Category: middle class life

debts of regret

February 11th, 2023

Run through the emotions if they come about. There’s no sense hiding from them, fighting them. I spent a lot of my life pushing feelings into my gut. Letting them ball up there, then trying to drown them with as much alcohol as possible. If you ask me why, I’m not sure. Some say it’s learned behavior. Others, genetic. I’ve heard it’s important to know the beginnings, to identify the whys and how things come to be, but I hear lots of things. Every day. And when you hear so much, when the information is flowing in freely from all sides—this one and the others—it’s not easy to focus on one train of thought, to trace the blood through the veins to find out the true purpose of the heart.

So, now, instead of shutting out information and corralling any feelings associated, I pick and choose what to feel, and that means distilling information. Every zero and one may mean something. I don’t doubt there’s a bigger code to be recognized here, but I cannot understand how they string together to make sense. Not in the big picture. The whole scheme. The grand stage. I focus on the bits I can make sense of and save them up as I go. These bits will make sense one day, when I’m close to my end. I know it.

This is the same for all. We are creating our lives as we live. That’s the only way to do it. One cannot become too weighted down in the debts of regret. It’s futile, doesn’t make sense, and it will only stop you from doing what it is you’re meant to do so that you can create your best path possible.

Some travel easier roads than others, or so it seems. All of this moving and climbing and falling and loving and hating—it is all relative, after all. Measuring yourself against others makes no sense. We are not standardized tests. You are not your father, your mother, your brother, your wife, your kids, your lovers. You are you and you can do it—whatever IT is—and you can do it well, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to be your best when you don’t have a chip on your shoulder, have saddled yourself with all that’s gone wrong, and aren’t busy drinking yourself to death.

Life is simple, no matter how hard it gets. It boils down to this—make better choices. When that takes root, clarity comes. Slowly, but it does. Be prepared though, because with clarity comes the reckoning. An honest reveal, and often that can be hard to take, especially if you get past blaming others, balling up your feelings, and drinking yourself away. From IT.

~ KJ
the more

January 2nd, 2023

Two minutes pass before I realize it. Just a short walk to the kitchen for fresh coffee. Then back. The cat is on my desk again, batting at the mummy with the big red heart that hangs from the old table lamp.

Sip coffee. Enjoy the bitterness.

It doesn’t get Eddie Vedder than this.

That’s what the mug says. Under a picture of Eddie Vedder, barefoot, in jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket, holding a ukulele. My friend, Brandon, got that for me. Out of the blue. A couple years ago. He knows I enjoy Pearl Jam’s music, that I’ve been a fan for years. I should reach out today, make plans for lunch. See what he’s been up to these days.

For us, it used to be jukebox music and drinking, long moments of silence between grand ideas and boozy philosophy. Shuffleboard at the Menopause Lounge. Pool at JJ’s. Hours of barstools and booths. Staring at bottles and frothy pitchers, casually holding onto mug handles and glasses for dear life. All that time doing nothing that felt like something because we knew we were meant for more.

This is it, I guess. The more.

A cat going batshit crazy on my keyboard. My wife and kids sleeping in on the last day of Christmas vacation while my mind runs all over again. A new morning. A new year. The long list rolling out longer each day. Letter by letter, word by word. Finish the novel. Publish the poetry book. Eat right. Sleep more. Turn the clothing rack in the spare room into an elliptical. Stay away from the cookies and candy. Help. Give anonymously. Squeeze as much out of the few moments I get with my son as I can before he is grown and gone. Steal hugs from my daughter. Walk with my wife. Connect with old friends. Take time to listen to the dead.

There’s a lot to do here. Always has been. Always will be. It’s a matter of focus, prioritization, need, and desire. But most of the best work is done without thinking. It’s the doing that counts. And a morning like this, blessed with 30-degree temps cannot be wasted. It’s downright balmy for January in Northeastern Lower Michigan. The air is full of Lake Huron. Promises and precipitation. Opportunities I’ll no doubt discover as I put on my boots, head outside, and take down our Christmas lights.

~ KJ
winter swimming

December 8th, 2022

Words for the taking.

Always waiting for

me to reach

to breach

believe.

Beyond comfort.

I dive and

trust my ability

to breathe

underwater

or hold air

for safekeeping

until my blood and brain

need it most.

Seconds are all I need

to see

hidden secrets.

Locked.

Buried so deep

it hurts to dig and

find them.

What do I do when I get there?

