I just had a girl tell me that it wouldn’t work out because I live an hour away.  This was before we’d went on a single date, and before we even got to know each other. We established a mutual interest, made plans, then she called it off because it wasn’t in her logistic interest. Granted this is logical, but since when has love been logical? Right about now you might be rolling your eyes; That’s right reader, another romantic.

And how could I not be? I grew up on stories about people moving from distant lands, falling in love, and surpassing unbelievable odds just to stay with the one they knew form the moment they met that this was love.  Nowadays, with the popularizations of internet dating and social media being in everyone’s back (and front) pockets there is no need to rely on such whimsical matters of the heart. The fact is, and this is a hard truth so brace yourself, we have left the era of the love story. 

No more will grandchildren hear stories about how grandpa came to the ‘New World’ with 50 cents in his pocket, hitchhiked fifty miles to some remote town because he heard about a job and a bit of land, found an amazing girl before he even got on the bus outta New York, and they were married the next day.

Sorry kids. Grandpa met grandma on Tinder because she was within ten miles of his home and her friends were out at the bar and she just “didn’t feel like getting drunk that night”.

Gather ‘round the Christmas tree and settle in for this one. Grandpa and Grandma boned on the first date and they decided it was good enough to stay together.  Then, seven years later they decided to get married because they had been living together for so long it just made sense.

I don’t buy it.

I’m sorry, but I hate that.  I know I said in my last entry, If I Were To Die Tomorrow, that I try not to hate, but this is one of those circumstances I mentioned. I want a love story. I want a magical happenstance meeting in the rain.  I want giant romantic gestures that won the girl of my dream’s heart. I want the unbelievable.

Maybe too much…

It’s not realistic anymore and maybe that’s why there are so many people alone.  Even some of the ones who find someone are really alone because too many of us are waiting for the magic and settling for the bland when the magic doesn’t show it’s ugly face.  In all honesty, I wish the magic was still alive, but I don’t believe in it anymore.  That’s one of the reasons I love shows like How I Met Your Mother and Elf. Stories about finding your destiny.  I like to think that somewhere out there there are little boys and girls who will bring the magic back. After the nuclear apocalypse and global warming, they will surpass insurmountable odds and find each other on a black glacier in the middle of the Baltic Sea and they will embrace and the next day they will be wed.

It could happen.  But not in my lifetime. I hope. That stuff scares me. The end of the world stuff, not the marriage stuff. Obviously.

‘When you grow up the world will get so much smaller.’  That’s the thought that ran through my head that made me want to sit down and write all this on to the page. I know you want to hear that it’s because of some grand gesture that I sit in my apartment with Thanksgiving leftovers in the oven and a beer getting warm on my counter. I know you want me to dribble on and on about how everything will work out and love happens when you least expect it and sometimes it takes longer to find the one you are meant to be with. Well, what if I’ve already swiped left on the one I’m meant to be with?

Hypothetically, in this hyperactive dating society that we live in, isn’t it possible that in scouring the world I’ve abandoned the one hope of true happiness, true love, because of something stupid like we live on the opposite side of town? It’s all too possible. And only because there are too many options out there.

The reason the world gets smaller when you grow up is you start to realize you can get anywhere in next to no time. An hour doesn’t seem like much to me because I’m what the locals call, “well traveled”. I’ve seen most of the United States and I’ve been to Europe and I’ve driven through Canada, most of which took several trips that lasted well over nine hours, some as long as seventy. And yes, that’s a -ty, not -teen.  This is the reason an hour across town to meet the potential girl of my dreams doesn’t seem like a long trip.  Hell, if I had to make a trip around the world to visit the girl of my dreams, wouldn’t that be worth it?  Isn’t that what Grandpa did when he met Grandma?  Half-way around the world with two quarters to his name, just to stumble upon good fortune and a pretty girl.

Would you be alive if Grandpa had access to a dating app?  What if Grandma was outside of his search area?  What if Grandma didn’t put out on the first date so Grandpa said screw it, I’m going to find an easier girl and he went on his little dating app and met up with a different Grandma.  Who would you be if you had a different, sleazier Grandma?

