Though no longer "self-proclaimed" and now actually "bonafide" as an author, let's follow my random life and see just what it is that makes me tick. Together!
Four and a half years ago, I met this guy up above. A mutual friend connected us, we had a couple dinners with conversations that went on for hours, we dated for three months, and then that was it.
And FUCK does my head look huge. Damn.
January 2019
It's only now as I look back on that time that I realize I never wrote about him. He was mentioned in a new resolution part viii, but that was it. Two little lines. I wasn't sure about things with him at the time... I wasn't sure about myself and who I was or wanted to be. That part hasn't changed about me. What has changed is how these pictures, the first we ever took "together," gave no inclination to the fact he would become one of the best friends I've ever had. Where romance failed, and any kind of friendship took a year-long hiatus, something else developed between us. I'd like to share about that today.
Jonathan and I reconnected during Covid, both of us newly single again and sorta going through the motions of life. At first, it was awkward, coming back together and addressing the gap year, while also mostly just ignoring it. We're pretty good at ignoring stuff when it's uncomfortable. Our first day really hanging out together was toward the end of May 2020, when I was pouring concrete pavers for my patio at the Manor, and he came over to day-drink and chat.
With the riots in Minneapolis after what happened to George Floyd, the city enacted a curfew that evening. Coupled with the day drinking, we decided he should stay the night. We grilled out and drank some more, watched movies, and then had a live-karaoke session in my living room. It eventually resulted in us putting on heels from past Halloween costumes and lip-syncing to "I2I" from A Goofy Movie. That was the night that I knew (and he knew) there was something there between us. It wasn't romantic in nature, it was more than that. We always had a certain kind of comfort around each other, but now it had become this sort of next-level type vibe. With the world falling apart from the pandemic and the city in literal flames from racial injustice, our friendship was growing stronger and stronger by the day.
June 2020
It was that summer he earned his nickname, Mursula Gandalf, one that I am very proud of for coming up with in the organic way that I did, and one that has stuck quite profoundly. It is an inside joke that I don't want to share the details of, but I just want that name to be known here and now. For what it's worth, at least.
I sold the Manor later that summer, and he got involved in a relationship that had him out of town often and otherwise booked. Which was fine, of course, because as I told him the other day in a letter, what's the point of a friendship if you can't grow separately and still remain "together"? But as the colder months rolled in, I had health issues that started to rise. A few days before Christmas that year I had to drive myself to the ER for some debilitating pain in my abdomen that turned out to be a massive kidney stone.
Jonathan was the first person I called, and he made the trek up to the hospital in Maple Grove to sit with me in my morphine-induced euphoria. And like... it's not like that is moving mountains or anything, but when you don't have many people you can reach out to, and there's one that will drop everything to help you or console you or just be there for you, that means the world. Maybe not to everyone, but to most people, and certainly to me.
As many of you know, I'm not typically a fan of asking for help.
December 2020
Sometimes I need help though, and a person like Jonathan makes it easy to ask for it, because he does it without pretense. He does it without asking for something in return, or on a condition... he just acts like a friend should, and he shows up. It was the first year I would ever spend Christmas alone, with Covid going on I couldn't leave the state due to my job, and with a stent placed in my gut and kidney stones having a holiday party, I also didn't want to drive somewhere. With my birthday the next day, that meant another solo ride for the first time. But he showed up that night when he got back to town, cake and gift in tow, and a party-cracker that scared the life out of me. For the record, NaeNae also came over that evening.
January 2021
Then there was my actual surgery, and of course, he was there for that too. Brought me jello to eat the day before because I had to fast for it, and then stuck around as I had the stones blasted. When I look back on this time, it feels like a very intimate thing even though at the moment, it wasn't. Perhaps it was just how he had inserted himself into my life and taken on a leading role among friends? This was mostly due to his proximity to me and having availability to do so. That's not a knock against any of my other friends, of course, it was just how the circumstances rolled out.
Over the next... year and a half, really... we had some distance between us. Relationships on either end of the line had each of us preoccupied. But the foundation existed now, y'know? And it was pretty fuckin' unshakeable, to the point that we started leaning on each other again long-distance during phone calls, albeit rare ones. As fractures in our romantic relationships started appearing, we were able to confide and share with each other in a way that was new for me. I've only had a couple of male friends over the years, and one or two I still hold very near and dear to my heart.
With Jonathan, it was just different. Maybe because it had once been romantic between us, and now that it wasn't at all, there was no worry anything could be misconstrued that way? I suppose that granted me a certain level of calm and openness around him, knowing neither of us would ever interpret an intention in the wrong way.
September 2022
This past fall I got to bring him back to Appleton with me for Oktoberfest, which is arguably my favorite time of year in this city. Everything is green still, the weather is phenomenal, and everyone is just happy to be here. That's why most of us live in the midwest, after all... the short couple months of fall that are utterly perfect. Jonathan got to meet my parents for the first time, and he got to meet a few of my friends as well. It was the final step, in my humble opinion, of cementing someone in your life forever. When they get to see your hometown and where you grew up, things change. There's perhaps more understanding? I don't know if that's a thing or not, but it is what I liken it to.
In November we made the decision for Jonathan to move up from Oklahoma and in with me at the Ranch. His relationship was ending, and this was the opportunity for a few things. First, to get him away from the situation he was in. Second, so that I wouldn't be so goddamn lonely working from home after leaving retail behind. And third, so that we could have a few months together for him to figure out his next steps and so that I could prep for my move back to Wisconsin.
For the outsider, however, I think there was a lot of confusion over this choice we were making.
It's common for people in the gay community to try and destroy things between other gays. We don't need bans on drag queens or transgender individuals to hurt our community, we're generally pretty content hurting it on our own. I won't say I'm entirely innocent of nastiness, though I will say any evil-doing I participated in is wellwellwelllllll in the past (like... 15 years in the past, truly). I think this animosity tends to arise when there are two individuals such as us, living a life that perhaps the outside doesn't understand. Best friends, no romantic inclinations whatsoever, who enjoy each other's company more than anything else. I think it's somehow viewed as "wrong" by others, and they will attempt to sabotage it in cruel ways.
