My long road to triathlon

I have wanted to (run?) a triathlon for a very long time, at least as far back as 2006. I actually did do a sprint triathlon that year, but had not done one since.

I really enjoyed that first experience, even though I messed up on the swim and had a flat tire on the bike. Sometimes when we fail the first time, it inspires us to try, try again. That was certainly the experience with my first bike event (which I did not finish) and with my first marathon attempt (which I also did not finish). Yet for some reason the triathlon dream/plan lay mostly dormant.

I did plan on attempting another tri in 2009. By that point I had been biking and running for a few years, so I started going to the pool to train since this would be my weakest link. But 2009 would be the year of unraveling, so it did not happen.

No real excuse for the intervening ten years, though.

Still, the dream was there in the background. I have the 2006 and 2007 Ironman Championships on DVD and I regularly watch them whenever I needed inspiration for an upcoming event. Over the years I have run nineteen marathons, twelve half marathons and ridden in several biking events that surpassed one or two hundred miles, but for some reason the triathlon remained a back of my mind/someday sort of thing.

A couple of things finally pushed it from "someday" to the desire to make it finally happen.

The first was when I went down to St George Utah to run the marathon with Sean, Marci, Jonathan and BG in October of 2016. That event and long weekend was a wonderful reunion of great, long-running friends. Sean had found this great place to rent when he had run the event a few years earlier, so as a part of the weekend we all got to hang out on the patio for several nights to catch up on all things great and small since we now lived a couple of states away from each other.

Some months previously Sean shared that he and BG had participated in their first sprint triathlon. They both had a great time and could see themselves doing it again. There on the patio in St. George, Sean let me know that they had both signed up for the Oceanside Half-Ironman Triathlon the following April. I was both rather blown away that Sean was taking on this distance, and bummed when I logged on to find that it was sold out.

We chatted excitedly about the Half-Ironman on their horizon. I can't even remember if this was before or after we ran the marathon that weekend, but the enthusiasm for this future endeavor almost grabbed attention away from the present challenge/accomplishment. I've had this goal percolating in the background for at least a decade, and here I had someone I had run many (many) miles with set to take on the challenge. It made it more real, somehow more realistic. If Sean could do it, maybe Sean could do it.

The second thing that finally pushed "someday" to "this year" was when I was dating Angie. She had done several Half-Ironman and full Ironman events. When we were still in the excited, planning stage of things, she let me know that she was going to do the Half-Ironman in Coeur d'Alene in June of this year. I had tax season and the marathon in Big Sur in April, but I believed I could half-ass my way into training to at least complete the thing. That was the final spark I needed.

Although Angie, and by extension Coeur d'Alene, did not work out, the seed long planted was set to bloom. 2019 would be the year. After the marathon in April, I had no other major running/biking events on the calendar. It wasn't really now or never, but damn it, just shut up and make it happen.

More to follow..

Relationship rewind

I have been meaning to get back here. Meaning to talk about a silly running challenge I set for myself over the holidays. Meaning to talk about what the new year looked like as it was approaching. Meaning to just write for crying out loud.

Then I met somebody.

Our first date was at the end of November, and December was a whirlwind. Getting to know each other, learning each other's stories, reminding ourselves what it is like to have someone else in our lives Along with our other dates, we also went to several gatherings with friends and family throughout the Christmas season. It may have seemed odd to introduce someone to your friends and family within the first few weeks of dating, but it really didn't feel odd at all. I have never started out a relationship where we so immediately connected and freely shared our beauty and baggage. It was refreshing how open we were. Maybe it is a stage of life where you just put your cards on the table and say "this is who I am", and it felt great.

We kept joking that January would be so boring after such a busy December, but I felt no let down. Of course our schedules were back to the normal work hours with some late nights, but we managed to fit in seeing each other as a priority. We went on a wonderful Mount Rainier adventure together over the new year, and made several plans for the months ahead. Plane tickets were purchased, event fees were paid, etc.

I meant to come back here to write about this exciting turn of events. Maybe part of the reason I put it off was that I knew she read this blog, so it added a bit of pressure to what I would say. Too much, too little? As a side note, it is an interesting experience to date someone where they have access to twelve years of your life to read about online, as well as to a book you wrote that is also deeply personal. Like I said, cards on the table.