I’m not sure. I’m not sure about any of it.  I don’t mean to ruin my credibility here as your narrator through this journey of love and catastrophe, but sometimes that just can’t be helped.

I think it’s also fair to say that there are a few lucky people out there with old souls. The ones that hang on just a little bit longer.  The ones that meet at fundraisers or funerals.  The ones that bump into each other on the subway every day for a week until they can’t deny their fate any longer and they go get a coffee together. It’s a nice thought. And maybe after their coffee and they find out that they live across town from each other, they decide this is worth it. This, what they found on that subway or next to Earl-from-the-office’s casket, is worth anything and everything.  I’ll look forward to that story around the Christmas tree. Even if it never comes.

If I were to die tomorrow I’m not sure who would find me.

Probably my mom.  That would be sad for her. But I think she would know what to do, or figure it out with relative ease.  I’m sure there are a few unfortunate people out in the world who have googled: What to do when you discover a dead body.  She might call my brother, crying, and ask for help.  That’s one reason I hope I die before my siblings. So that they can help everyone after I go.  If I were the last to go, I suppose that wouldn’t be bad either. I just don’t want to leave anyone alone when I die.

If I were to die tomorrow I would lose all of my things.

I don’t have a lot of them, not even a bed or a very big tv. So losing them wouldn’t be the worst consequence of dying. But they would stop smelling like me after a while and they would become cool to the touch when I’m not around to pick them up anymore. I would hope my mugs go to a good owner. Donated or taken greedily; I don’t care. They’re not nice mugs, but they deserve to be filled with hot things from time to time.

My books are next to worthless.  They won’t cover the cost of the funeral or even the trip to the morgue in the ambulance. But they have good stories to tell.  Some of them I’ve lived multiple times.  I have a nice edition of Catcher in The Rye that I know someone would want hang onto if they wanted to keep something of mine.

I’ve spent a good portion of my life collecting things, then trying to get rid of things, and abandoning things. Leaving everything behind would be such a relief.

If I left the world tomorrow I would meet my psychopomp.

I would ask her what she did to get such a nice gig and I would thank her for meeting me.  She might wipe my final tear from my eye and she might smile when she does it. I would ask her about my dog that died a few years back and I would apologize for all the questions. My finial apology.  I hear that in death your worries leave you, and if I’m not worried I won’t have to think about things that make me apologize.

I would ask her if her job is done when she takes me to my last destination and if she’s free for a cup of coffee. I wouldn’t use a line or tempt her with false promises, and only partly because I don’t understand the promises of the dead.  I plan to be very genuine once I’ve died.  I imagine it’s much easier than it is when you’re still alive.

If I died tomorrow I would miss the rest of my life.

But only slightly.  I have a lot to look forward to, I would tell myself, and now I can forget about that.  It won’t be an angry thought.  No. It’ll be a thought that I will carry with me, as if in my pocket, and feel its weight, but I won’t hate that thought.  And I won’t hate the idea of missing out on bits of existence I missed out on.

If I were to die tomorrow I would not hate.

I try not to now, but stuff happens. And if I’m not going to hate when I’m dead then I better enjoy it while I still can.  There are bits of this world that are easier to hate when you’re a part of it, I would imagine.  People, places, and jobs that seems so big and overwhelming don’t hold any weight in an afterlife.  If there is an afterlife.  Even less weight if there is no afterlife.  I think I would like to try not-existing.  It might put more reason and rhyme into existing. I’m sure I would have so many questions and maybe even some answers I would like to share. I expect that will be hard, too.  If I am given answers in death, how hard will it be to watch the ones I’ve left behind struggle with those questions?

If I were to die tomorrow I would leave space for someone else.

In my apartment.  In the kitchen where I have prepared so few meals. On the couch where I lay to watch TV.  On the train that I ride to work. And even in the antique shop I’ve only gone in once. After I go I hope to take up very little room. Much less than when I was alive. This world seems so big, but it is filled with so many lives that need living.

To my reader:

If I were to die tomorrow, it would be one heck of a coincidence that this was published the day before my death.

Thanks as always for reading. I hope that this little passage about what I think death is and how it effects the world gave you a little thinking cap.

Performing the same action over and over expecting a different outcome.