Breath all bubbled out of me,

facing the fear?

Do I turn back

with the weight

of the locked door

heavier than ever

and try for the surface

once more?

Or do I break the lock

and open the door,

hoping there is

enough

air there

to sustain me?

~ KJ
Thanksgiving Morning, 2022

November 24th, 2022

Ease into the day. Be happy for the simple act of waking, walking downstairs, and making coffee. Today is appreciated a little more because yesterday was harder. Or so it seems when the new morning is dark and damp, fresh with quiet and stars.

Days are inaccurately rated in hindsight because you aren’t the same person you were then—in the yesterdays. So, you are today who you weren’t yesterday. Commenting on your inexperience from a place of more knowledge.

Navigating days gets easier because there’s less difference in daily experience. This is especially true in a small town like this when you confine yourself to your roles and expectations. Comfort…confinement.

But let’s not digress too much. And let’s not forget there’s plenty more to do and feel and observe if we put ourselves in a different situation, position, or shaft of light.

I’m not going to dig away at my past and disparage it anymore. I am forgiving myself for my transgressions. I have learned. I will learn. I want others to learn. And learning, as difficult as it can be—peeling away at memories and layers, finding wounds that never were given a chance to heal—is done by reporting the truth as best as one can. And the truth is that I am a human that’s been navigating alone for most of his life. Not always, of course. I have supportive family, friends, and acquaintances, but I have spent much time and effort avoiding deep human connection. I have shied away from opportunities for close relationships for fear of being found out–I’m as flawed and fucked up as everybody else. I don’t know what I’m doing.

And this ugly truth is not so ugly at all, but real and tangible, ghostly and scary, loving and fluid, confusing and bright, dark and hopeful. Solid as a rock.

I’ve messed up lots. But saying that is only part of it. The confession, the acknowledgment of my flaws—is only a step in the right direction to get past the past and move on. The other part is forgiving myself for unsavory acts, awful thoughts, and all those good deeds left undone. A recognition of the value of well-made mistakes–giving myself a break–is what I need to ease into this dark, starry morning happy for my third Thanksgiving in 30 years without drinking.

~ KJ
to the kids, from Dad

November 10th, 2022

There’s only so much you can do. People aren’t going to like you. They aren’t going to understand you. They will question what you’re doing, what you’re thinking about, what you have done, and what you haven’t done. When they can’t find anything else about you that makes them unhappy, they will make something up. So, there does come a point—especially if you know you’re on the part of the path you’re supposed to be on—that you have to say fuck you, fuck off, or go fuck yourself.

Profanity. Terrible, I know. But that about sums it up this morning.

I take advice silently and through observation. The best teachers are those not trying to teach. For me, the most valuable life lessons have come from those that say the least. It’s important to listen and watch, then listen and watch again. Do this enough, you get good at it. As your observation skills improve, it becomes easier to determine which opportunities are worthy of pursuit. This applies to employment, hobbies, relationships, and daily encounters. Clearly, there are many in this world that observe, but they only pay attention to what affects them directly. This, of course, is a mistake. These people rarely have the self-awareness to function properly, and they tend to base their interactions with others solely on how situations affect and have affected them. And these people love to talk about it—whatever it is, usually themselves—and they always have advice. They know how things should be done. They know what they refer to as the Truth. Don’t believe them.

We run into these people often and these situations—ones that leave you feeling misunderstood and frustrated—occur more often than we like to admit. We suffer through unfulfilling relationships, plug away at jobs we hate, and simmer under the surface because we are unhappy doing whatever we feel we must do. But the thing is, we have choices.

You have a choice to do or not do something. When you think there isn’t an opportunity for choice, you’re not thinking hard enough. Creative solutions, workarounds, can bring loads of relief and happiness, but these usually take compromise, self-reflection, and time. So, one must be patient if one cannot make the immediate change one wishes to see. There’s always a solution on some range of the scale that can bring satisfaction. Little wins are important. Also, taking time to remove yourself from a situation, even for a second, to consider how you will or will not react within a moment can make the difference between growth and stagnation. It’s surprising how strong you become when you begin to reason your way through reactions.

I react today by writing. Thinking. Taking a step back to observe myself, where I sit, and what it is I’m contributing and not contributing to the world. It’s important to have these restless mornings. Realizing there’s only so much I can do. That there will always be people disappointed by what I do or don’t do. But that’s what makes being on this path fun and makes me know that I’m doing things right. It’s good to be questioned. To have people push back, disagree, and not believe in you. It’s challenging, sure, but worthwhile because growth can only come when you understand you have a lot to learn.

