending strain of roles which would eventually be our undoing. However after her return to the workforce the strain increased till the bough broke and the unravelling multiplied exponentially.

This week has been an interesting primer for me to be open to hearing this lesson. I have recently finished two novels by Meg Elison which each took place in a dystopian future where a plague had killed well moire than 90% of the world's women. This week, I have been reading Stephen and Owen King’s new book "Sleeping Beauties" which is a fantasy moral story about a world where all the women have fallen asleep. On Monday, when the #metoo hash tag was trending I also read a short story by author Carmen Maria Machado about the unrelenting demands of being a woman in the world. That same day a female friend posted a meme asking men for one tangible step they would take to end rape culture. Tuesday, I read another article about the rising phenomenon of the female midlife crisis. All of this prepared me to see and understand the answer I have been looking for,. Women are feeling scared, broken, and trapped in our culture primarily because men are not bearing their load of the work in changing the world for the better.

I leave this with two concluding thoughts for myself going forward. Thought one, in my possibly future existing pair bonded relationship I will be intentional to take regular inventory to ensure all four quadrants of household maintenance our shared equitably. More currently actionable, is I will work to bear my load of mental labor to seeing the practical work of crushing misogyny and patriarchy.

I recognize that this has been a rambling self reflective post. However, my hope is that it will inspire the same kind of rambling reflective journey in your thoughts as well. My wish for my fellow males is that we will together commit to bearing the economic, emotional, physical, and mental loads of both our relationships and also our society within the spheres of influence that we live within.

She Will Be The Sun My Universe Orbits

I saw this image about three days ago now, and I have not been able to move on from it since I first stumbled across it. I would say anyone who knows me, knows that my ADHD is a pretty defining quality of my personality, so it is not surprising that my relationship history would be impacted by this condition which I live with every day.
It was about two years and eleven months ago now that my ex-wife and I split. We had been having a lot of issues for a good two years before that, but the official split was about three years ago now. I emotionally dealt with the fall out of the relationship in the way any ADHD person would react, I hyperfocused on something else. Between theatre, the kids, and work there was a lot to hyperfocus on, and being that at the time I really did not believe that her complaints were justifiable reasons to end the marriage I for the most part felt there was no urgency to self reflect on how I would be a better partner in a future relationship.
Fast forward these past three years and a lot of my thinking on the subject has changed. I have come to believe that her complaints were absolutely justifiable, and that I will in the future sabotage future relationships in the same manner. Hence, the picture that has been on my mind for days now. That image could be the exact illustration of my perspective on my marriage. In my view she was always the center point of my life, and the ten thousand other things, were just bodies in orbit around that center. The image of my perspective is a solar system with her as the sun; her perspective of living with me looks more like the birth of a universe where I am the singularity with everything around me exploding in chaotic energy and being propelled outward.
Now after three years I have met a person worth investing new energy into. I have met a woman who is passionate about the arts, desires to be a positive force in the world, is a reader, a thinker, and someone who challenges me in our conversations. I have a met woman whom I adore. When she and I are in a room, she makes my heart pound. I genuinely enjoy being with her, and our conversations make me proud to be a person who would even be on her romantic radar. She makes me happy, and I want to be the person who she says makes her happy too. I am not inclined to romantic vulnerability, yet she is a bright light and I am the moth drawn to her risks be damned. From the time we have spent together so far I hope we blossom together. She is a firework and I want her to become my best friend and my romantic partner.
Yet, here I am, the same ADHD person I was in my marriage, and the same ADHD person I will be till they spread my ashes. I want a centerpoint again, but there will ALWAYS be 10,000 other things in that orbit too. I can no more stop the barrage of ideas to be considered, plans to be made, and problems to be solved than a flood wall can stop a hurricane. Being all over the place with my hands in a thousand pies is me, and the only real me I can be. I can no more stop being infatuated by a world of sparkly ideas and plans than I can stop breathing.
I have no silver lining for myself, no magic spell that will fix the problem that vexed my marriage. I will always be excited about the possibility of 10,000 potentialities; I ask myself every day, "Am I the seed of my own relational destruction?" I am left to self reflect on the nuts and bolts of never again letting the sun at the center feel like she is less than every reason the entire system orbits.

