ed. note: long-post warning...

I'm feeling awfully "33." And by "33" I mean "49". I'm apparently going through some sort of mid-life something or other. I'm not calling it a crisis by any means: I'm in no panic (yet). Seeing that the mean life expectancy of your average American male is around 71, I'm just about AT "mid-life." I guess it's a phase

This seems to be a good kind of phase - sort of. While it's uncomfortable at times, it's also causing me to reflect on my life and times, and kind of evaluate where I'm at, and where I'd like to be. Problem is, I don't know where I want to be.

Here's the problem I discovered just yesterday, though: my entire life I've been searching for "something," some way to define Who I Am. Something to validate my existence, something to make me feel like there's been some sort of purpose of my being here on this planet...just something.

19: artist
- When I was 19, I came to the conclusion that I was a an artist; mostly a percussionist as I had become wrapped up in spiritual pursuits that revolved around rhythm and drumming (and pot), though writing and theatre were also parts of the puzzle.

21: lighting designer
- When I was 21, I came to the conclusion that I was a lighting designer. I had visions of designing lights for dance concerts, rock bands, and the occasional play that required less-than-typical lighting. I even did lighting work for God Street Wine for a number of shows, which to this day is one of the highlights of my 20's.

Post-college: theatre production artist
- After college, I knew I needed to somehow be involved in the theatre, desperately wanting to be a part of something bigger than myself that caused audiences to have extraordinary experiences. While some of those that worked around me in the production staff were 'techies,' I considered myself an artist, and viewed my responsibilities during rehearsals and performances with real reverence.

Mid-20's: Love
- While working in the theatre, I realized that theatre just isn't enough. I found that the most important thing in the world was love. I found what I thought was the meaning of my life in a wonderful (though odd) relationship with an awesome woman; this wasn't just boyfriend/girlfriend - there was a real, honest-to-the-core soul connection, that was more important than anything. I was ready to drop my life and move to Miami to be with this great woman.

Late 20's: Love & software
- After she broke up with me, I was lost. Until I reconnected with a woman whose path kept on crossing mine - we kept on being drawn back together, and were together on and off since our first date back in 1995. I began to feel like my life had new meaning again, and that I had found the One. During this time I also left the theatre (out of exhaustion, boredom, and a fear of financial insecurity - not in the present, but in the future), and entered the software testing field. I dove into that head-first, and clung to the idea that some of the work I was doing would have a direct impact on anyone in the world who ran Windows XP.

28: LOST
- When I lost myself again into the pits of active alcoholism, that wonderful woman decided to move on for good. Talk about completely lost, alone, and afraid... I had no idea who I was or what my life was about anymore, nor what I wanted life to be. I was SO lost, and needed to not only get sober to try to save my life, but I needed to somehow find a definition of that life and pursue that with everything I had.

29: Entrepreneur
- After being bound by the grips of alcohol for so long, I yearned for a freedom in all areas of my life. So after quitting drinking and getting on the road to recovery from alcoholism, I sought the one freedom that our society seems to dwell upon all too much: I sought financial freedom. Mother Earth House Cleaning was born, and was sure to be my road to riches. I did all the stuff you're supposed to: guerilla-marketing, product tie-ins, reading books, promoting websites, talking to other business owners....

31: Management
- After I closed that business (due to exhaustion and boredom, and that in the 1.5 years I had it it just didn't grow like I had hoped), I went into retail management. I hated it, but thought of it as part of my education into all-things business. After a while, I even envisioned myself staying in that field and working my way up the managerial ladder. Then I fizzled out and simply hated the work.

31: Poker player
- Yes, there was a large chunk of time where I seriously contemplated going after the professional poker world. I'm a good player (you can read my poker blog here), and still today believe if given the right opportunity and a little bit of coaching I could make a success out of this game I so love. I was (and still do) play just about every day, my Vegas trip was won through poker, the tickets for O and Blue Man Group were paid for with poker money.... I was even in negotiations to become sponsored into the professional poker tournament circuit for a year (unfortunately fell through). If there's anything in my life I have a passion for, it's poker. But as far as "meaning"? I dunno... I could see doing the poker thing as a means of helping others (kind of a robin-hood type deal where I win big money and then do good stuff with a lot of it).

Today: ???
And that leads to where I'm at today: while working in retail I was offered a position back in the software field, and back in WA State. I jumped at the opportunity to get back to Seattle, and back to a more financially-suitable profession. But... I'm still searching. Searching for meaning in my life. My job doesn't even add enjoyment let alone meaning; I still feel it hard to really connect with people out in Seattle so friendship isn't even adding "meaning" to my life. I play poker, which I desperately love, yet it's hard to say that adds "meaning" to my life.