~ Dad
our new home

November 5th, 2022

This is a good sleeping house. I say this because I’ve been sleeping better. My family has been sleeping better. The pets seem to have adjusted nicely too. I enjoy walking around the house. It’s not that big, but there’s a life path—a circle—that connects the study, the kitchen, living room, and dining room. There are windows, big ones, in all these rooms except the kitchen, so walking this path provides different pictures of the world each time. There’s frequent traffic and pedestrians, which I thought would drive me crazy, but that I enjoy. I feel that I’m in the middle of something, an activity, and it’s good for the spirit.

I sat in Earl’s rocking chair today under the light of my wife’s Grandma’s antique lamp and read Hallelujah Anyway by Anne Lamott. I’ve been picking away at that book for a couple years now. It’s short, 176 pages, but it’s not a read-through-it-right-away book. Not for me. It’s poetic. Prosey. So, I engage when the mood strikes me. I think I’d get along with Anne. Maybe not. She has spunk, is flawed, is thoughtful—maybe too thoughtful—and would be an excellent resource. A jaded oracle. A once wild Aunt that offers advice without saying a word. I could learn how to write better from her, as well. Which I suppose I’m doing by reading her work. In Earl’s rocking chair. That’s the name of the man who died several years ago. He lived a block and a half from our old house. His family had an estate sale. I bought his rocking chair, but never really used it. Now, I know why. It was meant for this house.

Writing, as much of an old friend and comfort that it is, is indeed work. And work needs doing. I haven’t been doing as much as I ought to. Now is the time when I should be most prolific. I’ve been around a while, have some experience under my belt, understand what works and doesn’t—for the most part—when it comes to life and writing. What needs to happen now is that I get over my laziness. This can only be done by setting aside excuses. I disguise my laziness and excuses by saying I choose to prioritize and devote energy to more important things, but watching Love is Blind with my wife at night while eating Doritos doesn’t require much energy. Or thought, for that matter.

When it comes to shows like that, I do enjoy seeing people make mistakes. Not because I want them to suffer, but because the mistakes they make—saying awful things, selfishness, portraying an image of themselves rather than their real selves gives them great opportunity to rise up and be better, but they don’t. I also like to see how relationships start, how they end, the intricacies of personal development, how people miss obvious moments for breakthroughs, but most of all, how people are unaware of the quiet importance of incremental growth.

Change can happen overnight, but slow and steady does win the race. Sitting with my wife for an hour at night, watching other couples screw things up, makes me thankful for what we have. I’m not sure what it is, exactly—the IT—but we have it, and it works, and I don’t think it’s something that can be labeled. I don’t want our marriage to be boiled down to one word or phrase because that isn’t who we are. We, like many other couples navigating this life, have a system that works. We are quiet about it. We do our own thing. We like it.

This new old house has us sleeping better. Feeling good. We’re on our path—a circle—that we know starts and ends in the same spot. There are windows along the way, places where we can stop and watch the world, and the world can stop and watch us. There’s frequent traffic and activity, inside and out, and I enjoy it because I feel that we’re all sharing this middle of something, connected, and our spirit grows.

~ KJ
get out and stay out

September 16th, 2022

It’s hard to open a mind that doesn’t want to be open. Same thing goes for hearts and souls. A lot of good people move through life unfulfilled because they’re unwilling to change their narrative. They’ve established a persona, a way people expect them to be, so they fear that being anything else will chip away at their armor, change perspective, and force them to be more than they are.

And they’re right.

Changing course can be challenging. Small movements and little steps can lead you to a better place or take you deeper into the rut. And one rut leads to another. Negativity breeds negativity. Repeating bad habits becomes routine. It doesn’t take long for people to close up, hole themselves away, and blame others for their lot in life. When that happens, it becomes extremely difficult to help them see life in a different light. If alcohol is involved, offering a hand to help someone pry themselves open is nearly impossible.

I knew I wanted to quit drinking. The difficult part was doing it. Not because I couldn’t live without drinking. Not because quitting would change friendships and activities but because drinking was a habit that fit a persona I created when I was younger. Being the drinker, the “fun” guy, the one that could drink no matter what, was what I believed I needed to get me through. I believed drinking helped me cope, made me relax, and helped me be me. I felt right when drinking. And so, to quit that—the ability to pour a glass and get right—was a bit scary.

