this is a tough one

I was sitting outside at a coffee shop this morning enjoying a lovely cup of coffee and gooey butter cake.  I would look up from my book occasionally to watch the people pass.  On this peaceful morning there were many couples at various stages of their life.  There were the young parents pushing or holding babies.  The parents of older kids that reminded me of what my family used to look like.  Old couples, young couples and every variation in between.  As I watched them, I began to feel the familiar pangs of loneliness.  I do get lonely sometimes.  Maybe even a lot.  But I am the biggest impediment to finding relational bliss, if that even exists.  Once I find myself in a relationship (of any kind really) I bolt.  Once the relationship starts to blossom I begin to feel the gate swinging shut behind me and panic.  It's ridiculous really.  I can blow off the destruction of another heart as their inability to love me for who I am.  Demanding that they recognize that I can't be fenced in.  And if they have a problem with that, washing my hands of the affair and beginning the cycle again.
I have tried to sit with my loneliness to figure out what it is trying to teach me.  Why do I drive myself to loneliness only to pine that I can't be loved.  And then I realize that I am bat shit crazy.  I struggle to continue to struggle.  I don't know how to stop either.  In my subconscious mind, I am sabotaging nearly everything in my life because through suffering and struggle comes enlightenment.  But to be honest I don't even know what that means. But I digress.
I am pretty sure that I am world's best "friend maker."  I love these girls and they love me, but I am completely incapable of letting that love grow into something more substantial.  The thought of giving up even a small bit of myself sends chills down my spine.  And by that I don't mean changing who I am but just even being considerate of another's feelings.  Staying in when I want to go out or going out when I want to stay in.
I don't know why I wanted to share this with you all today.  It is just fresh and acutely painful today, as I have again pooped on a girl that I love. The loneliness and longing seem to be my life long companions.  Not always sitting beside me, but never out of sight.
Oh well, Here's to more friends than enemies!

Year # 37 (Year of the Grizzly)

As I was driving today, I was struck with the need to write a year in review of my 37^th year.  As far as years go, I would say that it was about as tumultuous as they come.  The lows were much lower than anyone can prepare for, but the moments of self-discovery were equally high.  To recount the last 12 months blow by blow seems to do the overall time period a disservice.  The physical changes are easily recounted.  I lost a wife, a family, a house, friends, and a number of material items that are paltry comparatively.  I gained a new city, a new set of friends, membership into groups that have changed my life, and I have run farther than I ever had before.  The personal changes that I have experienced along the way are much harder to name, but in no way less important.  At this moment the most important of these changes is that I have attained a feeling of freedom and wildness.  Not a lack of responsibility, but a carefreeness that permeates deep.  I compare it to what it must feel like to be a grizzly.  They still have things they must do to survive and ensure that their offspring know how to be grizzlies, but they are allowed the freedom within their world to exist.  They explore at will.  They know no fences or labels or restrictions on who they are.  The most pressing concern is the next scent in the air.  To wander through the world feeling like it all belongs to me, is empowering.  The beauty of everything my gaze touches belongs to me.  The love contained within every creature and object is mine in the moment that we are in the same space at the same time.  The feelings of wildness are what stand out to me the most in the past 12 months. 

As I move forward, it is this that I want to hang on to. I know my 38^th year on this planet will be equally restive.  That is the nature of where I am in my life.  As relationships, responsibilities and goals change with the tide of life, I will remain wild.  I will hang onto the ability to find myself and peace in every thing.  As the Kratt brothers say, I belong “living free and in the wild.”

As a post-script, "wild" doesn't mean the same thing at 38 it did at 28.  I think that is clear, but thought I would lay that out there.  While there is the occasional overlap in meanings, "wild" like most everything at 38 is a much more deep and rich experience.