So, that's where I'm at: trudging along this path, wondering what I need to do to find this elusive "meaning" I've been searching for my entire life. Whenever I've found it, it's shortly gone; when I've tried to grasp onto something, it's like reaching into a stream and squeezing your hand to try to hold the water.

I'm gonna keep walking, keeping my eyes and ears open, and keep recording whatever seems important or interesting, and perhaps after a while some pattern or something will emerge.

Vegas

I had hoped to have an incredibly story to tell once I got back from Vegas. Nothing really came to me yet, though. Vegas is a strange town. It's like walking into one big drug after another, between the free booze, the hookers, the slot machines. It's so easy to numb-out.

A couple images stand out from Vegas for me:
- while I was waiting to go in to see Blue Man Group, I walked around through the Venetian. It's a beautiful hotel / casino, but what stood out for me were the people. They were zombieng away at the slot machines, a glazed mask of hypnosis covering their everyday face. Push the button. Watch the numbers. Listen to the bells. Push the button. See the lights flashing. Push the button. Feed more money. Push the button. Push the button. Push the button. I couldn't tell if they were having fun or not. If that was them having fun, then I wonder what they'll look like when they're in the morgue.

- one night around 3:30am I'm walking back to my hotel after playing poker at Caesar's Palace. As I get to the parking lot I hear "POP POP POP POP!" from across the street. There's no one around me at the time, but I still say out loud "were those gunshots?" And, as silly as it sounds, I continued walking towards my hotel - which also happened to be towards the sound of the gunshots. Seconds later I see a bit of a ruckus in front of the Flamingo, I hear a bunch of police and fire sirens, and within 2 minutes there are about 10 cop cars there, with one cop handcuffing some big bald white dude. I didn't see any bloodied bodies; I saw one guy who was sitting as if his leg was injured - maybe he got popped in the leg. I crossed the street, away from the action, and overhear this couple saying "I'm from LA, I've heard gunshots, and yea those were definitely gunshots."

I've got a story idea that's percolating, set in Vegas, but it's far from fleshed out. It may be a much longer one than my shorties of late.

insomnia

I haven't gotten more than 4 hours of sleep since Friday night, when I slept barely 6 hours. I go through this every few months, when for some unknown reason my body decides it doesn't really need sleep, and does whatever it can to prevent me from getting some. Or maybe it's my mind doing it, I don't really know.

What I do know, is this: a) I'm exhausted, and b) I cannot get to sleep for the life of me.

Today I actually started getting physical symptoms of extreme stress/fatigue: my heart keeps feeling like it's going to jump out of my chest, it's beating so hard. Not fast, I counted and my pulse was right on, but it's just beating harder than normal. I actually looked up the number of a doctor to see about getting an appointment earlier today because this heart-thing was worrying me a bit. But then I read about insomnia and one of the "side effects" of not sleeping is this heart-stuff that I've been having (also felt like I was having trouble catching my breath at times, also part of this heart-beating-abnormally-thing).

Basically, my body is saying "Hey! I'm stressing out here!" It's my body, knowing that it hasn't slept much, doing what it needs to to make sure I'm still alert during the day (part of our fight-or-flight instincts).

I wish I could just sleep.

A great song

I've had a song caught in my head all day:

I walked into a conversation, I walked into a minefield
And underneath my feet were hair triggers, hair triggers
I danced from foot to foot, and honey we danced cheek to cheek
And all you told me was to move quicker, move quicker

I know the best is over
I know the worst has come and gone
It's been colder
And further till the dawn
I don't like it either
But it's the best, it's the best, it's the best I can do
It ain't good, it ain't good, it ain't good enough for you.

Excellent song, called It Ain't Good by Alex Radus. Go buy his new CD, it rocks.

More important to me, though, is why is this particular song in my head? Yea, I've loved the song since the first time I heard it last year; and it's got a great sound, catch in the good-way, and just feels real. But... I don't know; I can understand when like a Beach Boys song gets stuck and won't go away, but a singer-songwriter tune?

Maybe it's because I haven't slept in like days.

portriat of the night

I saw a shooting star tonight. I watched it fly right through the Big Dipper.

I only had to walk four blocks to get back to the bus stop, and it was a very calm, silent walk. The old, full trees, with the street lights above, dotted the sidewalks with dark pits of black shadows. I couldn't bring myself to walk through them, so I walked down the middle of the street, the only spot that was consistently lit.

I got to the bus stop, and checked the schedule. The next bus wasn't due for another 20 minutes. I thought about walking to the next stop, but decided I'd had enough walking in strange neighborhoods at night through dark shadows, so I would wait.

The house on the corner had a sprinkler going. With only the occasional car driving by, the ratcheting tick-tick-tick of the sprinkler took center stage. The water made a thin, sharp sound as it slapped the side of the brick house. I wondered why they didn't adjust it so it didn't hit the house.

