a summation of things

A couple of weeks ago I had a nervous breakdown.  I don't say it in a real light sense... not like "OMG, I can't believe Nashville might not be coming back next season!" but more of the hyperventilating "my life has no direction" kind of way.  Here, I'll explain.  Get cozy because this one's long.

I've written about my transition down to Texas in more than just one blog, and somehow along the way I lost sight of wanting to write about anything else.  I used to have such (in my eyes) fun and random stories to share, some thought-provoking and others funny and lighthearted.  The stories became different once the move happened, and while I still had the desire to write, all I wanted to do was complain.  Whine about missing my friends, my family, my old job, the heat down here, etc. etc.  It's no one's fault but my own that I decided to cut myself off from writing, and I"ll own it.  First turning the monthly updates into quarterly updates, slowing down with what came in-between, and then stopping all-together.  I can tie that into my conversations with friends as well, months at a time going by between actual conversations let alone even texting them.  My friends ask how I've been and what I've been up to, and suddenly the reason for our lack of communication is apparent.

I haven't been up to anything.  Nothing.

There's been no writing, no blogs and no books.  I haven't been doing new things (or old things) and I haven't been going to new places.  I've been working.  You can sprinkle some Book III editing in their as well, but I mostly go to and from work and then watch TV or movies with Derek.  And that's it; that's all she wrote.  Where possibly a million and one things may have changed for my friends that they want to share with me (and I'm more than willing to listen, of course), I have about a million things less to lay out on my own end of the line.  My big changes ended after I moved down here with Derek in September, switched jobs a couple of times, and then awkwardly landed on my feet with a steady determination to hobble forward.  I have not been happy.  I have not been loving it.  And admitting that lifts a tremendous weight from my shoulders.  Shoulders that have been busy barreling forward as I've kept my head down in the process.

Two weeks ago I was sitting at the very same Starbucks that I am right now, in the very same seat as I am right now, and trying to write the Spring 2016 update.  After a few failed attempts in writing a couple of paragraphs, I deleted my work and retitled the blog "when it comes to updates," intent on telling everyone there would be no more of that series.  If there had been a time for monthly, scratch that, seasonal updates on my creative and carefree life, it has long since passed.  Because I just don't feel that way anymore.

When I first created the blog I simultaneously created a version of myself to go with it.  Have you ever heard of the term Facebook Depression?  It's a real thing I guess, prevalent in teens and adults in a mid-life crisis, and occurs in people who see how great other's lives "appear" to be on Facebook, even if the reality of those lives may not be that great.  I started the blog site right before kicking "26 Golden Things" into high gear, constantly publishing essays and letters and talking about all of the amazing things I was doing with my year.  The persona of "Sean Parker; self-proclaimed author" grew and grew in a witty, funny, sarcastic, cerebral person that had real emotions and experiences to talk about and subsequently the lessons to be learned from each in turn.

You can chalk it up to being single and having loads of free time on my hands while living with my parents.  The writing came easy to me because I wanted to share my life with people, with you.  To put things out to the ether and stir up conversation, as it were.  Just two short years later things changed again; it got harder for me to write because I'd settled into a complacency of life.  And then the writing became a chore and something I neglected because it meant shining a light on how extremely ordinary my life was.

The Facebook Depression hit me because of me.  I frequently looked back on those old blogs with rose-tinted glasses, imaging my life was so much greater than it really was.  Don't get me wrong, I loved nearly every minute of 2012, but capturing lightning in a bottle is difficult at the best of times.  Re-capturing said lightning is damn near impossible, so instead I just kept trudging forward.

That isn't to say there weren't exciting things happening in my life, because there were.  I met Derek and planned our move to Austin and plenty happened between then and moving.  The difference was that in the harsh light of day, when I was sharing these events with someone else right away, the ability to be a writer and flourish the stories for comedic or dramatic effect at a later time was gone.  Not that I couldn't flourish things still, I just didn't want to write anything someone would read and think "Well, it didn't happen exactly like that..."

And then to share it with all of you?  That meant writing notes to recall the details later, and then force myself into completing what felt like a homework assignment so you could maybe or maybe not read it.  With a lack of comments on my blogs (ever) it gets hard to keep moving with them like you've got a purpose.  At some point you are just writing to write, though I suppose there's nothing inherently wrong with that as it allows you to revisit your thoughts at a later date.  What is wrong with it, however, is that those thoughts are coming out through a verrrrrry strong filter and that filter isn't doing you any favors in the grand scheme of things.  But I digress.