This understanding of insanity resonates with me wholly.  Originally it was Albert Einstein’s idea, at least that’s who is attributed to the statement. I am paraphrasing the definition, of course.  Maybe that’s what makes this meaning resonate so deeply with me. I’ve turned it into my own words and made it my own.  In another sense, I have made this insanity my own insanity.

I’m not insane. Not clinically. At least, I’ve never been diagnosed.  These days it is harder to tell who is on their rocker and who is off, but I like to see my self as rational. Rational here being the counter to insanity. And attempting to achieve a new and different outcome from some action merely by repeating it does seem irrational to me. Maybe it does to you, too, reader.

Regardless, I am not insane.  Not the way we’ve established above.  I learn from my mistakes and I attempt to change my behavior based on those negative or positive results. Relationships, careers, even educating myself.  I learn what works and what doesn’t and I alter my disposition in relation to the world around me.

Now, I would like to present a counter definition of insanity:

Doing something different over and over expecting the same result.

It is similar, I know, but in only altering the definition slightly, changing a few words, it becomes completely different.  Instead of doing one action over an over, we never do the same action twice, but we expect the same result every time.

Let me give you a hyperbole to make an example that will stress my point. This would be like putting salt in water, drinking it, and finding it salty.  Then, we add sugar to a new glass of water instead of salt, but we still expect it to be salty. 

I’m not saying it’s a perfect analogy, but I am saying that this does sound equally insane as definition number one. 

How can one person relate to two different and yet similar definitions of insanity? Well, people are complex.  There are some people out there, actually probably most of the people out there, who don’t even feel like the same every day.

Here’s my dilemma. I learn from my mistakes, I alter my behavior, but when I do I still expect the same outcome. I may look for a new outcome, even hope for one, but I never expect one. Maybe this will make more sense if I get into more detail.  Only for you, reader.

If you’ve been reading this blog at all, you know that I move a lot. A lot. And often for what seems to be no reason at all.  Fair enough.  I should tell you why I move so much. Why I crave change of setting, character and plot. I get bored.

Simple, elegant, and just enough for us to plod on with. I get bored. I look for somewhere new to go, I go there, struggle to change and adapt, I adapt, get bored and finally seek change once again.  Except it’s not a finality. This is a cycle. By constantly changing and going to different places, I am submitting to a vicious cycle that is will v.s. world.

What I tell myself I want, what I truly believe I want, is a person/people who I can stick with. And maybe this is true. I think it is. I rented a room from a  woman in California for a few months and one night she and I talked about the two different types of people.  There are people who put emphasis on places, and there are people who put emphasis on people.

I believe myself to be the latter. It’s easy for me to make friends, and when I meet a new person I  am the type of person who trusts way to early. We might get into that later. Right now I want to stay on topic.

If I am the type of person who emphasizes relationships with people over relationships with places, it would make sense that I would want to explore more places than explore more people because, and please stay with me here, it is easier to leave places.

I know what you must be asking yourself because I’m asking myself the same question.  Isn’t it the same?  When you leave a place, don’t you leave the people?

I have an answer to that question that I am reasonably happy with and I’ll share it with you: Yes. 

Happy?

No?

Alright, let’s elaborate. I moved to California for four months. I got bored in Alaska and started looking for a change in scenery.  Once there, I met a few nice people, and I plan on keeping in touch with those people.  That being said, am I really leaving them by leaving California?  Sure, I won’t see them as often as if I still lived in that California town by the beach, but in reality they are a phone call or a ten hour drive away.  And that’s important to me.  What is not important to me is that town that I lived in for those four months.  I would not go back to see the town. I would not call the town on a night when I’m feeling sentimental.  So when I leave a person, no it’s not easy, but I don’t forget about that person easily.  Leaving a place, that’s easy.  Pack your bags, hit the road, never look back.  One, Two, Three.

This is the part where I tie up those loose ends and toss the package in the kitchen drawer for you to find when you get home.

Insanity is doing something over and over and expecting a different outcome. Or, insanity is doing something different each time and expecting the same outcome.  Can we mush these two together in the interest of simplicity? Insanity is expecting an outcome. Hey, that’s nice. 

If insanity means to expect a certain outcome, then who isn’t insane?  And really, the way things are going these days, doesn’t it feel like everyone is going a little insane?  Is that derogatory?