In the few months living together, the messages I received from strangers trying to "enlighten" me as to who Jonathan "really is" were insane. Some people thought they might have dirt, reaching out to one of us to spread gossip from fake Instagram accounts with a "did you know THIS about your friend?" And I didn't engage... there's no point in it, particularly when yeah... I did know "this" about my friend. I know everything about him, and he certainly knows everything about me. And it has been demonstrated easily that when one of us THINKS the other doesn't know what we're thinking, we're quite wrong. I'm hard to read, but this big bitch sees right through me.
I've only met a handful of people in my life that are privy to all of the real thoughts inside of me, for better or for worse. But he's one of them, and for that, I am grateful. Remember when I said our foundation was unshakeable? Well, I'll reiterate it here: it's unshakeable.
February 2023
It's not all sunshine and roses, y'know. There are things he did that drove me up the fuckin' wall, and they tend to begin and end with the kitchen sink (literally, not figuratively (you know what I'm talking about, Mursula)). But like in any relationship, that's how friendship goes too, isn't it? Look over the tiny things you don't LOVE and enjoy the rest? Because usually the rest is pretty great.
You might be wondering right now "Sean, are you sure you don't have feelings for him?" And the answer is no, I do not. Not in a romantic sense, and I'm confident in saying he doesn't either. Maybe in the grand multiverse, there's a version of us that is together and happy. I totally see how that could be. It's just not in the cards for this one, and that's perfectly fine. We need friends... we need people that stay as friends. We need friends to keep us in check, to remind us of who we were and who we're turning into, to hold up the mirror when we don't want to see and just... to be there.
That's him.
A week ago we got home from Australia, a "best friend trip" that changed my outlook on life. I will never forget our time in Sydney. The amount of laughing we did, and singing and dancing and libations and screams and tears and pure, unfiltered, joy. It was the trip of a lifetime, and one I am indebted to him forever for granting me the ability to partake in.
March 2023
I love my friends, one and all. I know that seems like a blanket statement, and perhaps it is, but the people I maintain some sort of contact with are the ones that bring me to life. I can come across as guarded to people, more often than not, as I get older. Some might say I can be cold. But my best friends are the ones that see this side and know what's beneath it... they're the ones that have sat with me while I cried, and they know who I am in my core.
Having one is a treasure; having multiple is a gift. Though I'm moving back to Wisconsin to live near two of my bests, I am leaving a couple behind. Jonathan is one of them.
I'm so sad to not live with him anymore. It breaks my heart that I won't be able to greet his groggy ass every day with a "Good morning, Camille," to get loud and scream movie quotes at each other. To hurl scathing insults that ONLY come from love and ALWAYS leave the other in laughing hysterics. I am so thankful we had this time together, however short it was, to lean on each other as we brushed the dirt and blood of the past from our knees. The last three months were a time for healing and coming together, and I know we succeeded in that. It's funny how living together followed the exact timeline of us dating... the end of November to the start of March.
This time though, we came out stronger than we entered. While there's heartbreak in its ending of that form, there's excitement and hope in how it will continue.
It's particularly interesting how sad I am that this situation probably won't ever happen again... a perfect storm of events led to living with one of my best friends. I'm so happy that it did. Mursula Gandalf, my dear Jonathan, you've changed my life forever, and I want the world (ie, my 3 readers), to know it.
Thank you for being you and never trying to be anybody else, you're perfect as you are.
To the rest of you, I'll just say ciao for now (c:
Nothing went right, from the purchase, to the move day, to the subsequent issues that plagued the house and then my body and then the house again and then my relationship and then my body again and then ultimately my life in general. Two and a half years here were a fuckin' mess, and had I been present on social media for the entirety of it, you would understand that any large semblance of happiness was just an illusion. Allllllll optics.
Case-in-point: that picture up top? I wanted to take it before moving all my furniture into the house, like I did with the Manor. I wanted to go through the house, alone, and have my time with it to sorta "greet" the house. But it didn't happen that way. This is the day after I moved in, re-wearing the clothes I wore the day before, with all of the furniture shoved to the right side of the frame so it looked empty.
And I'll tell ya another secret. The picture at the end of this, of me as I am now, house empty? Another fib. All the furniture is shoved to the right, and I have a few days to go until I make my journey to Wisconsin.
That all being said, do you know, or do you have any semblance of an idea... how excited I am to have sold this house?
Like, truly... can you even fathom my excitement?
You actually probably can because it's not the most exciting thing I've ever done in my life, but still, it's pretty GD thrilling.
When the Ranch went "live" on the market, it had been pre-listed for about a week so that hopefully people could salivate over the pictures and imagine building their own lives in it. And then, when it went ACTUAL live, I had my first offer in less than 24 hours. This was very exciting to me for three distinct reasons:
- 1. It meant the house technically sold in a single day, rather than the six the Manor took.
- 2. It meant a certain stress level could start washing off and far away from my shoulders.
- 3. It meant the Minnesota chapter of my life was finally ending.
Has it been all bad here? No, not specifically. Of my six and a half years living in the land of lakes, it wasn't always horrible. It was largely bad, yes, but not ALL. It resulted in the fact that I met some of my best friends here, which as we all know, gets harder and harder to do as you get older. I arguably grew stronger in my sense of self here than ever before, though that was only for a brief term and has subsequently been wiped out. I had my experience buying the Manor, which was really everything I wanted in my first "project" house and gave me a sense of purpose for two years. I left retail here, after 19 years, to pursue a career in writing. So there, not all bad.
But everything changes, y'know? Most of my friends here moved away, or are in the process of moving away. Of course a couple remain, specifically my dear Nae Nae, but the rest have moved on. Not working retail means I'm not tethered to a physical store. My sense of self is just... we'll say dogshit, that's fair enough. And as for the house, and how much I loathed this one... I now know what I want from the next.
The Ranch was a panic buy, through and through. When the Manor sold, I had 60 days to find a new place which in a normal market, would be plenty of time. But in the cluster-fuck of 2020 when the housing market was absolutely insane, it meant I was feverishly looking at houses with an axe swinging merrily over my head. I made offers on four houses and lost all of them. Then I took a look at a handful on like, a Thursday, with my agent and we went to lunch after. I decided to write an offer on the "California style Ranch", named for the 'U' shape the house makes around the backyard decking. I thought it was fitting because later that afternoon, I was boarding a flight to, wait for it... California!
My view in the Sausalito hills when the call came.