Must Love Roller Coasters

Back in July my 10 year old told me that I should look for a girlfriend. He explained to me that his mom and I had been broken-up for years and she had a boyfriend, so I should have a girlfriend.
As if that part of the conversation was not cute enough, he then explained that lots of people look for girlfriends on Craigslist. So I should put an ad on Craigslist. BUT the ad had to start with "Must Love Rollercoasters" because he did not want someone in my life that would ruin our trips to amusement parks.

Obviously, I had no intention of posting a Craigslist Ad, but I did write the hypothetical ad I would post to a potential suitor.

Must love rollercoasters. I mean not exactly roller coaster per se; although actual roller coasters would be a bonus. I am a marginal enthusiast.  I mean you should have that kind of attitude and vigor for life and new adventures. Rollercoaster lovers are committed to experiences over things.

Must love books, movies, museums, the outdoors, and live theatre. I want to sit in a room and read with you, and too you. I want to glance up and catch your face the moment it just enlivens, inspired by the joy of brilliant writing. I want to nestle close alongside you and share the electric energy that passes between the stage players and their audience both as they present and as we process afterward. I want to watch a movie, and discuss ourselves to exhaustion and collapse into each other. I want to experience art and history together and watch the aliveness the great humanities use to enlighten our mindfulness to the magic of living experience.  I want to cuddle up alongside you by a fire, my arms wrapped around you,  our bodies sore from hiking the splendor of a forest trail.
Must have beautiful eyes; but then beautiful souls always have beautiful eyes, because it is the eyes that reflect  most honestly the inner essence of the soul.  Must be passionate about politics, religion, pop-culture,  justice and the planet. That passion always shimmers when you peer deeply into beautiful eyes.  You are the kind of woman who knows we have only one life to live in our time on earth and you plan to maximize it with mirth and  
In return, I will spoil you with with words and pour affection on your body. I will look deeply inside those eyes every opportunity I have to gaze. I will cover you in kisses so every inch of you knows how you excite every inch of me. I will kindle that shared passion for the extravagance of human experience. I will cultivate the planting  of our sapling romance till it blossoms into the love I want to give and share.
If you are that kind of woman, reach out to me. I am the kind of guy who's looking to fall in love with someone like you.

Fireworks

I want fireworks
Not the "yeah, I like her I guess"
I want explosions in the sky
That thunderous boom
that reverberates for blocks
the array of spark and color
Illumination that captivates the eyes.

Is fireworks too much to ask
In this, "You're an adult now?" world
Is there no more magic left
To dazzle when we first meet
To consume the surrounding energy
In a explosive fusion of simpatico
Other needs ignored as we fuse

I want to be her fireworks
I want to be the blinding shock of light
That wows and captivates her eyes
I want to walk and talk and laugh and cry
I want to hurt when we have to go apart
I want longing to measure the moments away

I am bored if not for fireworks
Why bother with a boring rock
Just because it is already laying nearby.
I want a comet
A conflagration hurling toward the earth.
If she is not a shooting star
Then what is there to chase?

Or I want nothing at all
Life is awash already
with love, passion, and light
every time I open my eyes and look
So if a me and a her is going to become a we
I'm gazing out searching for colored washed skies
I want fireworks.

I Walked In

Last night at 6:18PM I pulled up to UCBC for the Tesseract fundraising event. I was having a full on anxiety attack as I sat in my car. I both love and need to be around people. Put me on a stage and I will talk to 1000s with the authority and confidence of the most seasoned speaker. Sit with me at a table one on one, and when our time together expires we will separate as richer friends. Even so, being placed into a social crowd is my emotional kryptonite. In these kinds of situations, I usually keep to events where I can be hidden by the busyness of running the event. This allows me to feed on the energy of the other attenders without having to face my own social anxieties.
This was not that type of event, and I had absolutely no wall to position between myself and my mess of anxious feelings. I sat in my car deciding, will I go in or will I leave and offer the excuse of something coming up unexpectedly?

At 6:23PM I worked up the composure to face the reservations created by my internal monologue of apprehensions and headed inside. Each step toward the door was an act of decisive self-possession; my mistrust attempting to dissuade my advancement.

I made it through the doors and immediately lost all will to stay. The worrisome view of a table with 8 people already seated engaged in conversation seemed foreboding; the task of approaching and joining them overwhelming. I would have ducked and run, my head down like a criminal guided into the court room, but I had been seen already.

