Nearly five years later...
A Thursday afternoon in mid-spring finds me in the state of my birth, and yet somehow far from home.
Where is home, anyway? That's one of those questions that always seems much easier to answer than it really is. I have spent much of the last several years not really sure where I was going or where I came from. I told a friend yesterday that I honestly expect to be dead before the end of this year, simply because it is so difficult for me to see where my life is headed. I have always had an innate ability to see my own future. A cloudy version to be sure, but a future nonetheless. And because what I see when I look forward now is so empty and blank, I have to wonder if there is anything there at all.
I bought a new car last week. Traded in a car I dearly loved for one that I convinced myself that I needed. And perhaps I do. Perhaps my circumstances are such now that the car I purchased is exactly what I need. But while I find it easy to explain to others why I made the change, I have a very hard time letting go. Cars are very personal for me. I can still tell you the license plate number of every car my parents even used to pick me up from school. That might be because the letters were so burned into my mind from staring at oncoming bumpers waiting for letters to match, waiting for the wheels of the slot machine to line up "all 7s" and say "Yes, your ride is here, the bullies will torment you no more".
I remember all of them. APP 258 was my dad's ugly brown Chevy Malibu Classic. CSJ 900 was my mom's ugly white Datsun 310GX with the red interior. HKR 898 was the blue pickup truck my dad used for fishing and camping trips. And so on.... through the years... I haven't been a passenger in any of those cars in close to 20 years now and yet I can picture each one in my head, as though I was still sitting on a bench outside school, nearly an hour after the other kids went home, sitting and waiting for my ride to arrive.
My new car doesnt even have a license plate yet. It seems I won't get one for about 6 weeks. So for now I have a blue sign advertising the place that sold me the car. "Hey look! We suckered someone into buying this car! Come buy one too, before they are all gone!"
About once every three years for the last 21 years I have completely rebooted my life. That either means I am psychotic in my need to avoid being trapped, or it means I cheerfully embrace change. Last year I made the decision to move away from my wife and come to California. Three years before that I moved away from my wife and came to Texas. Three years before that I closed down my store in Texas and moved to Oregon. Three years before that I walked away from a skyrocketing career and began selling comics on weekends. Three years before that I got the promotion that converted my casual job into one that meant I could pay my own bills for the first time in my life. Three years before that I graduated from college. Three years before that I got together with my future wife. Three years before that I made a vow, sitting on a bench outside my high school, that I refused to be anything less than me. That the only thing that would satisfy my inner turmoil and self-doubt was for me to commit to being myself no matter the consequences.
That day in 1986 changed my life forever. Some days I sit back and wonder what life would have been like had I gone on as I was...
When I went to pick up my mail today, the gal behind the counter asked how I was. And I answered the same way I have answered that question about 300 times in the last few years. "I'm tall. But that's true most days." She laughed, and told me I was funny. Perhaps she was flirting a little, but more likely she was trying to cover the fact that she wasn't really expecting an answer to her question.
My marriage will likely be over soon. While it would have been easy to describe it that way any time in the last ten years, it is really hard to predict any other result now. The incentives for her to move her are virtually nil. And the albatrosses around my neck from past decisions will not permit me to return to Texas. So I sit in a room, 10 feet by 11 feet, with a window facing north, and hot air balloons rising from a nearby park. And I think about what my plans are for next week, next month, next year.
Next week I will do something I honestly don't know that I am strong enough to do. I will take the remaining inventory from my long-closed store and donate it to charity. Oh, it makes for a great story. How I am getting such a big tax break, and I am saving the expense of the storage unit. And I am doing so much good for the troops overseas who will get the comics. Sure, great story. But a big part of who I am will lay drying on the floor of that unit in my tears as I fill the truck.
Senseless perhaps. I mean really, how long did I have a store anyway? First one from May 1999 to September 2001. Heck that is only 28 months. Second one from April 2002 to June 2003. Another 15 months. So I had a store for 43 months total. And it has been 58 months since the last time I had one. Ponder that for a moment. It's been longer SINCE I had a store than the total time I had one. Why the heck should this really matter to me anyway? Why will I be crying my eyes out three days from now while I pack things up?
Memories...
That's why...
And because a part of me knows that no matter what I do the rest of my life I will never again feel as happy and alive as I did during those 43 months.
I dream that some time in my life will bring me the pain and agony and joy of those times once again. But deep down I know they are gone. Gone forever. And so I sit. Alone. Without a friend within 300 miles.