From suffering to Compassion

A special thanks to The Moth and especially Phil Caputo.  I listen to The Moth almost everyday.  I intend to so for the foreseeable future.  This morning while I was working it was playing in the background.  I got caught up in Phil Caputo's story.  His struggle at the end "Why me? Why must I suffer?  to move from suffering to compassion." moved me.  I went for a run this morning and turned my radio off to contemplate this thing.  How has my suffering aided in the growth of my compassion?  How has it helped me?  How has it helped all sentient beings?
In typical Rover fashion, I wrote this paragraph a little more than a month ago and dropped it. In atypical fashion I have been going back and cleaning up my drafts.  I have always loved this paragraph because it reminds me of that morning.  It was a bright, cool morning in what has become on of my favorite places on earth, my park.  I began with thinking about myself.  The suffering that I had been experiencing was the only way for me to become introspective enough to feel compassion for myself.  I think that some of you call that grace.  I had to learn to forgive myself and to love myself unconditionally.  Once I had begun that I realized that it was imperative for me to push that love outside of myself to those that I come into contact with.  I began helping to care for the homeless, I tried to express a more unconditional and deeper love to my boys, I tried to express compassion to even those that I hated.  As I was running and contemplating all of this I began thinking beyond people.  How has my suffering helped all sentient beings, all of the earth?  I realized that it had.  I had been moving to a more vegetable based diet.  Of course if a thing is not being killed to into my belly that is certainly helping it, but also choosing less impactful foods helps us all.  I drive less personally. I can't help the mile I drive for work at the moment, but personally I only drive a few days a week.  I do the rest on foot or on my bike.
The reflection on all of this is one of those things that helped me move toward closure on this chapter of my life.  I feel as though I am in a new chapter right now.  I think that there will be flashbacks and slip ups, but I am turning the page and I feel good about it.
I wish you all happiness and I truly love you even if I have never met you

I fell in love

This winter I fell in love with a nerdy librarian.  Of course, I am referring to my new city of choice St Louis.  When I came all she wanted to do was discuss the cold world of Pre-revolutionary Russian literature.  For weeks and months the cold bound her tightly in layers snow and rain.  Luckily for me, I like Russian literature.  I didn't get frightened off by the introduction of new characters or unfamiliar story lines.  I stuck with her because she began to accept me.  But lately she has begun to let her hair down and take off her glasses.  The spring growth is mind blowing.  It  reaffirms my new found love for this city.  The occasional cold wind or uncomfortable conversation doesn't cause that love to wain but rather increases my curiosity about this place.  As I explore more and more of the city and get more comfortable with the people I meet, I know that this is the right place for me right now.  In true 80's movie fashion, she is a full on foxx.

Trying to find beauty

I enjoy finding the beauty in everything I do.  I don't remember if this is something that I have always done.  I know that since my AT solo hike it has been a big part of my life.  I have no idea why I try search out beauty.  But no matter where I am, I am constantly on the prowl for the killer view.  I try to stop and enjoy them even if it's just for a minute or even a few seconds.  If I can just let off the gas for a few seconds I can soak in the scene.

 I cannot reproduce these scenes in any meaningful way.  I cannot really find a way to share them with anyone other than myself.  I have tried painting, that didn't work out well trust me.  I take pictures, but that doesn't do the scene justice.  I tried poetry.  That got good reviews at my poetry reading, but it still pales in comparison to the grandness of the world.

Wandering through the city has given me a whole new setting to try to soak beauty from.  It doesn't matter to me whether I am in the city, the middle of nowhere or in a hospital.  I see the wonderful combination of light and shape as a living work of art.

The Burial Vault

As the sun begins to beat

Through the canopy of the forest

The warm, moist earth begins

To release the fragrance of decay.

The leaves and trees and insects and animals

All feed upon on another.

All rot into the ground, all are joined as one.

Are we not part of that "one?"

Why have we decided

To place ourselves in a concrete box?

Because we have removed ourselves from nature.

We no longer see ourselves as products of this world

But producers of things from this world

We have allowed ourselves to be separated

From the cycle of life and decay. Why?

It reminds us that we will rot,

we will become food.

Don't place me in that concrete box!

Let my body nourish all those

Forests that have nourished me

Let my rot bring new life

Let the smell of my decay have a purpose

Let me join myself to nature

One last and lasting time!