The day after arriving in San Francisco, my best friend Tina and I went for a walk with her kids, up into the hills behind where she and her husband were living in Sausalito. On the hike, I got a call from my agent saying that the house had gone into multiple offers and that the seller wanted "best and final" bids by the end of the day. I think it had been listed at like $218K, and maybe I offered $226K? So I just said "alright, $236K," which was at the absolute height of my budget but I was (I've already mentioned it) desperate. And when operating in desperation and exhaustion, and just being plain-ass tired of dealing with things, you make choices.
Well, all of the other offers came with "here's my new offer, but here's an escalation clause just in case someone outbids me." And MY offer did not have an escalation clause, so the seller said "we asked for best and final and he gave it, so he gets it." And I got it. My California Ranch while I was visiting California, who knew?
Probably me, because I look for signs. I digress.
From there it just went wrong though. My agent made a mistake and forgot to tell my lender that my offer was accepted, so a week before move day he called to tell me about it. He was going to put me up in an Airbnb for the two weeks between when I HAD to be out of the Manor and when I could actually close on the Ranch. He also paid for my furniture and all that to be moved and stored. Lemme make it clear: I don't hold it against him at all. It was a whoopsie that he made up for, and he's a good friend that I just had sell the Ranch for me. All's well that ends well!
Then I got tonsillitis and had to have my tonsil sliced open to drain, so that was fun while living in an Airbnb.
Signing for the house, note the shirt that I was gonna double-wear.
But that was what kicked it all off, y'know? Jonathan helped me with the move, sitting in my car in the parking lot with the cats while I signed all of the paperwork, and then we drove up to the new house. The moving crew was already there and moving some things into the house, which was ANOTHER thing that set me off on the wrong foot (refer to the above, where I said I wanted a moment with the house). But it was what it was, and I just wanted it done. I wanted my things, and I wanted my comforts, and I wanted to be left alone.
A week later, the water heater was leaking rusty water, and upon inspection, I was told "yeah this has been bad for a while, didn't your inspector look here? It's all rusted out." And no, my inspector hadn't, which also goes to show that getting an inspection sometimes (not always) means jack diddly shit. So that was $1,200 to get a new one.
A week in, guys. One week. This did not bode well.
Then I chose to paint the main space dark green, and went against my better judgment that I should have used a primer despite the store telling me I didn't need one. So that was four coats of VERY expensive Sherwin-Williams paint, and it probably could've used a fifth.
Waking up after the first of two surgeries.
That winter I had my fun round(s) with the kidney stone(s). Part of it was diet related, my body producing too acidic of urine (solved with a potassium pill), and a larger part was stress. And it had been a stressful few months, believe you-me. But you move along and go about your business.
May of 2021 meant Andrew and I got back together, which was what it was. I'm happy we did in many aspects, and I'm upset we did in some others. What I gained from our reunion was the final understanding that a romantically inclined relationship between us just wasn't going to work. It sucked, as he was/is one of my favorite people, but when the cards are down you've got to read them for what they are. He moved in that July.
Fabulous.
In October, the basement bathroom flooded with sewage. The toilet in the bathroom down there did not work (thanks for catching it, inspector (NOT)), and it was time to re-do the space. I'd purchased three new toilets for the house that fall, one is in the box in this picture, and had just had the basement finished with all new paint and carpeting and laminate flooring. You can even see in the picture that I had just edged in the paint in the whole room.
Post-demolition
So that meant a call to insurance to get the whole process rolling, which meant more money flying out of my pocket for something dumb as shit. In the end it meant professionally installed "everything," so that was nice. But this time I won't say "if the ends justify the means" because I just... I didn't want it this way. And I didn't want to spend the money on it. In a nutshell though, that's homeownership and sometimes it does suck.
Spring of 2022 arrived with Andrew and I breaking up, which I've written about before here. To distract myself from the heartbreak of it all, I buried myself in renovating the primary bathroom in the house.
Where the dinky corner shower had been
This meant gutting it to the studs, and paying a plumber to literally replace all of the plumbing (the shower didn't have a p-trap, so uh... thanks again for not noticing shit, inspector). It was a month-long project that absolutely destroyed my hands and wrists, but it turned out pretty good and became my happy space in the house. I calculated it costing me about $2K, plus an extra $1K for the plumbing, and this was because everything else I was doing myself. Ended up being closer to $6K, but we're not here to split hairs.
All done
That summer Andrew moved away, and I was broken again. Work was awful, and I quit my job in August for a new retail spot. Then I had more health issues just detonate into existence, and with an opportunity to be a writer, I took it and left retail permanently. Jonathan moved in late November, more about that in another blog, and then I was just in a holding pattern until right now. Knowing I was going to sell, knowing I was going to move, and knowing I was going to take the final great big step in my plan toward happiness.
Y'know... I wanted to be happy here, in Minnesota.
I did.
But I just never was, and that has to be okay, y'know? You have to be able to call something for what it is, or at least what you deem it to be, and leave it. Maybe that's the take-away I have with the Ranch, because it's what happened with my life here. Relationships and jobs... the house itself... just walk away when you know it's no longer right. It makes me curious to what the next lesson will be in Wisconsin, if there IS a big lesson or just a return to the old ones and how to make them better. But we'll see.
And just like that, it was time to go.
The house was listed at $334,900, and it sold $16K higher than the list price after four separate offers came in and three of them worked to out-bid eachother. As always it's a stressful process, and one you don't have much faith in until the paperwork has been signed and you are walking away with your check of profits.
Does that make it all worth it in the end?
Hell no.
Money certainly does not buy happiness, and in this specific case, it definitely did not justify the means of what it took to earn. My hands and wrists, my body, my heart, my sanity... some things I'll get back and some I never will. Maybe that's part of getting older, and may it's not. But for now I get to smile in whatever fond way I can muster, and I get to go home.
Like 2021, 2020 before it, and I suppose 2019... but if you include 2019, you include 2018, and if 2018 is in there then 2017 should be too... and obviously 2016 because that one just was what it was... 2022 kinda sucked. Like too many 'culminations of the year' before it, this blog makes me realize how happy I am to be moving into another year and another hopeful shot at fresh starts and new opportunities. I wish it wasn't like that. I wish I could sit and write 'this was the best year of my life', but it's often difficult to summarize things so positively. Maybe that's an outlook that comes with age, and with age and experience sometimes comes a certain jilted disposition. The inescapable reality of life. To be fair, this year had a lot of big things in it for me. Some I'll write about, some will stay private out of respect for others, but all were large enough to carry significant weight.