My form of insanity is moving, and expecting to not be lonely.  The only problem is, when everything is always different, nothing is ever the same.  Maybe this is my conscience telling me to slow down a bit.  I wish I had a better way of throwing all this at you, reader.  I started this essay with an idea that I would talk about airports and lonely people traveling around everywhere.  It seems I’ve missed my mark this time.

That’s the trouble, though, isn’t it. By expecting a result, we are fooling ourselves into thinking that the world works a certain way.  I don’t know about you reader, but I have had the rug pulled out from under me too many times to believe the world works in only one way.  Every time I figure something out, it seems to change just as quickly. And if it doesn’t, that’s when I get bored and make the change happen. That does sound insane. If things don’t change for me, I make them change. You know, before I wrote this, I felt as though I were floating along, taking my life as a lazy drift along the current just taking the opportunities that came by. Now that I’ve got it down, I’m starting to see that maybe I’m the one swimming out into deeper water looking for that faster current.

As always, thanks for reading.  I hope you’re out there somewhere with your head above water.

“If you don’t believe in yourself, you’re a fucking coward.” Dan Avidan

About two months ago I moved to California.  I picked up my life, put it in a small car, and drove from Juneau, Alaska to Arcata, California.  You can’t actually drive out of Juneau, Alaska, I had to take a ferry most of the way, but I had everything in a car so it’s easier to say I drove.  Three days on a boat is no small feat, but not a bad way to go.  If you’re ever thinking of moving to Alaska, I highly recommend taking the ferry system.  There’s nothing like a cool morning on the deck of a boat cruising through the channels of northern Washington, Canada, and Alaska.

I digress.

About two months ago I landed in California and started working a job that I didn’t particularly care for. I took it to get out of Alaska, where I had been living with my father to save money.  The move would essentially function as a transition back to the real world.

Fast forward to just about two weeks ago.  I got a call from another part of the organization I work for.  Someone down in Orange County wanted to interview me for a position.  The next day, same story from a job in Seattle. I liked the idea of getting out of Arcata.  It’s a drug town with a college problem. Most of the money made and spent in Arcata came from marijuana.  I have no issue with those of you who want to partake in recreational drugs. It’s just not for me.

The issue at this point was my living space.  I had put in an application for an apartment at one of the two complexes in town.  At the time that I did this I had been set-up in an AirBNB; short-term living situation to say the least. 

So now I found myself in a race.

If I interviewed well on the new job, I might be moving to Seattle or Orange Country within a few months and have no need for an apartment in Arcata. If I sucked in the interview, I would be staying in Arcata and need an apartment. During the process, my time at the AirBNB would come to an end and I would find myself homeless. 

I thought about this a lot, too.  Would it be impossible for me to be homeless?  I know that in Japan there are thousands of people who have steady jobs, but don’t have a place to live because there just aren’t enough places to house them.  Living out of my car seemed like a struggle, but a one that I could cope with.  One I surely hoped I wouldn’t have to cope with, but if it came to it, I would deal with the situation as best I could.

That’s one thing you pick up when you spend most of your life moving from one place to another.  Not much seems insurmountable. I’ve become quiet adept at rolling with the punches and adapting to new situations.

There may seem like there should have been an easy fix to my situation.  I could just find another AirBNB, right? Well, the one that I had found turned out to be the only long-term AirBNB in the town. There are also no extended stay hotels in Arcata.  And most rooms you rent come with a six-month lease that becomes month-to-month at the end of that period. My options were sparse if I was hoping to get out of town within a few months.

Another week went by and I did very well on the interview.  At the same time, the apartment complex needed an answer about the apartment.

The dilemma arises:

Do I sign the lease to an apartment and count on myself doing poorly on the next level of the interview, or do I take a chance on me, put everything I have into the interview and count on them choosing me over all their other candidates?

I have more than a few grey hairs on my head because of this week of my life. I told the apartment to hold on for a weekend and I did the interview.  It went well and I decided that whatever happened, I would put all my faith in me.  After the weekend, I told the apartment complex that I didn’t need the apartment. I’d heard that the apartment complexes in this town are ruthless when it comes to breaking leases. And I waited. I waited two days before I got a call from the job in Seattle.