Perhaps.... where I belong...
Where is home, anyway? That's one of those questions that always seems much easier to answer than it really is. I have spent much of the last several years not really sure where I was going or where I came from. I told a friend yesterday that I honestly expect to be dead before the end of this year, simply because it is so difficult for me to see where my life is headed. I have always had an innate ability to see my own future. A cloudy version to be sure, but a future nonetheless. And because what I see when I look forward now is so empty and blank, I have to wonder if there is anything there at all.
I bought a new car last week. Traded in a car I dearly loved for one that I convinced myself that I needed. And perhaps I do. Perhaps my circumstances are such now that the car I purchased is exactly what I need. But while I find it easy to explain to others why I made the change, I have a very hard time letting go. Cars are very personal for me. I can still tell you the license plate number of every car my parents even used to pick me up from school. That might be because the letters were so burned into my mind from staring at oncoming bumpers waiting for letters to match, waiting for the wheels of the slot machine to line up "all 7s" and say "Yes, your ride is here, the bullies will torment you no more".
I remember all of them. APP 258 was my dad's ugly brown Chevy Malibu Classic. CSJ 900 was my mom's ugly white Datsun 310GX with the red interior. HKR 898 was the blue pickup truck my dad used for fishing and camping trips. And so on.... through the years... I haven't been a passenger in any of those cars in close to 20 years now and yet I can picture each one in my head, as though I was still sitting on a bench outside school, nearly an hour after the other kids went home, sitting and waiting for my ride to arrive.
My new car doesnt even have a license plate yet. It seems I won't get one for about 6 weeks. So for now I have a blue sign advertising the place that sold me the car. "Hey look! We suckered someone into buying this car! Come buy one too, before they are all gone!"
About once every three years for the last 21 years I have completely rebooted my life. That either means I am psychotic in my need to avoid being trapped, or it means I cheerfully embrace change. Last year I made the decision to move away from my wife and come to California. Three years before that I moved away from my wife and came to Texas. Three years before that I closed down my store in Texas and moved to Oregon. Three years before that I walked away from a skyrocketing career and began selling comics on weekends. Three years before that I got the promotion that converted my casual job into one that meant I could pay my own bills for the first time in my life. Three years before that I graduated from college. Three years before that I got together with my future wife. Three years before that I made a vow, sitting on a bench outside my high school, that I refused to be anything less than me. That the only thing that would satisfy my inner turmoil and self-doubt was for me to commit to being myself no matter the consequences.
That day in 1986 changed my life forever. Some days I sit back and wonder what life would have been like had I gone on as I was...
When I went to pick up my mail today, the gal behind the counter asked how I was. And I answered the same way I have answered that question about 300 times in the last few years. "I'm tall. But that's true most days." She laughed, and told me I was funny. Perhaps she was flirting a little, but more likely she was trying to cover the fact that she wasn't really expecting an answer to her question.
My marriage will likely be over soon. While it would have been easy to describe it that way any time in the last ten years, it is really hard to predict any other result now. The incentives for her to move her are virtually nil. And the albatrosses around my neck from past decisions will not permit me to return to Texas. So I sit in a room, 10 feet by 11 feet, with a window facing north, and hot air balloons rising from a nearby park. And I think about what my plans are for next week, next month, next year.
Next week I will do something I honestly don't know that I am strong enough to do. I will take the remaining inventory from my long-closed store and donate it to charity. Oh, it makes for a great story. How I am getting such a big tax break, and I am saving the expense of the storage unit. And I am doing so much good for the troops overseas who will get the comics. Sure, great story. But a big part of who I am will lay drying on the floor of that unit in my tears as I fill the truck.
Senseless perhaps. I mean really, how long did I have a store anyway? First one from May 1999 to September 2001. Heck that is only 28 months. Second one from April 2002 to June 2003. Another 15 months. So I had a store for 43 months total. And it has been 58 months since the last time I had one. Ponder that for a moment. It's been longer SINCE I had a store than the total time I had one. Why the heck should this really matter to me anyway? Why will I be crying my eyes out three days from now while I pack things up?
Memories...
That's why...
And because a part of me knows that no matter what I do the rest of my life I will never again feel as happy and alive as I did during those 43 months.
I dream that some time in my life will bring me the pain and agony and joy of those times once again. But deep down I know they are gone. Gone forever. And so I sit. Alone. Without a friend within 300 miles.
Perhaps.... where I belong...