I wrote more blogs this year than I have since 2017 and I suppose that's something to be happy about? Maybe it's an indicator of another shift in me, but it's a little too early to know that for certain. This still is one of my favorite blogs to write though, all things considered, and I'm happy to wrap up the year so that it can go forward as a time capsule for me to visit whenever I deem necessary.
I sat down the other day and turned on my decade-old video project, "26 Golden Things."
I know, groan.
Double groan because as I look over last year's blog (a new resolution part xi), I literally watched the video project the day before writing so that I'd be inspired. What an asshole.
Anyway, being an asshole aside, I tend to gain new perspectives when I watch the project now. I couldn't help but notice how much enthusiasm was captured in the 60 minutes presented on a DVD I made with my iMac. There was hunger for a life that was finally developing in the way I wanted (and playing out to some great music, I might add). What I also found interesting is that with this being the 10 year anniversary of the project, just HOW MANY of the 26 things repeated themselves in 2022:
#1 letting it die; the realization you are finally over your ex (Andrew)
#2 the key; obtain a passport (a new passport, at least)
#8 a new partner; ladies and germs meet Bernice (Blythe, the Mitsubishi)
#9 opening a door; land a new job (as a technical writer)
#10 an old door closes; walking away from Express (Pottery Barn and then retail in general)
#11 a tidy conclusion; finish writing my third novel (finished the fourth and final of The Onyxus Chronicles, AND have now published the entire series)
The thing I taught myself 10 years ago was that you're only as happy as you make yourself, and that's a lesson I'm still trying to gain a foothold in. The resolution I set last year was to "make the changes that would set me on a new path," and that's what this year largely turned out to be for, right? Standing up for yourself when it has all gone to shit and making strides toward betterment?
Standing up for yourself in your relationship when it was just not working anymore?
Standing up for yourself in your job and saying that enough was enough?
Standing up for yourself in your living situation and essentially saying "fuck this shit, I'm out"?
I've never before been a person that swung wildly with big life choices and kept marching onward, flames on the sides of the road or not. Never. Everything in my life, for the most part, has been meticulously thought out and planned for, and then executed to varying degrees of success. It's always been safe, and I have always been safe. This year though... there was something inside of me calling for change. I yearned for change, often tearfully and desperately. I had found the hunger for life I had felt in 2012 once again, or at least... I could see the desire for that hunger and how it was starting to creep back into me. With each subsequent "thing" I crossed off my list this year I felt better and lighter and more and more ready to move forward.
In December I sat down and wrote out Christmas cards. This might seem like, y'know... an 'oh, big whoop' thing, but for me, it's a big deal because I haven't written them since moving to Minnesota. Not en masse, at least. Maybe it's because my time here is coming to a close soon? Maybe it's because there's a light at the end of the tunnel now and I feel like I have hope for a brighter future? A future that is on my own terms... not dictated by my job or by a relationship... but for me.
Minnesota wasn't a great part of my life, and when you look at it as "life in the state of Minnesota," that means the last 6+ years haven't been great. Maybe it's circumstantial, maybe it's being an adult, I don't know.
What I know is that it has been so incredibly long since I felt like I was living in color.
I haven't wanted to do anything for a really long time... I haven't wanted to be a part of things or events. And as those feelings drop away and the shades of grey shift into technicolor, I get this weird rush of joy as I emerge from my seclusion. It's fun and scary and exhilarating.
It's a life.
There are a lot of moments from 2022 that I don't care to ever look back on. To elaborate on that, there are a lot of emotions from 2022 I don't care to ever feel again. I thought I would write about them eventually, be it the work stuff, the relationship stuff, or the health stuff... but I won't. Sometimes, there are parts of a person that need to happen, and then they need to go away. For the first time in my life I'm comfortable letting them go away.
I decided a month or two ago to move back to my hometown of Appleton, Wisconsin this coming spring. I'll put my house in Minneapolis on the market in February, and with any luck, it'll sell right away. Then it's back to my old stomping grounds, to reconnect with a version of myself that I didn't really understand when I lived there before... maybe because I didn't want to understand him. Will I stay forever? Probably not, but who's to know the real answer to that. Certainly not me. And I guess that brings us to what the new resolution is, doesn't it?
Enjoy your choices and follow your bliss.
Too often I've set a goal for myself of something to cross off the list. Too many times I've lofted it up in the air, curious as to where it would fall and how I will decode the messages when it hits the ground. 2021 was to take steps to recapture my happiness, 2022 was to make the changes to set myself on a new path... I think it's time I enjoyed where all that will bring me. To my hometown, to my family, to some of my oldest friends, to a new project in a house, to a new foray into social media... to a new start. I've never been so excited for a new resolution to come to light, and I am so equally thrilled to take you all on the journey with me.
The other day I got a tattoo, meant to not only to wrap up my relationship with Andrew but also my time spent here in Minnesota. It's from my favorite Florence + the Machine song, 'Cosmic Love', and it's my favorite verse:
i took the stars from my eyes and then i made a map,
and knew that somehow i could find my way back.
then i heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too.
so i stayed in the darkness with you.
the stars, the moon, they have all been blown out.
you left me in the dark.
no dawn, no day, i'm always in this twilight.
in the shadow of your heart.
I think it's safe now to leave the shadows. Ciao for now (c:
The purple key ring that was with me the whole time.
In August of the year 2000, I took a walk with my best friend Katie and her two dogs. We talked about if we had "powers" and what they would be like... mixing X-Men (which had just come out in theaters) with The Craft (because witchcraft was cool to 14-year-olds (and still is cool to 36-year-olds, just sayin')). Together we came up with scenarios that just sounded like a plain good time, two 20-something's living in a beach house in California and using their abilities for... whatever they used 'em for. We went back to her house and picked out the names of our characters from a baby-name book, and the rest is history. That was the day "The Onyxus Chronicles" was born, however much in its infancy.
It was also the day I had decided in the back of my mind that I was going to grow up to be a writer.
Let me tell you some stories.