They wanted me.

This hectic week resulted in one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Not only had I taken a huge chance on myself, but I had dropped my Plan-B.  I had put all my chips in my corner and came out on top.  There’s nothing quite like finding out that you have the ability and courage to work out all your troubles after all.  I took the job and now I’m planning a move rather than a way to stay in a place I don’t like for longer than I need. I’m planning a future rather than a way to survive today.

In a world like the one that we live in, it’s important to be independent and strong.  It’s also important to have people you can rely on.  Take my father for instance. Any time I talk to him he ends his calls by saying: “let me know if you need any help.”

Coming from anyone else, this would be great.  Coming from anyone else I would feel like someone has my back hoping I succeed and they’re there if I fail.  Coming from my father, all I hear is that he knows that I’ll need his help in the future because I’m not good enough to succeed on my own. In my world, relying on my father is giving up on myself.

I know that this may not make much sense, and you may have trouble relating to it, reader, and I honestly hope that you do.  If you see your parents as a supportive foundation upon which you can build your dreams, all the better. But I’m not like that. Not right now anyway. And that’s why, when I took that chance on me, I really took a chance on allowing my father to see me as another charity case.

I don’t want to be someone’s charity case, reader.  And I don’t want to be a ‘fucking coward.”  I believe that it takes a lot of courage to say: “I’m good enough.” I think it takes a lot of courage to put everything on the line and hold faith in yourself when no one else seems to. Asking for help is difficult and important, and I’m learning to do that more without feeling guilty, but this time, it was important that I do it on my own.  And I feel all the stronger for it. I’ve reached new limits. I’ve broadened my horizons.

Reader, I’m not encouraging you to forgo any assistance that might be offered.  But I am encouraging you to be true to yourself.  Count on yourself more than anyone else. You may not believe it, but you have a lot more to offer yourself than you think.  Sometimes it’s hard to see how everything will work out, and at times the world may seem too dark to see the light, but those are the times when it’s important to take a breath, give it your all, and count on yourself to pull through. 

I did.  Even if it seems like something that would have worked out anyway, I felt pretty desperate and I felt like giving up more than a few times.  But I didn’t. I held on longer than I thought I could. And now I’m not sure anything is impossible.

“And indeed there will be time

To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse…

Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.”

–

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T.S. Eliot

When I was born, I technically did disturb the universe.  I couldn’t help it.  I don’t remember putting in the effort, and I don’t remember much of anything beyond that point for a good five-years, but I did disturb the universe.  I am to blame for that.

Is that right, though?

Should I have made such an impression, and how much more of an impression am I allowed to have?

While driving on the highway you will notice me.  I am the one going the speed limit, taking his time on curvy roads, avoiding cyclists with a wide birth, and allowing others to pass me without much hesitation or grumbling.  That being said, I do hold up some eager drivers out there.  On two lane roads, when I am given just the right amount of space for my care and no one else’s, I do tend to block some people’s progression on the road as they try to urge me into going beyond the set speed limit. I impede those who want to go faster.  Not because I am making an effort to slow them down, but by merely following the rules of the road, I am now disturbing their universe.

Am I allowed to do that?  Am I allowed to put my goals above everyone else’s goals?  Can I go at my own speed even if it slows or speeds others up?  And if I am allowed, do I dare?

At times I find myself under a lot of pressure to behave in a manner imposed upon me by others.  They are imposing their own beliefs onto me, disturbing my universe.  If this is right or wrong, it doesn’t matter.  They are disturbing my universe.

“Do I dare to eat a peach?”

Whose peach am I taking away?  Who is not getting to eat that peach because I ate it. Who am I saving from that peach?  If the pit were rotten and worm infested, am I taking away the pain of biting into that peach from someone more or less fortunate than myself.  In that moment, I would be more less fortunate than them because of my actions.  I am disturbing their universe, but I am taking away pain that they would otherwise be enduring, and they no longer ever have to experience the pain that that peach would have brought them.  But the joy of biting into that perfect peach, if that be the case, is never going to be theirs either.  In either case, I am disturbing their universe. For better or worse I am changing the way they experience the world, and I am the one to blame regardless of the outcome.