When Derek and I moved down here, and I achieved the biggest goal I've ever set before myself in that of leaving my world behind.  Friends, family, job, home, climate, familiarity, the works.  Right before we moved my position at the store I'd be working at fell through.  In the blink of an eye, every warning and red flag that could possibly exist was thrown up high in the air.  Like a referee at a soccer game throwing the red card, barreling down on a bunch of kids and screaming foul.  But at that point and being two weeks away from driving down, my mind was saying "well it's too late now.  You have to go."

Which the truth is, I didn't have to.

My job at Pottery Barn was safely intact and mine for the taking if I decided to stay, so that covers money and health insurance.  I'd have to move back to my parents home for a couple of days to figure out where I was going to be living (because I had given notice and my apartment was already re-rented), and Derek and I would have lost out on our security deposit from the Austin house.  Big deal.  Knowing now what was lying in wait for me once we got here was a thousand times worse than just bucking up and dealing with the loss of some money.  But none of that was enough to get me to stop the move.  One other fact was big enough though: the opinion of everyone who knew I was moving and what they would think when I didn't follow through after talking about it for so long.

In hindsight it seems like such a trivial thing but in the moment it wasn't, and I think it is only something you can appreciate in said hindsight.  Or maybe it comes with age... maybe turning 30 has finally made me realize "who fuckin' cares?" when it comes to matters of what will make me happy.  Knowing what I know now I should have just shrugged it off, flat-out said "the job fell through, but that's okay!" and gone on with my life in Wisconsin.  But that's not the way the cards fell.

Anyway, let's go back to two weeks ago.

I started writing the new blog about ending the monthly updates.  Deleted it, restarted it.  Deleted it again, went to restart it again, and then a sudden thought hit me square in the face, almost like a switch had been flipped.  And I kid you not, dramatic as it may sound, these words went scrolling right behind my eyes: Your life has no direction.

That's a hard bullet to bite.  That's a... shit-tastic revelation at the end of a somewhat shitty journey from who I was to whoever the hell I am going to be.  I had a hat on already (my hair is getting longer and I didn't want to style it, so sue me), and quickly put my sunglasses on because I was starting to cry.  And I turned my head and faced the wall and covered my mouth, squeezing the tears out and letting it all hit me at once.  Finally.

I never cried when we moved, I never got that real release.  The cats were distracting me in the car and I only choked back a few tears before the feeling in my throat had gone.  A few weeks after we got here, Derek and I were talking and I was upset and choking up and he told me it was alright to cry.  But I didn't want to.  Through every hardship we are born again, stronger and better, and I felt like this was true to me too.  I'd wanted this move for so long and so badly that I needed to just suck it up and deal with it.  Come out swinging like a champ, as it were.

But a champ for who?  For me?  Hard pass!

In my mind, admitting Austin wasn't for me, admitting the move wasn't for me, was a failure.  It meant I did not achieve one of my goals and that type of failure was so monumentally heartbreaking.  As I said before, I just kept my head down and worked through it.  Ignoring it was better than acknowledging it, and it made the time pass all the same.

So I texted Katie and unleashed a torrent of words and thoughts, some justified and some justifiably insane, and she talked me down from the ledge without being patronizing or giving me the kind of advice I didn't want to hear.  By ignoring it for as long as I had and not talking about it for as long as I had, I'd created this monster inside my thoughts.  My outlet has always been my words.  I used to put so much faith in them, my own form of church where I could put my thoughts out and repent for whatever sins they may have created in me.  But keeping myself on lockdown didn't do me any good.  It didn't do anyone any good.  Like poison in the well, it drained the life from me, from my relationship with Derek, and from my relationships with my friends.

I talked to him that night about a lot of things that had been bothering me, most of which were entirely beyond his control.  But being my boyfriend/best friend/lover/partner, he had a right to know about them.  But that's just Derek, and whatever damage has been done on my account can hopefully be corrected quickly enough because he's always willing to try.  It was the other people in my life I was worried about, and I decided then and there I was also going to fly home the next week.

I had an excuse to go back to Wisconsin due to an impending surgery for a loved one (that turned out to be something very minor), but it was enough to warrant me buying an expensive last-minute ticket and getting the hell out of dodge.  I've had dreams since moving away, of the people and places that were left behind in the move.  Wondering what they looked like, what they felt like, wondering if and how they may have changed.  Suddenly it was all I could think about, all I could obsess about.  I felt as if I was going back to reclaim the missing piece of my soul and I still wish I knew why I felt like that.  More on it later, perhaps?