Now, if you'd asked me on December 26th, 2002, as I stood inside Hollywood Video on Memorial Street in Appleton Wisconsin, and applied for my very first job, what I would be doing in 19 years... I promise you it wasn't going to be retail. At that moment (delayed a full year because when I was 16 and went in on my birthday they told me the hiring age had JUST changed to 17), I was going to get my first job. They were hiring me at $5.25 an hour, and I was just over the moon about it. I got to work at a place I loved, with people I enjoyed, around a product that I adored. I mean, if there's one thing I loved more than anything else growing up, it was movies.
Movies sparked my imagination. They showed me realities that could exist if you only tried dreaming of them, and they spoke to me on a level I could not comprehend when I was younger. Looking back on it, I can see how it was what developed the writer in me, the creator, the person who would eventually go on to write four novels (as of 2022) that spanned an entire universe he had largely made up. But back then it was cool, and it wasn't the food industry because HELL no was I gonna be slingin' burgers at McDonald's.
A few months later I picked up a second job at Regal Cinemas, where they paid more ($5.35, paaaaarty) and I got to work around more people my age. I always get a kick out of that meme that pokes fun at the reality of teenagers working with 40-somethings and making best friends with them at their job. "Damn, where's James today? I wonder how his kids are doing." Regal was faster-paced and a bit more wild, we got up to ridiculous things there that in hindsight, we should have (and would have, had we been caught) absolutely been fired for. And also for things I'm sure the health department would've shut the place down over.
How did we see no issue in the fact that the big white shovel we used to move ice from the giant machines in the back to buckets for dumping at the soda towers, was stored on the floor? ON THE FLOOR?
I digress.
By the time I had graduated from high school in 2004, I was only working at Regal and ready to be done, as "traditional" retail (i.e. American Eagle) was calling my name. And again... the rest is history.
So much happened in that first year after high school. I spent the summer at American Eagle, dropping close to 60 pounds of baby fat and coming out of the closet in the process, indulging in gay depravity as much as any reckless 18-year-old would. By the time fall came around, I shifted from American Eagle (re: was told I was a summer hire and I should fuck off) to Express. I was part-time, and that was fine. What wasn't fine was the mountain of credit card debt I had already accumulated, but I wasn't ready to acknowledge that yet and would continue accumulating it over the next year. I also had my first real adult relationship, one with a lovely guy named Peter that I've sadly lost all communication with.
When that year had wrapped, I dropped out of college and consequently forced myself to drop into full-time retail, owing around $13,000 in credit card debt that I could no longer juggle with a job paying $7.10 an hour.
Full-time Stock Manager at Express, November 2005
I started making friends at this point that would stay with me through the long run. Some fell by the wayside eventually, like Shannon in this picture, for one reason or another. But as happens, they often have a way of coming back around. Like Shannon reaching out through Instagram a few weeks ago to reconnect. Because it's never too late, right? I did pick out her wedding song, y'know.
Time seemed to fly once I was full-time there. You'd hit the holiday season, you would hate your life, and then you would move into the spring season and all would be well. After a few months, you forgot about retail hell when Christmas approaches, and by the time it rolled around again the next year, you shouldered your way through it and just did the damn job. Perhaps guilt keeps you there, as it always did with me, because how bad would it look to leave your team high and dry at the busiest time of year? To leave your COMPANY, because they NEEDED you, right? And there was always the off-chance your company would do something cool for you. Like a pizza party! Or some cheap swag for enduring the holidays! Like a battered housewife, you stay because you can't imagine it being better elsewhere. Not my best analogy, but you get it. And that's retail in a nutshell.
You consistently go through living hell on a daily, if not weekly, if not monthly, if not yearly, basis... and you just deal with it. Because you're certainly not replaceable, no sir, you're one-of-a-kind.
A mirror selfie at Express, 2010.
Eventually, I was promoted at Express to being the Brand Co-Manager, basically the person in charge of visuals that operated as the store manager's right hand. It was what I had wanted for so long, and it was great pay ($15.30 an hour, which is just... insanely depressing) that would allow me to buy my very first new car. At this point in my retail career, or at least by the time of that picture above, I had gone through several failed "relationships", none lasting more than 3 months, and was in the midst of my first big one with Ken, which would fail just before hitting three years.
I was lost and confused in my life. I needed the money still, but I had finally paid all the credit card debt off and that was awesome. But I needed the money... and there was no other option for a job. I hated clothing by then, I would have a good year with Express and then a total shit one. The rollercoaster was one that I couldn't get off of and had no idea how to even if I could. What a mess, right? The relationship with Ken ended in April of 2011 and I was at an even lower point, hitting rock bottom and having to move back in with my parents because of, you guessed it, money!
A lovely thing happened that winter... I turned 26. And a few months later in June of 2012, #9 opening a door and #10 an old door closes on my list of 26 Golden Things occurred. I left Express for Pottery Barn.
My last day at Express.
As had happened when I first worked with Hollywood Video, I was chasing after a passion I had always had but never realized. My interest in interior design had definitely been with me from a young age, re-arranging my room every other month and just delighting in the fact that I could "reveal" it to my mom was the best thing ever. This joy was sparked with Pottery Barn, where I could finally learn something useful about LIFE, something that could be applied to a living space and enjoyed. More so than clothing ever could provide, this was something that you would yearn to live in and breathe in, honing a skill that could induce all sorts of feelings and emotions as a result.
At least, the first couple of years were like that. Then I moved to Texas and it all went to shit.
Pottery Barn Kids, December 2015
Moving to Texas was bad in a lot of ways. Was I following my dream of leaving small-town life and getting to the big city? Sure was! Was I leaving behind the place where I was perhaps a big fish in a small pond and weirdly everyone seemed to know me, and moving instead to a world where no one was bound to give a crap about me and what I had achieved? Sure was!
I gained a ton of weight in a remarkably short time. My second big relationship, the one with Derek that would end at just shy of (wait for it) three years, started to fall apart. I became disenfranchised with Williams-Sonoma Inc at this point because I got to see the ugly side of it (re: pbKids) and how people were often chewed up and spit out in the machine that it is. It wasn't all bad all the time, certainly. And after my brief stint with pbKids, I went to west elm and met some of the most truly lovely, astounding individuals that I still have the pleasure of calling my friends.
After 11 months in Austin, Derek and I moved from Texas to Minneapolis, where I took over my Pottery Barn #733 The Shoppes at Arbor Lakes.