Giving up a way of life isn’t easy. The day I stopped drinking alcohol wasn’t any different than any other. It came and went without fanfare. It was a private decision. One made on my own in the basement of our old house while on lunch break. All the little steps I had taken over 25 years, forward, backward, and sideways, had led me to the point where change was necessary. The time spent drinking was wasteful and selfish. I made horrible mistakes. Did nefarious things. None of which I would have done had I been sober. Drinking changed my brain. Oh, I thought there were good times, but I wonder now if those good times would have been better without a drink.

I get more out of the days now than I ever have. My ability to think and reason has improved. I have higher highs now, and I do not experience those low lows. If you’re a serious drinker, if you’re really good at it like I was, you know what I mean. Those lovely, sinking, emotional lows when it’s you against the world. Nobody cares. They just don’t get it. Everything has so much meaning but is meaningless at the same time. And you drink more and more because it’s easier to keep going on the path you’re on than to pull back, think of others, and stop.

But you know that’s exactly what you need to do.

Breaking the cycle, getting out and staying out, that’s the hard part. But once you make that break, you’re free. Sure, you have to deal with feelings. You have to begin thinking for yourself because the bottle’s not there to flavor your decision-making. But all it takes is a step. Then another, and another. And it’s not 12 steps. It’s more than that. Much bigger than that. And when you start heading in the right direction, open-minded with nothing to lose and everything to gain, you will be amazed at how productive, strong, and good you are.

~ KJ
the drinking brain after 1 year and 10 months of sobriety

September 4th, 2022

Taste of fall this morning. Cool, gusty wind coming off Grand Lake. Lots of waves. The temperature will probably stay below 70. Not cold, but not warm enough for swimming or dragging people around the water on a tube. So, our activities will be land-based. Cornhole, ladder ball, sitting and standing around, talking. All of this is fine and good, and I’m looking forward to it.

Me, these days, always looking forward. But also getting better at looking at the now. And right now it’s pretty good. I’m here with the dogs, with time to wake slowly and drink coffee and write.

I’m growing more comfortable relating to people. It’s not confidence, really. It’s comfort. I’m good with who I am, my flaws, and I understand my past better than ever before. People have much to offer. They have insights, challenges, needs, and desires. The world, as it turns out, is not about me or you. It’s about us and how we relate to one another. It’s about how we take advantage of opportunities to better ourselves, understand others, and carve out our happiness.

The older I get, the more I realize that I can do plenty of things. I know my wheelhouse, so I’m not overreaching, but I’m learning that my core competencies have depths to be explored. And that exploration is advanced and enhanced by letting others in. Meeting. Listening. Talking. But mostly, listening. And the strange thing is the more I engage with others, the more I know about myself. I am discovering what makes us tick.

Communicating is key. For strangers, co-workers, family, and friends. For the world. There are many barriers to break down and overcome, but once we stand on common ground or sit in a booth at a coffee shop, we make progress. We begin to know our potential. The sky opens, light shines, and we begin to see the goodness in work, family, and the mundane.

This level of thinking and approach to life would never have been possible had I kept drinking. Quitting alcohol has allowed me to brighten my days, help others, and let go of anxiety, fear, and frustration. Sure, I still experience those emotions, but it’s not like before. Waking up pissed off at the world, all wound up inside, stuffing frustration down repeatedly so that it built up and had to erupt, mostly over the stupidest things. Issues I created that weren’t really issues at all. But the drinking brain is disorderly in its organization. It believes chaos is the answer. It likes things messy, cluttered, in disarray. It creates a broken reality in which destructive behavior, carelessness, and selfishness are the norm. It’s a ME brain. It’s all about insulating oneself against the outside world because “nobody understands.”

The drinking brain says and does whatever it wants no matter what the situation or company because the drinking brain “tells it like it is” and “just states the truth.” The more you drink, the more “truths” you discover. Soon, you’re swimming in so many of these so-called truths that you cannot function because you cannot relate to others. Except for other drinkers, of course. And so you run with them. You go fishing, and you drink. You watch a game together and drink. You camp and drink. You bowl and drink. You golf and drink. You drink and drink. It’s fun, you think. Relaxing. You’re “just havin’ a good time.” And you do this, over and over again, no matter how shitty you sleep, how awful you feel, and how much regret builds because when you’re in it, that is the truth. Drinking is the answer because you’ve convinced yourself that it calms you, removes the fear, and alleviates anxiety. And when those around you think the same, you get trapped.