Just up the block, I could make out the figure of a man walking. He looked to be around my age, and was walking very slowly. He was stopping every few steps and doing something with his hands. It wasn't until he was almost at the corner across from me that I saw what he was doing: he was eating a pint of ice cream. As he got down to the bottom of the container, he had to keep stopping as he tilted the container up in a vain attempt to get his spoon all the way down. It must have been melting by now, as the last few bites he took he had the container up to his mouth like it was a glass, using the spoon in his left hand to push the remainder of the ice cream into his mouth. He must be left-handed.

The sprinkler had stopped by then. I never saw anyone come out of the house, so it must have been on a timer. When the man was done with his ice cream, he placed the spoon in the container, and then very carefully balanced the empty container on a rock at the corner of the yard. He turned, wiped his hands on his shirt, and staggered up the hill towards who knows where. After about 20 yards he stopped under a street light, and almost fell over as he tilted his right wrist to see his watch. It's funny that as he was eating the ice cream he didn't seem to stagger at all, but when it was gone it was obvious he was rather drunk.

As he passed a driveway, I saw something move just beyond the shadow. At first I thought maybe I had imagined it, but it moved again so I knew something was there. I couldn't tell whether it was a cat, or a raccoon, but I eventually saw a cat nose out of the dark around the fence, and take off up the street.

After that, I looked up in the sky, right at the Big Dipper looming low in the summer sky. Only a second or two after I looked up, I saw a streak of light fly from the far eastern sky, directly towards the bowl of the Dipper, and flew right through it. It was so odd, as I had been standing there for about ten minutes and had not once looked towards the sky. Yet I looked up just in time to see a very large, very bright shooting star, almost as if it had been waiting all night for me to look up.

4 years ago

Four years ago today, I had my last taste of alcohol. It was a 16 ounce can of Budweiser, bought from the corner store with nickels, dimes, and pennies (no quarters – I had exhausted my supply of quarters the previous day). I drank it the morning my dad was flying out to Seattle to help me pack my life up and come back to New Jersey.

I had been drinking non-stop for about four months, and quite heavily for months leading up to this, minus two short breaks while I was in detox ( I drank shortly after leaving both of them – one within a couple weeks and the last one within 6 hours). I’m still not sure how I was able to keep my job without arousing any suspicions (maybe I did, I don’t know). I smoked enough cigarettes, I remember thinking, that the smell of smoke would probably mask any other scents (like the alcohol that was pouring out of me, or the pot that I always had on me).

One of the oddest things I did was faked a suicide attempt. I had gone to a detox, and needed an excuse for work. I remember phoning my HR person and telling her I was in the hospital and would be for a few days, and that I couldn’t explain any more (I didn’t have a lie ready, so I needed some time to come up with one; also I figured I could leave it at that and they wouldn’t pry into my private life – which they didn’t, God bless them). The day I got out was actually the day before my last day of work, so I would have to go in to tie up some loose ends, and say some goodbyes.

That night, after stopping at a few bars for a few drinks, I went to the Walgreens and got some gauze and medical tape. The next morning, when it came time to get ready for work, I placed a large rectangle of gauze long-way from my wrist to about halfway up my forearm, and gave it a good taping. All of my workmates knew I was in the hospital, but that’s all they knew. And I hoped when they saw the bandage that they wouldn’t ask any questions. Yes, I was trying to make it look like I had slit my wrist so that I could avoid answering questions about my detox stay. Brilliant, dude, just brilliant.

It’s amazing how far I was willing to go out of my way to avoid the humiliation that I thought would come from admitting an alcohol problem. Somehow, suicide just seemed like it would somehow paint me in a much better light than drinking. I’ve always had this fantasy of myself as some “tortured artist” or something, and this suicide-act fit right into the fantasy world I had for how I wanted others to see me. If they asked, I had an answer prepared: “it was an accident.” And that’s it.

I remember that last day at work, and saying goodbye to people, and telling at least four people “it was an accident,” but most of all, I remember how much I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there so I could start drinking. I was going to be unemployed for about 3 months, collecting unemployment checks, and spending most of my time doing what I would rather be doing more than anything in the world: drinking.

That lasted for not even three weeks, when my father decided he was going to fly to Seattle to bring me back to New Jersey before I got killed. And during those three weeks, I spent every waking hour drunk, or hung over planning my next drink, or unconscious somewhere. It was during those three weeks that I cracked my rib (don’t ask how, because I honestly don’t remember), I fell into some bushes and cut up my face and my legs, I lost my bicycle (though it may have been stolen, but I’m pretty sure I just lost it)… I was doing all of this, I swore to myself, because I was so upset and depressed that She broke up with me – this wonderful woman who I was ready to move to Maine to be with, but she broke up with me while I was in detox.
At the time, I guess I needed an excuse.