Now don't get me wrong, I met people at Pottery Barn that changed my life. Courtney, who hired me and is one of my closest friends, is one of them. Renae, another of my best friends. Nancy, and Jackie, and Angie and Robin. The team in Minneapolis in general, both in my store and outside of it... people I will have in my life for hopefully always. But looking back on the last 6 years at the Maple Grove store, it was almost as if time stopped. What once was a job that sparked joy, now only brought complacency and an under riding sadness. Especially after my relationship with Derek ended in mid-2017, I just felt stuck. I needed the money, now more than ever, because I didn't have the choice to move back in with my parents and start over.
I had rent to pay, and a car to pay for, and a life that I was so desperately trying to prove something with. So I trudged on.
My first Williams-Sonoma Inc. GM conference in Scottsdale, AZ, August 2017
I think for a time I was happy at Pottery Barn as a General Manager. For a time, at least. There were always issues... there were always problem-child associates and assistant managers that I had to navigate my way around and learn how to deal with. But there was a brief moment I was happy. I think it might have been in 2018 when I bought my first house, the Manor, and was able to use all of the interior design knowledge I had accumulated to restore the place.
But hindsight is 20/20, yeah? And when you take a look back at the blood and sweat and tears you logged in a place, it's hard to let the rose-colored glasses sit so firmly against your eyes any longer.
I was constantly subjected to toxic behavior at Pottery Barn. Let me reiterate that: constantly. Daily. As much as I couldn't admit it at the time, my way of handling it was just a classic avoidance tactic: pretend it doesn't exist. Even though at your very core you are starting to rot from the inside out, pretend it doesn't bother you and just move forward. Shitty behaviors from people you are supposed to trust as they stab you in the back and talk negatively about you to everyone in the store are rewarded by your avoidance. For what purpose they did do this... who the hell knows, it wasn't for their personal gain. And it wasn't because they didn't like me, I think it was just easier to try and undermine me than constructively talk about changes they wanted me to make. But it was always there like a cloud over the store, and since I allowed the store and the job to become my life, it was a cloud over me. So I just led onward, willfully naive on the outside, hating myself on the inside for what I tolerated.
Sometimes those employees would just leave of their own accord, and that was always the best. It meant I didn't have to hold them accountable. Other times I did have to confront the situation, something I hate doing very much, and while it yielded the results I needed... I loathed it. It made my skin crawl.
That's insight into who I am as an individual. Only a handful of times in my personal life have I ever had to confront a gross situation that I no longer wanted to be a part of, and it never gets easier. At work it was the same.
After Black Friday 2018. Wiped TF out.
In late 2019 it was hitting me that I wasn't cut out for the job at Pottery Barn, as my anger and frustrations were working their way into my relationship with Andrew, the third of my "big three" loves. Something not dramatic at all (truly) had happened in October of 2019 between us, I can't even recall what it really was, but the semi-annual warehouse event at work (a total shit show every time we did it, ask anyone) was happening and I just broke down sobbing and shouting at him one night. And if you know me, you know that's not really who I am.
I'm the calm/cool/collected Capricorn that slings witty insults and emotes only enough to get a point across that he's trying to make. Vulnerable in a controlled environment, only and always. Like writing things in a blog, you might say. I don't lose control of myself often.
Knock three times on the ceiling if you agree with that.
But then Covid happened and I was locked in again at work because what're you gonna do for a new job when the whole world falls apart? Jack shit, that's what! So I toughed it out. And the job got better in 2020, miraculously. And then in 2021, well, it was the worst year I've ever had in retail. Ever. I've never cried so much at a job before in my life. As 2022 got rolling, it was worse and worse almost on the daily.
Outside of work, my health was continuously falling into the gutter and my relationship with Andrew sputtered out just before hitting (I'm sure you can figure it out) the three-year mark. My mental health was in complete shambles by the spring of 2022, like... total dog-shit shambles, where I could cry at the drop of a hat. And only a few people knew this! Any idea how fun it is keeping that side of yourself locked down? As I said, I don't like to broadcast the "truth" behind my eyes, but it was there for a couple people. Therapy and medication and all that crap... and a job that was just taking more and more and more and more. The future in retail was bleaker than I had ever seen before, and I felt more hopeless than I ever have in my life.
But I needed the paycheck.
When I told my boss in July that I couldn't do it anymore, I had truly hit my limit. And I cried on the phone to him and let everything out, and I felt horrible for it as if telling the truth about myself is something to be ashamed of when it comes to a limitation I had finally realized. A month later after games were played with me, I gave my notice, with the intent of moving onward and upward at Banana Republic.
I was going to make a lot more money, woo-hoo, and the stress of the daily job was going to go away.
A final retail mirror-selfie, in a jacket from my first holiday with Express in 2004.
But the stress went nowhere.
My health took an absolute nose-dive, with two big health issues. One of which is now contained and shouldn't be a problem... the other of which is called Meniere's Disease, an inner-ear condition and autoimmune deficiency that has no cure and is generally just a miserable experience when it flares up. It is what it is and I invite you to google it if you are curious.
With all of this combined, plus a massive anxiety attack in late September in the bathroom at work that had me thinking I was having a heart attack for good measure, I spoke with my friend and boss, Robin, and decided the time had come for me to just be done.
I needed to be done.
As any good friend would be, she understood and she encouraged me to put my health first and to leave. I felt so stupid and foolish, having forged new relationships at my new job and having to abandon the place so quickly, but they all were so lovely about it as well. Everyone understood the situation, and in turn, encouraged me to step away and focus on my health. Retail does have some of the most lovely people working in it, and it is this side of humanity that proves good still exists in the world.
I had been doing Technical Writing, part-time and on the side, for a while. It was a role Katie had worked so hard with me to attain at her company, all the way since last December, but I finally got the gig late this summer. Technical Writing could be my fallback as I exited retail, and though the money aspect was still an issue that normally would have stopped me, this time I did not listen to it. My strategy over the next few months is to decompress the mayhem in my mind, it is to manage my stress levels and get them into a positive space, it is to get my physical health under control, and then it is to ultimately sell my house, the Ranch, and move away from Minnesota.
All of this while really, uh... while really just being paid to write.
For right now, I think about how it has taken 19 years of my life to figure out how to move toward the passion my 14-year-old self had. Has... not had. Writing is, was, has been, and always will be, my passion. But as I write this and recount my time, there are certain memories that erupt in my mind as fresh as they ever were. I wanted to share a few of them with you, if you'll indulge me just a bit longer.