Am I allowed to do that?

What are the consequences if I eat a peach, if I disturb someone’s universe?  What consequences will befall me, and only me, if I disturb the universe around me?  Not just someone else’s universe, but the universe in its entirety?

I’m not sure. Because I have only ever experienced these consequences and do not know the world in which the consequences do not exist.  Because I exist, I have only ever experienced a world in which the consequences of my existence have been played out. And every time with no other world to compare them to.

In the episode of Futurama entitled “The Farnsworth Parabox” we find our heroes transported, through a cardboard box, into a world in which all coin flips from their universe came out the opposite way.  This means that every time they, any of them, flipped a coin that resulted in heads in their universe, in turn resulted in tails in this other universe.  Let’s call them ‘Universe A’ and ‘The Fighting Mongooses’.  In Universe A, Fry and Leela were not married, Bender had a Fog Hat Grey finish, and the Professor did not have a stylish head wound. In The Fighting Mongooses, Fry and Leela were married, Bender had a gold finish, and the Professor had a stylish head wound. All of this because of the reversed outcomes of parallel coin flips.

Now, this is an imagination of what could happen regarding views of alternate universes and the decisions we make and how those decisions we make effect the world around us, and the universe beyond that. There are theories out there that outlay possibilities of existing parallel universes, my favorite being The Mandela Effect.  In a quick summary that does not do the Effect justice, The Mandela Effect is a theory that proposes the idea that people come from different universes, and, at some point in their lives, come over to the universe we currently all reside within. Those people hold memories from their childhood from the other universe, but otherwise do not realize that anything else is different. For instance, The Berenstain Bears in their universe being called The Bernstein Bears.

I’m not going as far as proposing the idea, or even supporting the idea, that I come from another universe, or even that you do, reader.  In fact, I’m saying quite the opposite.  I come from the same universe you do, and in that we now belong to the same construct, the universe. We’re not given the opportunity to view a world in which we don’t exist, and as far as we know, that universe doesn’t exist.

How much of your action and how much of my action are we allowed to impose upon one another?  How much can I do, how much am I allowed to do, before I’ve completely altered your actions?  And is that too much?  Am I, as a fellow being in this universe allowed to fully alter another human being’s experience in this universe?  And by writing this, haven’t I already altered too much?

My goal as a writer, the reason behind me wanting to become a full-fledged published author, has always been to inspire people the way my favorite authors have inspired me.  I would like to influence others to enjoy reading, to live with imagination, to have dreams and the ability to envision those dreams being conquered and achieved. It’s impossible to achieve my dream unless I influence other people.  It’s impossible for me to achieve my dream without disturbing the universe. I didn’t make the rules, but I abide by them.  I occupy my space, I occupy the same space as everyone else in this universe, and that, by pure and simple logic, means that I will disturb the universe and I am allowed to do just that.  Just as much as anyone else.  Just as much as you are entitled to disturb the universe you exist within, reader.

You have the responsibility of eating that peach.

In my life I have been in love twice. Both times I became so obsessed with the girl that when they eventually broke my heart, it hurt for months, maybe even years afterward. It’s a present sort of pain, the kind that persists without peaks or valleys.

There’s a man out there, a comedian or a profit.  It’s hard to tell the difference these days. This man tells a story during his act. He talks about a girl who broke his heart and hurt him so badly that he could not love again for a long time. Yet, when pressed to think about it, he says that if he were to see her on the street and see her begging for food or shelter, he would stop and he would help her. Because he loves her.  Not loved. Loves. That’s the important message of his story. He never stopped caring for her, even after he felt that she stopped caring for him.

I have noticed that concept is a foreign one in today’s society.  Too many times I have seen two people fall in love, then break-up and never talk to each other again.  One day they are completely in love, the next day they couldn’t care less if the other person got hit by a bus.

I’m not sure how this line of thinking came along, but I would be lying if I said I never became persuaded to a similar line of thinking. After college I left the town that I had lived in for over five-years.  On my way out of town I decided that if I were to keep friends I should make sure they were meaningful ones.  I ended up cutting a lot of people out of my life, in real vindictive ways, too.  Years later, I realized that the only thing that I gained from doing that was loneliness. Seems simple enough when you think about it.  Guy cuts people out of his life, guy realizes he lost friends.

