Some people tell me divorce is composed of puzzle pieces and patterns but I tell them it is too simple an explanation for me and that all life can be seen that way.
I pop two Ibuprofen and wonder if the pain in my leg is a strain or tied into signs of Diabetes as one page of doc Google suggests.
Some people walk or drive all damn day long, touring around familiar places and spaces as well as the unfamiliar and then settle in for the night and read blog posts by guys who sometimes call themselves Jack.
I go looking for more links on Doc Google and diagnose myself as having a bad case “Old as fuck with lots of mileage on the wheels.”
Mull over whether to take a night off from the gym and force myself to do it just to see if it helps. My clothes seem to fit better in some ways but not as good in others.
The others don’t bother me because I see signs that muscles that once rippled have chosen to show up again and I figure given their repeated usage it is for more than just a visit.
A few people decide to go to war with me about things they don’t understand because they haven’t joined my club.
I tell them it is different in here and that one day they’ll know but they don’t yet and they ought to be thankful for that.
I’d gladly give up my membership.
There are some patterns that I have broken and some that have broken me but I always rebuild never knowing if they are going to regenerate alongside of me.
It is what happens when in the age of the pyramids you agree to carry that weight. The magic you used to build requires a sacrifice and you don’t get to pick what it is.
You just accept that it is part of who and what you are.
The intensity will wear people out. They will tire of the fire and the hammer against the anvil and some will walk or run away because it is too much.
But not all…not all.
There was a moment today where I recognized I was operating on gut instinct and intuition alone.
A moment when I knew I was either going to fail or succeed based solely upon my willingness to not use convention or traditional choices.
If it worked there might be a conversation in which I asked for forgiveness and if it didn’t, well you can only fall down the mountain once per day.
I am told you can’t fill your own tank in New Jersey which is funny to me cuz I always do. I don’t have the patience to wait for some Joe to come around to do my job.
It is a weird law to me but I suppose I ought to consider honoring it.
What strikes me the most about this is I have heard several stories about new drivers who don’t know how to fill their tank and I don’t get it.
If you live in a state in which you aren’t legally obligated to let someone else fill your car I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t teach your kids.
My kids know how to put gas in. They know how to do their own laundry and cook.
They can tell you the difference between a Phillips and a Flat head and they know that they better be able to save themselves because they can’t guarantee mom and dad will be able to.
It is the one gift of adversity, figuring out how to do things and beginning to understand when you have barely tapped into your own capabilities.
They have heard me roar at them about this and scream that their will be no acceptance of failure to try. Failure that comes after doing your best is a different story and honorable, but failure to try is unacceptable.
It is my job as a father to make sure they know about the great contradiction in which I promise to do all I can to support them and yet make them aware I may not be there to catch them.
Maybe it is because I can’t and maybe it is because I won’t because I believe doing so would stunt their growth.
They know these things and they know their grandfather and I sometimes went to war about life and the choices we make.
Got a million more things to say and another two million to do but I think I need to just walk and get some air.
Time to breathe and maybe see if some of the puzzles and patterns start to make more sense. I am going to get where I am going, but it doesn’t hurt to try not to do it the hard way.