I remember standing at the front of Express in the Fox River mall in the late fall of 2004, my white folding table extended open before me. We youngin's, dressed in our Producer pants and 1MX dress shirts with a tie, would be scheduled like... I dunno, 5pm-11pm, if we were closing. The store was always such a shit show in the evening and everything was utterly destroyed from shoppers. When I think of fall meeting winter, of October-December, I often think back on that first holiday season at Express. Board folding an absolutely destroyed mountain of Merino Wool sweaters in a variety of colors, all of the red marketing we had throughout the store, and the "i wish..." campaign going on with the sexy models advertising it.
I remember my brief stint working at Aldo shoes, for this absolute bitch of a district manager named Paresha. I was writing my second novel at the time, and when I needed to find a name for the queen of the usha (goblin-like creatures), it was almost too easy to settle on Paresha Drow.
I remember watching Chase Powers clock in and grab his walkie, absentmindedly walking with me to the sales floor and swinging his earpiece around. And I remember Jennie Gabriel stopping him, holding her clenched fists up to her mouth with this kind-of wince thing, and saying "oh, Chase, please don't swing those! You could damage them!" And then Chase looked at her like he was going to stab her in the neck as he agreed not to swing them anymore.
I remember meeting my former best friend Mark Plowman, a person I never write about in blogs because some hurts go too deep. We met at American Eagle, built our best-friend status at Express, and continued it through Pottery Barn where I was the best man at his wedding. I remember introducing him and his husband to Andrew as we met for dinner on Black Friday in 2019, and then after 15 years of friendship, we never spoke again after that night. I don't know why... perhaps he does. Maybe he doesn't know why either and assumes I do. Regardless, that is what happened. Now Mark can stay there in my memories of retail, forever... where pieces of my broken heart will remain with him as well.
I remember my first holiday at Pottery Barn. I didn't have much to do with setting up the decor... though I can't really recall why that was in 2012. Everything was so jerry-rigged, the trees were prelit but all those lights were burnt out so Courtney and the team had wrapped additional strands of lights around them. I will say that in later years when they sent all new trees to all stores, they were super shitty compared to those original trees whether the lights worked or not. Everything smelled so good in the store and was so bright and cheerful and happy. I was so happy to be there and to be part of it, and I felt really special.
I remember my first real closing shift at Pottery Barn in Appleton and the front window inexplicably exploding. I remember security guards not showing up at Pottery Barn in Maple Grove for overnight shifts when the store needed to be repainted and me having to stay til 2 am. I remember crying in the office after 7 consecutive phone calls in 2021 with a horrifically mean woman and her daughter, furious that I couldn't (or wouldn't, according to them) fly to Vietnam to oversee the construction and subsequent shipping of their home office furniture that had initially arrived damaged.
I remember being happy so many times.
I remember being unbearably sad and feeling hopeless so many others.
I remember relying on my staff at Arbor Lakes to help me limp through the two greatest heartbreaks I've ever known.
I remember the ease of doing a job I had done so well, every day, for 10 years... and I remember the pure elation at walking away from it this summer.
I was standing at work in Banana Republic the other week, on the men's side, folding stacks of Merino Wool sweaters, when I got to thinking. It's funny how everything eventually comes full circle, isn't it? How in October of 2004 I was doing this exact same thing and heading into my very first retail holiday season. And how this time, in October of 2022, I was escaping just before it could begin.
Sean Parker, writer
And then there's me as I am, now... today... finally coming to terms with the fact that my only source of income is from writing. That I, Sean S. Parker, once a self-proclaimed author, am now both a genuine author and writer. What a wild ride it was to get here. To see a dream realized from your childhood and to realize your life is about to change so incredibly much.
I think about the people I met along the way, and I always think about some of the ones that I lost. I think about Mackenzie from Express, who took her own life in 2012 at the age of 20. She was the first person I had ever known on a personal level to commit suicide, and when I think of her it makes me so sad. I think of my old assistant Megan, a true wonder and delight that brought so much joy to my time at Pottery Barn, and who had a box of two dining chairs fall on her head the weekend of Thanksgiving in 2018. I was off that day, cutting down my Christmas tree. When she called me in the middle of the night, slurring her speech and saying she was going to the ER, I had no idea it had even happened, and certainly no idea Megan would be left permanently disabled from it. And I miss her.
You go through things in retail.
You go through trauma, occasionally much more than whatever living hell a customer can put you through. These are the traumas that remain, the ones you never forget or let go of. Partly because you can't and partly because you don't want to. You do also go through great joys, of course. The weddings of coworkers, meeting new friends that eventually become your family. You learn lessons, many of them are really hard ones... but you learn them just the same. And in the end, you're better for it.
Maybe you have some permanent scars on your mental health from it, and maybe a few of them are scars that will never fully heal. Maybe you also have some true joys in your heart that will ride with you until your journey in life is over, and that part is also true.
I loved retail and I hated retail in the same breath, but I also would not be who I am today without it. The sweet can never be as sweet without the sour.
8th Grade Farewell with Katie, June 2000
Right now I look back on that 14-year-old kid, sitting with a girl he'd known for less than two years, and not knowing how much she would change his life. Not knowing how two months after this picture, he would start writing a short story called "The Originality," precursor to four volumes of "The Onyxus Chronicles," because of her influence. I also look at the two of them and chuckle that now, a full 24 years later, she would be the best friend he ever had and one that showed him so many new opportunities whenever she decided, inadvertently or not, that he was ready for them. I am indebted to Katie, my Scoop, forever. And that's just another fact you can all now know about me.
So, it's forward that I go. With no corporate giant at my back, or riding on my shoulders, as it were... but instead with a keyboard beneath my fingers and a lifetime of experiences ahead of me. I will never regret my time spent in retail... it taught me who I should be, and definitely who I shouldn't be.
Right now I'm more excited to find out who I will be.
I was on a trajectory of posting these "iteration" blogs later and later in the year, almost as if I didn't care any longer about the commitments I'd once made to myself and what they were supposed to represent versus what they actually represented. That's the thing about holding yourself accountable... eventually you need to do just that, right? Whether it's time to pay the piper, or where the chips all land, or, y'know, whatever the hell you wanna put here... eventually you need to hold yourself to doing it.