In that minuscule moment I had accepted the embarrassment of telling my therapist that I attempted a purely social event but just could not face the distress of my panic. He would chide me, remind me this kind of event was our exact therapy goal, and we would make a new plan for a future event. The shame of facing him would rush past, awkward but tolerable.

However, that table was full of people I know and work with, and others though I did not know I would also be collaborating with at some future point. I could not escape after being seen; a resolute approach to join the group was my only option.

One hour I resolved to stay; sustain the illusion of self confident social skills, and leave before the dread of my clumsy self doubt overwhelmed. I am a theatre professional, I could handle an hour of play-acting the social maverick.

I did not leave after an hour. Instead despite all the phobic dread I had composed around the event I relaxed and had an amazing time. These table mates were amazing both those who were old friends and the ones who were new. I sat and listened to stories, told stories, and shared time with nothing manifested from my plagued inner monologue. Four hours later when it came time to excuse myself there was no urgency or lingering longing for escape.

Life after a long term relationship can be difficult. Having a partner, a reliable person to retreat to in social situations is an overlooked perk of coupling. I have crafted my social encounters for almost three years now, ensuring every event I attended included a safety net of a person that I felt safe to hide amongst or a supervisory role that I could retreat within. However last night, I surrendered that control and went rogue against my anxieties.

I walked in, joined the crowd, and had the absolute best time.

"Everything is Balanced and Serene. Like Chaos Never Happens if it’s Never Seen"

The truth is, it only lasted 10 minutes. The picture will still remain on Instagram and Facebook; popping up through out the day into my friend's and acquaintance's feeds. I will add the "Likes" as the day  progresses. They will be envious of the view, the coffee, and even the outside temperature; each element was carefully framed to invoke jealousy when the algorithm delivers my perfectly couture post. Reality however, is vastly different than the serene illusion presented in my carefully manicured image.  Reality is, the serenity on lasted 10 minutes.

It was only 10 minutes later the tranquility was replaced by entropy .  As I shot the photo there were already small irritations, not worth mentioning. I had become a mosquito smorgasbord, the WiFi signal was weak so Internet speed was terrible, and my neighbors were having a distractingly loud conversation while they too enjoyed the cool morning air.  Yet, those were mere vexes, minor dander which would not ruin my peaceful space.

10 minutes, it only lasted 10 minutes before I bumped the TV tray leg as I was attempting to stand up. Plans were to run inside for just a quick potty break. Two minutes inside and then back to the comfortable cool of my morning work space.  That however, never happened.  My leg whacked against the tray which went flying upward, launching my coffee at a trajectory somehow perfectly aimed to inflict the highest level of splatter across the computer keyboard.  Milliseconds later these new elements of turmoil peaked in their upward ascent and hurled back in a clatter.

Just 10 minutes later, I was now staring at a TV tray in pieces, a venti coffee spilled and splashed across my keyboard, and my computer crashed atop the entire mess.  I stared blankly for several seconds attempting to assess the wreck in front of me. "Fuck!" I screamed; the explicative jarring me into a reactive action.  I grabbed my computer sprinting inside to the kitchen to clean the coffee before it leaked inside between the keyboard keys.

10 minutes of simplicity which will remain enshrined, returning again in the future through "On This Day" notifications.  The chaos, will not return.  The chaos does not exist in the digital breadcrumbs and archives we are leaving behind.  I am not attempting to hide the mess, it is just that when the computer is covered in coffee and more is continuing to pour out there is no time to frame the perfect photo.  There is only response! Action to alleviate the unexpected quagmire. The chaos is not chronicled because the time is consumed by exertion of intervention.

Like my picture perfect morning, I reflect on how much wonder and beauty is underpinned with unseen chaos.  I am in the midst of an Independent theatre festival. Being Monday morning I started my day by perusing through the wonderful photos, rave reviews, and personal memories posted to social media by the attendees and press. It is all the perfect picture of  our Festival. As patrons watched shows, supported artists,  and made memories  I planned, acted, and reacted; once running seven blocks from one venue to another because the show needed to start and no one could make sound from the wireless microphone come out through the speakers.  There is the ever present commotion and disarray.  It is in the social media photo and it is in the Festival. It is in every human event we share.

"Everything is balanced and serene. 

Like chaos never happens if it’s never seen."

-Fun Home the Musical