Well, honestly, I didn’t think about it at the time.  I was so focused on leaving, starting my new life, getting new loves and new friends, that I didn’t realize what I was giving up until it was gone.  Cue every song on the radio ever.

It took an episode of Doctor Who to offer me an epiphany.  Now, I have had strikingly few epiphanies in this life (I’m still young, so don’t worry, there will most likely be more), but this one is by far the biggest.

The episode in question showed a companion of The Doctor betray his trust and then expect vengeance to be her reward.  Instead of vengeance, he offers her kindness. He says: “You think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?”

This blew my mind.  For the first time I had seen an instance of a character finding someone who had wounded them, who put significant effort into wounding them, and the character responds with not only kindness, but acceptance.  He accepts this companion for who she is, even the part of her that betrayed him.

‘Betrayed’ here is such a huge word.  When the girlfriend I had in college told me she wanted to break-up I felt betrayed.  When the girlfriend I had some years after that told me she wasn’t really feeling the relationship, I felt betrayed.  It’s a huge concept. Betrayal. It’s something you can’t do to just anyone on the street.  It requires the gaining of someone’s trust, then turning that trust against them completely.

The difference was my response to these girls. I say girls here because in my mind they are both a bit immature.  Not in a way that I’m trying to lash out at them through the internet, but in a way that I understand that they have some growing up to do.  I’m fine referring to myself as ‘boy’ in the same connotation.

The way I responded to girl number one was the way I had been trained by popular belief of friends, social media, and basic advice off the internet. Remember, this break-up was tough and I searched long and hard for a balm to my emotional burn.  As a result of my exhaustive searching, I told her that she wouldn’t hear from me again and now I have no idea where she is in life and I feel about as good as one can after cutting someone who once meant a great deal to them out of their life.

Girl number two I treated a little differently. Please understand, these relationships were several years apart, as I’ve said, and I feel as though there were a few life lessons learned in between.  Particularly from a certain Doctor.

When girl number two broke-up with me, I told her I understood and I want her to be happy.  And I didn’t hear anything. For months. Then I sent her an e-mail.  Told her I missed talking to her and I recognize how easy it is to cut important people from your life, told her that I didn’t want to make the mistake of pushing her away from me, despite the horrid feelings that come after someone says you’re not good enough for them to love.  I told her that despite everything, she could find me if she needed me.

And I felt better.  At least, better than I did after the way I handled girl number one. I feel as though I can uphold that comedian-profit man’s lesson.  And maybe I won’t have to wait until she’s lost everything in life to prove to her that I can still be there.  Maybe I can prove to myself that I am allowed to care for people who have hurt me, and the only response to pain isn’t more pain.

I know that some religions preach this about friends or family, but for me starting a family, meeting that right person, and falling madly in love has always been at the top of my list.  So when the pain hit so close to home, so did the lesson. And I realize now that if I care about someone, it shouldn’t matter if they betray me, I can still feel the way I do about them. I can offer them food and shelter and anything else. 

Have you ever heard of the Trickle Down Theory?  In case you haven’t, it’s a theory that came about in Hoover’s day to help deal with the Great Depression.  What it attempted to provide was relief for the poor by giving more money to the rich.  In theory, the rich would then spend more money, and the money would trickle down the economic system of America to the point where more money would be flowing from the pockets of the rich and into the pockets of the poor. It didn’t work.  The rich kept the extra money and the poor got poorer and The Great Depression went on.

Anyway, this idea I’m talking about is like that. Only it seems to work a little bit better.  Because finding a partner, getting married, having a family and what not is so high up in my list of To Do’s, everything under that on the list gets a bit of the lessons benefits.  For example, I learn that betrayal is just a word and I don’t have to take it to heart when a loved one breaks said heart, now I’m not only placing more understanding throughout my romantic relationships, but my relationships with my family, my friendships, work colleagues, people I meet from the bar, people I talk to on the street and so on.

Sure, I may have a damaged heart at the moment, but I’m not letting that get in the way of being the good person that I want to be. I can hurt and still help people heal, and so can you, reader.