As is often the case, I'm in a very different position right now than I was a year ago when I wrote the eleventh iteration. I'm not currently sitting in the house, I'm not listening to Christmas music, and largely, I'm just not happy. The feeling of being in love at that exact moment was indeed fleeting for me. In fact, when I typed those words last November, my hard-earned love was already slipping from my grasp. I knew it, Andrew knew it, but we were both stubborn and narrow-sighted and shouldered on with our routine anyway. I didn't realize just how much was slipping from my grasp, but rarely do these things present themselves in the black-and-white terms we would prefer at the time. Here we come to it though, and I'll explain in this, my favorite of the anniversary blog series':
The Eleven Year Anniversary for
Musings of a
Self-Proclaimed Author
It's sad for me to write this today and I don't know entirely why. I've been sad a lot lately in general, and it's funny (not in a haha way) when I weirdly actually have so much to be happy about? I dunno. Fortune rarely smiles without something up her sleeve and that's a lesson I've come to learn in my time. So what to get out of the way first?
Last year I didn't really make any bold proclamations with this blog. I thought I would maybe write some more, and I thought I might share more about the renovations on this current house that I am in. And these were actually safe proclamations to have made, as it turned out. In regards to renovation blogs, no, I did not post those, HOWEVER, I do have plans set in motion for what that is all going to eventually look like. I started a new Instagram account, @restoring_sean, and that will be the hub for what is eventually going to be one of the largest passion projects I've taken on.
Instead of just writing one or two blogs with a bunch of pictures about the house, I am going to be doing a deep dive into all of the work that went into restoring my first home, the Manor. This includes narrated videos, in-depth photo reviews, random one-offs about the day-to-day life there, and so on. I spent weeks scouring my old text chains, emails, phone(s), my computer(s), and external hard drives for all of the content. Then I had to painstakingly organize all of this media into categories; it was a lot of work, trust me. I was going to get it up and running back in early September, but as luck would have it, my 2012 iMac wasn't strong enough to edit videos any longer. I have a nice shiny new iMac now, and in a month or so, I will hopefully start putting that content out on a weekly basis. The plan of course when I get through maybe 6 months of posting about the Manor, and then possibly another 4-5 months posting about the Ranch (current home), I can get cracking on what the next project is.
Here's a hint, it'll be a new house. More on that in a bit.
So in a way, I did come through on that renovation blog idea. I just reworked it and made it bigger. As for the writing... yes, I did do more of that too. In 2021 I posted three blogs total, and so far in 2022, this is blog number six. In addition to the blogs, I spent a good solid month this spring with my nose down in the final edit of The Onyxus Chronicles: Episode IV. I added something like 40 new pages of material to the book, give or take? Then the printed manuscript was off to a couple friends for proofreading, and then... well, then it was time to publish.
I published my fourth novel in eight years, and that's got to count for something, right? I guess if you average a new book every two years like that, then the first prequel book will be coming out sometime in 2024. I wouldn't hold your breath on it because that thing is barely an outline right now.
Still, I did write more.
I don't want to get too insanely into the nitty-gritty on what else this last year has been like, as most of that is best reserved for the "year in review" series. But there are other things to of course comment on, and as I said above, it's time to pay the piper.
Andrew and I didn't work out, we know this. Last year I was in a state of denial as to what our relationship was going to transform into, and I still am not comfortable sharing the minutiae of why it was going to move in any direction other than perfect bliss. It just didn't, and that will have to suffice. Because it ended though, that put a lot of things in motion for me.
I was miserable in my job at Pottery Barn. Completely and utterly; I had been for a long time, and I would continue to be for a long time after. I started looking for a job as a technical writer waaaaay back in December of 2021, and later this summer I was able to get in finally as a part-time contract writer. It has been a really great experience so far, I've learned a LOT already, and I look forward very much to the day I can take it full-time. You might be asking yourself "But Sean, you are currently the General Manager at your NEW job with Banana Republic, are you not?" And yes, I am.
But it's complicated.
A few weeks ago I had a massive anxiety attack at work, so bad that I thought I was having a heart attack. It all sounds very dramatic, but really it was just me hiding in the bathroom, hunched on the floor, clutching my chest. I won't get into the details here, partly because I don't want to and partly because some things need to stay private, but with doctor appointments after this little/big episode, I had a few things come to light health-wise. Maybe I'll dive in more at the year-end blog, and maybe I'll have exciting news or something to share, but what it boils down to is my stress level.
I am affected by it... perhaps a bit too much. And, coupled with some of the things going on medically, stress affects everything greatly. To a point where it can be a life-threatening thing.
So, I spoke with my friend and boss, Robin, and we had a really frank but great conversation about all of this. I told her my health was more important to me focusing on than staying in this role as the General Manager. The reality being that I cannot be what the store and the team need me to be. So I will leave Banana Republic, sadly, after only two months. I'm in a unique position to still have a cash flow, albeit smaller, and enough set aside in savings to get by until the spring of 2023.
"But why spring, Sean?"
Well, that would be because I am going to put the Ranch up for sale in February / March. And, the current plan, is that I'll be moving away from here.
This is all very new and hypothetical, but it's also very real. At 36 I've finally hit the critical mass of who I once was and who I am going to be, the crossroads of this being tangible and rough. A lot can change between now and February, obviously, so I don't want to be definite in any of my plans because really... you just never know. But I am taking care to plan for my future and line up the things that need to be assembled into neat little rows. In an ideal situation, I will be able to take a year or so to just rent (because buying a house seems silly in the current market), and then figure out WHERE I want to live and also how amazing of a project house it will ultimately be.
So, though it doesn't really need to be said, what do I expect for this next year? I don't know. I expect to sell the house at a great profit, which will allow me to pay off any and all remaining debt that I have. Since I won't be in retail anymore, I will have the ability to either move to a rental property here in the cities or back home in Wisconsin... or really anywhere else. I expect the road to be long and bumpy as I gain control over my health issues and I expect I will be angry and frustrated by most of it, most of the time. Is that's what it takes though to grow and become a better person, then it's a smallish price to pay.
But... I also expect to be happy. And happiness will come from following my passion over my pension, as a new friend so eloquently said. For what feels like the first time in my life, there's this great big question mark hanging above me and what the future holds. Is it coincidental this is happening 10 years after 26 Golden Things? Yeah, actually. But is it too important for me to ignore it? Yeah, that too, actually. I'm excited to see what happens, and I'm excited to share as it does. Onward.