Drinking makes you into someone you aren’t meant to be, at least not permanently. I’m an alcoholic, I guess. That’s the term that helps others identify my vice, my flaws, my intentions, and what they should expect from me. But I don’t like that term because drinking is more than the alcohol. There are reasons people migrate to the bottle like bugs to a lightbulb. One is they want to feel better by not feeling at all. The drinker, like a bug, will keep moving toward that warm, fuzzy glow time and time again because they don’t know, or don’t want to remember, anything else.

But they can. And it doesn’t take AA or a priest or jail time or losing friends or hurting family. It takes finding that one moment when you know that it’s not for you, that it doesn’t make sense, that alcohol is, indeed, a poison. And when you understand that, it becomes much easier to grab that fleeting moment of clarity and flip the switch. Begin a different path, away from that promise of warm fuzziness, into reality. It’s not easy. Life is not easy, but it’s navigable. It’s manageable. And letting others in to help, listen, yell at you, play with you, care for you, puts you on the fast track to healing. Because when you open that door, welcoming strangers and family alike, with the intent of just being there in whatever capacity they need, you recognize that you are fixable and good, that you have much to offer, and everything to look forward to.

Be good to each other. Reach out.

~ KJ
garbage day

August 10th, 2022

Another bag of trash to the can, then to the side of the road. Men with manners—they wave, nod, and even smile sometimes in passing—will be here soon to take it away and then lay the empty container on its side in the dewy grass. It’s summer, so hanging off the back of a garbage truck on a cool, sunny morning isn’t that bad. Yet. We’re only months away from cold hard rain, cold hard wind, cold hard snow. Everything cold. And hard.

But that’s okay. We will make the most of it. Watch our boy’s soccer games. Our girl’s silks routines. Do yard work. Regular work. Read new books, watch old movies, and play our favorite board games. Autumn brings color, flavored coffees, and easy walks with the dogs in cool weather. A welcome change of air and temperature and events that usher in months of wondering what it would be like to be snowbirds. The four of us living in a snow shovel-free zone where you can walk without slipping on ice, soaking up slush, and feeling extremities go numb.

Thinking about getting away, living an island life, is often enough to satisfy the itch. If not, there’s always winter vacation. A time to calculate, figure, deliberate and discuss, then CLICK! and we’re off for four nights someplace warm where people continually ask you if you’d like a drink. Where everything is bright and warm and cheerful with all-day all-you-can-eat buffets, giant chess games, pools, lounge chairs, and giant umbrellas where you can lay by the ocean all day if you want, snoring, and nobody gives you a second look.

For now, though, it’s another summer day. Garbage day. A few minutes before work. There’s plenty on the to-do list for me. And as I hear the rumble-roar of the truck down the street, I remember the trash in the bathroom, and in the kitchen, under the sink.

~ KJ
9:30 am, Saturday Morning

August 6th, 2022

A morning alone at the cottage. No breakfast. Only coffee and water and the buzzing of the 40-year-old refrigerator fueling me as I head straightaway into two years of sobriety, fourteen years of marriage, and another autumn that leads to months of cold, stories unfinished, travels not taken, amends not made.

The water will run. Light will rise. All of it continues or ends but does not wait. I know I don’t have another second, minute, hour, or day, that nothing is mine. And as the traffic rolls North and South on US23—people engaged in gears and motion, the in-between moments of life—I’m aware that the lake will ripple, rock, then settle to glass with or without my touch. The big cedars will get as big as they can get with or without my daytime dreams from the hammock they hold. And everything the grass and air and flowers have heard from me, they will keep.

Individual importance lies in our unimportance. This realization betters one’s chances for peace. Fighting, posturing, siding, and pretending—your wanting to belong to something bigger—is wasted effort, unless, of course, you recognize the wastefulness. If you look carefully to find the spinning wheels beneath people’s motives, actions, and desires, it becomes easy to stop, disconnect, take a breath and peel away the layers you’ve created year after year after year.

Everything aside from the moment I’m in is extra. There are plans. Lists. Hopes. But none of that is guaranteed. There is only the now. Writing while looking out the big window that shows me the green and the blue, and the red swing, and the firepit with tinder and wood piled pyramid style ready and waiting for the next easy evening when we’re all here. At our cottage. Whomever we are. Whenever we are. Unplugged, in the dark, under the stars.

~ KJ