The fun house mirror

One of the things that all of the upheaval in my life has done is make me wonder who I am.  I have always thought of myself in one way.  When I look in the mirror I still see the 26 yr old Seth.  I see a young, attractive, outgoing, gregarious, friendly person that can make friends any where and feel comfortable in any setting.  When I moved into an entirely new set of surroundings I took this view of myself with me.  I am realizing that I am an older, less outgoing, even shy introvert that is having a hard time fitting in in my new locale.  I had started being able to talk to random people in relatively quiet settings.  Some had even started calling me by name, but I found that I could only strike up a conversation after a couple of beers to loosen me up.
I guess this whole "questioning myself" was brought forth on Wed.  Wed was May Day, or International Worker's Day.  I heard on the radio about a picnic in my park on Wed afternoon.  I walked down there after work.  When I got there, the cops were there with video cameras and still-frame cameras taking pictures of the people that were there.  It was mostly a bunch of hippies that were laying in the grass or talking at picnic tables.  When I showed up the tension was already pretty high.  I started talking to one guy that didn't really want anything to do with me.  I knew that I didn't really look like anyone there, and I had made a mistake in wearing a MO Beef Council race t-shirt (don't advertise beef in a group of vegans).  The leader eventually came over and began asking where I was from, where I had heard about it and stuff like that.  That is when I realized they thought I was a cop.  So now, not only are the cops taking my picture, but the group I tried to go hang out with was too.  I was there for a while, but felt really out of place.  Eventually, I had enough.  I went and shook the hand of the guy that came over and talked to me and told him that I didn't really fit in just left.  As I was walking back to my apartment I really began to struggle with who I thought I was.  The only friends that I have are out in the burbs.  They don't think like me.  They don't act like me.  They don't eat like me, but they don't care.  I love city life, but I'm pretty sure most of the people on my block think I'm a cop, too.
Maybe, I have been part of a family for so long that, when that is gone, it can really mess with one's own identity.  For 15 yrs I have identified myself by who I was with.  For 8 yrs I have identified myself as a dad and husband.  I am still a dad, but for 5 days a week I am just me.  Being me at times can be scary.  Not because I am manic or depressive, but because it is a struggle trying to figure that guy out.  In all of my new pursuits this week, I just kept feeling more outside.  I struggled to try to connect.  I kept seeing flaws and things I didn't like in everyone around me.  Am I going to be the crazy guy rocking in his chair while he scribbles poetry down?  Am I the crazy lady that gesticulates wildly while reading a work that is a random selection of words crammed onto an index card?  Am I going to be the crazy religious people loudly proseltyzing any non-believers or "sinful" people?  Am I going to want more and more crap and space even though I have no need for it?  Am I going to let myself fall back into a consumerists mindset? (that is if I ever even got out) But I figure that if I keep thinking that everyone around me is crazy, maybe it's not everyone around me.  Maybe it's me.  I just want to find peace and happiness again.  I want to feel comfortable and relaxed and joyful.
I guess I have no choice but to keep doing what I am doing.  Trying new things and not giving up when I feel discouraged.  Other than the socialist picnics, I am going to poetry on Wed, Help the Homeless on Thurs and going to free shows.  I feel like I have lost sight of my inner self temporarily.  But if I just keep trying, it will emerge eventually.  I am 37.  I am divorced.  I am a father to 2 wonderful kids.  I am living in neighborhood that I love.  I am a RUS.  I am figuring out the rest.  Anything worth having comes with effort. That includes me.  One bad day or week isn't the end.  It will pass.  Everything passes.

"death is not happening" - some Tibetan monk

My year of "firsts"

I will be passing many "firsts" this year.  It started on New Years Eve when I celebrated by myself at a bar in St Joe.  It has moved through Valentines Day and Easter and many more to come.  Today is one of those.  It is the first time in 13 years that today became just another day.  I am surprisingly saddened by that.  I have always tried to do a good job celebrating this date.  It seems bizarre that it has just blended into the calendar with all the other 28th's of the month.  But alas, that is the nature of the year.
As my year moves forward, I will get caught by more.  There will be holidays alone, or just me and the boys.  Never again will the old foursome take to disk golf course or bike trail or any other spontaneous event.
This seems to suck me dry today.  I stopped in a park today and scribbled this onto a yellow, post-it-note.

There are days when words no longer ease the pressure,
I open my veins into my fountain pen,
But my soul that so often spills out is dry.
The pressure is so great that the suffocating feeling
Seems to have no beginning or end
No breath, no gesture, no rest,
No run, no bite, no vice can ease the pain.
Just breathe to know that I am still alive.
This is only one day of many.


I clearly started this yesterday.  I have fallen back into an old pattern of withholding myself in incomplete writings.  Sometimes I am afraid that the sullen tone of the writing will give the wrong impression.  My life is not a sad, dreary experience, but those are the times that I need to write the most.  I have started working on some poetry of other things and times and I find that to be cathartic, but they don't flow as easily as the more negative feelings.  That is a good thing.  It turns those works into a more structured art, rather than a passionate rant.  I will post them after I read them out loud.  I don't want to only post the crap and none of the fruit.   
As a side note, feel free to comment on my poetry.  I would like literary criticism to help me make it more readable and flowing.  Often it feels that poetry is just an excuse to write a run on sentence.