We only moved twice when I was growing up.  Once was from the house where I was born to another a few miles away, and then once was from California to Wisconsin.  We went back to visit for the first couple summers but after that we stopped.  It was too expensive for the most part, and there were less and less people to see from them either moving away themselves or just from losing touch.  Facebook wasn't a thing.  The point is, once we left it behind, it was really left behind.  But moving away from Wisconsin was different.

In a lot of ways, the day I left I felt like I would never come back.  Not to visit, not to live.  To me it was the end of an affair.  Of course I had visits planned, but they seemed like pipe dreams because I was headed off to the promised land and I'd catch you all later.  But as time went on, I found myself longing for the familiarity of it all.  The weather in Austin only got below 30 a handful of times, and while some of you are probably thinking "HA! Must be NICE!" in reality, it wasn't.  I'm a winter child, I like the cold, and not having it meant not having a comfort I had come to know.  I didn't wear a single jacket all winter long down here (and we all know how I love my jackets) and compounding it was the fact that this was a warm winter for Austin and a warm winter back in Wisconsin.  Because why wouldn't it be?  The first winter after I move away and it's a mild and easy one, not freezing my garage door shut or stopping my car from starting.

I only told a couple of people I was coming home.  My sister so she could arrange a BBQ to surprise my parents, Caitlin so that she could arrange a bonfire to surprise Leah and John, and Stacey so that I could know who was working when I planned on stopping in at the store.  Otherwise it was all surprises.

That plane view

I was an emotional wreck leading up to the day of departure, and I cried a fair amount during the actual flight, hidden behind my trusty sunglasses and looking out the jet window.  Got to Green Bay at about 10:45am on Friday, got my rental car in record time, and was on my way with wide eyes like I'd never seen anything so wonderful as I41 Southbound through Green Bay and onward to Appleton.  I was like an addict, starved for the sights and sounds and smells of a place I used to take for granted.  Maybe it's because I have a freak memory and notice minute details but in Green Bay and throughout Appleton all weekend I was noticing differences.

I used to freely tell people how Appleton was a place that was easy to live in but a place where nothing ever changed.  That's simply not true.  Plenty of things changed, they just took a while to get there.  Perhaps it's as simple as needing to take a step away to appreciate something for what it is.  Like a rocky relationship, you don't realize certain things while you're on the inside.  It takes some sort of life event, some sort of preternatural force, to push you away and wipe away that elusive rose-tinted glass I mentioned earlier.  This fresh perspective allows you to see what was happening around you the entire time.

I feel that we choose to be victims of our own circumstances because it's just easier that way.  After nine months of being gone I was able to go back home and see how much has changed.  Old roads were new again.  Big shining buildings filled once empty fields.  Apartment complexes and house were not only new, but now full of life.  Was I a fool to think this wouldn't happen?  A fool to believe things would remain perfect and tidy in my absence, like they were hibernating until my return?  Of course, but now a fool made the wiser.  Perspective is a fickle thing.

My first stop was Tina's house.  The newest of my five bests (three years strong), and also the one I spoke to the least after moving.  There was no reason for that, it is just how life happened.  Surprising her at her front door was a success and there were definitely some tears shed before we spent the next couple hours talking and catching up.  I found myself sitting there and listening to her talk and realizing that I could no longer remember some of the smallest details of her life.  It was like they had never existed in my mind... hidden behind a veil called time.  She shared with me that a week before, she'd been on her way to the grocery store and was thinking about me and how our relationship had mostly tumbled into the sandy ashes of failed attempts before.  That maybe our story ended with me moving away... and that was it.  Then I texted her to ask about a phone call the next week (me setting up the surprise).

Tina and I

She was emotional when she got that message and let me know it, telling me her thoughts on the matter with no filter, as we have a habit of doing with each other, which I needed to hear and appreciated so much more than I can say.  Her words were a slap in the face as I came to understand several internal revelations.  It was no coincidence that the first person I was seeing was also the one shaking me awake, bringing me back to life.  Indirectly showing me that by keeping my head down for nine months and "shouldering through," I had forgotten the very people who made me who I was.

I felt such immediate shame, unbeknownst to her, and so much regret.  Regret that I had turned a blind eye to the past, and regret that I would have ever let my most cherished relationships get to this point.

I explained to her my thoughts on holding conversations with friends after months had passed, and how I felt like I had nothing to share in those conversations on account of my gloomy attitude towards life in the South.  She understood, of course, because she's my best friend and that's her job... but there was something more in it.  I'm reminded of a Chinese proverb, "an invisible thread connects those who are destined to meet, regardless of time, place, and circumstance.  The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break."  She's my best for a reason.

Caitlin and I

After seeing Tina, I had a wonderful lunch with Caitlin and caught up with her life since seeing her and her husband Joe in March when they visited Austin.  Her impending move to Nashville draws ever closer, and we had so many things to discuss as we ate Mexican food and then walked to get some coffees.  It could have been just any other day for as normal as it felt, as if I was just off of work and putzing around with nothing to do.  The ease of it was heartbreaking.

We would see each other later in the evening, so I left her and drove around town for a bit.  I drove past my old apartment, through that neighborhood to see all of the newly constructed houses, and then made a stop for drinks at the grocery store before making my way to my sister's house.

Brynley, Brayden, and Belynn

I had some time there to catch up with my sister Megan and her husband Tony, and of course the three little ones.  Eventually my parents came and I succeeded in surprising them, almost sure my mom had figured it all out ahead of time.  But if she did, she didn't let on.  It was great to see everybody after so much time, these gatherings having occurred once every other month or so in the past.  My sister's kids had each grown so much in my absence,and it was a welcome relief they still remembered me.  I don't know why I had this fear they wouldn't, but there it is.

From the BBQ I went to Leah and John's house, surprising them at a bonfire.  As we four sat and chatted the way we used to, it was as if no time had passed.  That my greatest fears, those of being forgotten, were misplaced.  It felt like sliding back into a warm hug after too long in separation.  Conversation was smooth, laughs were frequent, and the smiles were wide.  I could have cried at any moment in relief, satisfaction, happiness, joy, or any combination of the few.

Leah, Caitlin and John

Sleep came easy that night at my parents house, the manor, before spending the next morning catching up and then making my way out to the mall to continue my mission of shock and awe.  Like David Mitchell wrote in Cloud Atlas, "we cross and recross our old tracks like figure skaters."  I sat in the rental car in the parking lot of the mall and read a book, waiting for the time to pass before going inside.  A woman walked by my open window, leading her granddaughter to their vehicle.  When I looked up at her I realized she was one of the secretaries from my high school.

Another piece of the puzzle seemed to fall into place in my head, everything continuing to make a little more sense.  That we are bound to our pasts due to a longing to somehow keep it in sight; at least I in particular can say I'm bound to my past, even if no one else agrees.  It is what makes me who I am, it always has been, and at some point I forgot that.  I wish I knew why?

I visited my former co-worker at Express, Trish, and her reaction when she saw me was one of the many that made my trip worth it.  She told me she thought she was seeing a ghost, a sentiment echoed by several people over the weekend.  I didn't take it in a negative way, as no negativity was meant, but it did strike me how it'd be so odd for me to appear that I must be a ghost.  It cemented the notion in my mind of feeling like I'd left something behind forever, vanishing from my home of 18 years and never to return.

When I left Express and walked a little further through the mall, I was standing in front of Pottery Barn.  Tracing my footsteps through the doors was like stepping back into a dream, conveniently and coincidentally on the four-year anniversary of beginning to work there in the first place.  I couldn't help but to think back on my first day at the store, not knowing what I was doing at all and wondering if I'd made a big mistake leaving Express.  I didn't know what the difference was between different types of cushion fill in a sofa, I didn't know what the difference was between Earthenware and Ceramic plates, and I was certainly too afraid to untuck my arms for fear of breaking stuff like a bull in a China shop.

I walked around the store several times, remembering the minute details and small (and big) instances of all sorts of things that transpired within those walls.  The good stuff.  The bad stuff.  The smell of the store itself brought to me a familiarity and emotion that was nothing short of amazing.  I held some great conversations and partook in some long overdue hugs, and then I was on my way again to surprise Mark.

Mark and I

Mark and I had a phone chat planned on the calendar because I said I had something important to discuss with him.  He didn't realize it would be an in-person chat until I was ringing his doorbell and he was screaming in delight.  We spent a few hours catching up on the back porch and split a bottle of wine between us, the hidden details of our lives coming out in stories that we only share with each other.  The connection was solid.  After a while we drove off to meet Tina and some friends for a quick cocktail before coming home to surprise Mark's husband-to-be, Markus.  From there it was another dinner of Mexican food (must have been the theme) and went to surprise Kyle at his bar.

He was of course surprised, why wouldn't he be, and our conversation was just as easy and immediate as it has always been for us.  Distance was never a factor in my relationship with Kyle, because it was built on distance in the first place.  He is one of my oldest bests, and whether he was living in Chicago or me in Austin, that connection still remains.  We didn't stay out long that night, I had another early morning the next day and the boys needed to get some sleep as well.

Kyle and I

Sunday morning I met Stacey and her little one for breakfast at Sap.  Stacey is who I've kept in touch with the most since moving, as we both get caught up in long texting conversations that can span hours.  She is also the person who kept me on the phone for the last three hours of my 23 hour marathon drive to Texas.  We caught up and chit-chatted about all sorts of things coming up for both of us, and really just had a nice time connecting.  After breakfast I went home to the manor, visited with my parents for a bit, and then it was time to leave for the airport.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't leaving Wisconsin as a different person from when I arrived.

Getting onto the plane it felt as if a visor had been lifted from my head.  That by keeping my head down for so long I had forgotten what I was really missing; interaction with my friends.  Interaction with the people who knew me before I was some self-proclaimed author, before I was a blogger, before I was a lifeless shell that had moved across the country in pursuit of something he didn't really quite understand other that it "being better."  All I can figure is that with moving to Texas, I simply planned on something and had every last hope in it, and it didn't work out.  My mind just couldn't fathom something not working out.  I mean, if everything else usually does, why not this?  What was that saying... "if everything's going your way expect shitstorms?"

I think what I needed was to see that everything was still there, in Wisconsin, waiting for me.  That no one forgot.  That no one treated me any different.  That it was okay if I needed to leave for a while, because it'd be right there when I got back.  There was always the underlying fear there'd be no welcoming arms... that maybe my friendships had been a sham from the start.  Unwarranted fears, yes, but still there.  I suppose at the end of the day I have a lot trust issues.

I was so scared to say I'd made a mistake moving because it felt like admitting to that was admitting to failure.  It took a little time and a whole lot of perspective for me to understand it was not a failure in the least.  I wanted to move to Austin before I turned 30, and I did!  There wasn't a note tagged on to the end of the statement that said "and live there forever and ever, happily every after."  The goal was simply to move here.  In hindsight I should have figured out what came next before acting, but I didn't.  So now what?  What is the next step?  I have a habit of writing out prophesies for myself and busting my ass to bring them to fruition, so what will the next chapter hold for me?

People are surprised when they hear me say I don't love Austin, and that's fair.  I can list things for a solid 20 minutes that can be done at any time in this city.  From exciting places to eat featuring ridiculous donuts you can't even imagine to the best queso to the best Mexican Martinis and onward.  From cool movie theaters to neat venues to bars that are run by hipsters to bars that are run by crotchety old ladies that know how to make a good drink.  From exotic exposed underground pools to floodplains to waterfalls.  But for a person that's always been a bit of an introvert and found a guy to date that is just as much of one, none of that means much.  I need to live in a place that's a whole lot greater than just the sum of its parts.

And it has nothing to do with work.  Work is great... the people I spend my days with are great, and if not for them I'd be a big puddle of misery on the floor.  But that's just a small part of the grand equation, y'know?

I didn't move down here to "finally be happy" or anything like that.  Living in Wisconsin had me being plenty happy.  But I would be lying if I said I didn't move down here to be happier.  Maybe my mind built things into too grandiose of an image?  Something that was going to be hard to achieve and harder to topple.  Somehow I did topple that image, almost like a picture from a camera that you moved your hand in.  Looks good for the most part but when you lean in to examine it there's something just not quite right.  And that's okay.  After going home, even for a brief time, it feels like having the key to my own mind again... turning it slowly in the lock, pushing the door slowly open, and allowing a little bit of light to bring my world to life again.

There are some potentially big changes coming for Derek and I in the next few days and I'll keep everyone abreast of the situation after it has unfolded.  But for now I'll wrap up with a quote that I shared a couple of years ago and I feel still applies today.

I am not what has happened to me; I am what I choose to become.

Ciao for now (c;