Another reason I didn't return to the blog is that I often turn to writing to sort through my feelings and I guess I just didn't feel like I needed it at that point. Mainly I think I didn't write because I was just busy being happy.

Unfortunately, she broke up with me last weekend. No real explanation, just that it was over.

To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. Again, I felt we really connected, and my friends and family loved her too. I hadn't seen any red flags, hardly any even in washed out shades of pink. But now I am rewinding through the past three months, reviewing things that I may have missed in the moment that now take on a different meaning. Was it this or that small moment where things took a turn. When we kissed goodnight after our Valentine's dinner a week earlier, did she know then that it would be our last? I won't write about any guesses here because they are just that, guesses.

It is strange now to look at the last post I wrote here, all about the damage it did to my recovery to not know why my marriage ended, and to now have this post backed up against it about another breakup where I feel clueless. Before she left last Saturday I asked her that even if she couldn't tell me right now the "why", I  hoped that she would sometime soon, and she agreed to try. The not-telling may feel like you are sparing someone's feelings, but at least for me it means spiraling thoughts of doubt and endless questions. If it is something that I am unable or unwilling to change, then that would be something, understandable. Beyond the not knowing, I guess it just pains me that she couldn't trust me to have a conversation about what was on her mind.

I went out on a ten mile run last weekend an hour or so after the breakup happened. I have to say that the run did me a lot of good in starting to sort things out. It gave me a chance to be alone and in motion, feel a little less helpless, swap a little emotional pain with the physical. In the intervening week, friends have been very supportive, sitting in the moment while I take my time working through this. I remain lucky.

I don't know what the future holds for either of us. Will our paths remain separate or intertwine again in some way in the future. What will be the thing(s) that I learn this time around. Is it a good or bad thing that a three month relationship means so much. Will I fall back on the bad habit of trying to protect my heart, or will I risk it by remaining open. When will there be fewer questions.

Cold morning, stripped bare.

Flying solo

I'm in the habit of being alone
I try hard to break it I can't on my own

I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea
I'm glad no one's here to mess it up for me
I'm glad no one's here just me by the sea
But man, I wish I had a hand to hold

~ "Me by the Sea" by Edie Brickell & New Bohemians

After packing up the car with all the various planned activities, rain gear, dog stuff and other random things that would fit, I made sure the iPod was fully charged so I could catch up on the backlog of podcasts waiting to be heard. With a four hour drive each way, and lots of planned roaming on the beach, I figured I could at least start to catch up. The list of podcasts seems to grow as quickly as the stack of unread books these days. C'mon Day, turn off that damn TV!

Just before heading out, I decided to grab a couple of CDs. In the era before Spotify playlists or even mp3s, I would create my own mix tapes, even as far back as when they were still tapes. I grabbed a couple of road trip CDs I made for a drive to Santa Barbara more than ten years ago. I purposely did not look at what songs were on them, wanting to have a little surprise as one song lead to the next.

I listened to podcasts until I hit the Astoria Bridge and then popped in the first CD. I crossed into Oregon listening to "Blister in the Sun" and "Who Needs Sleep" and some songs I hadn't heard in a long time. It was fun to hear the weird mashup of songs I decided sounded good together so long ago.

Once headed home, I popped the second CD into the player after hitting the quieter roads between Ocean Shores and Olympia. The horns and twangy bass of "Short Skirt, Long Jacket" was a peppy start to the soundtrack that would carry me through the the last rural bits before returning to civilization. Unfortunately, the CD started skipping by song five and stopped playing altogether after that. Back to the iPod.

But it was still time for music. Switchfoot's album "Where the Light Shines Through" was already queued up and that suited me just fine. They are a recent favorite and made me OK with missing out on the mystery songs on the CD.

When the fifth song, "If the House Burns Down Tonight" came on, we were rolling through an open bit of country south of Raymond. It is a great song about focusing on what is important, and was inspired by the singer and his family having to flee their home when wildfires were encroaching.

I see the smoke piling up in the rear view mirror
Yeah but I ain't ever seen it any clearer
If the house burns down tonight
I got everything I need when I got you by my side
And let the rest burn

As I turned to see my dog sitting in the seat beside me, the lyrics landed a little harder than normal. This is not who should be riding shotgun.

This was not my first trip alone. It was not even my first trip to the Oregon Coast alone. For many years now I have traveled alone, dined alone, gone to movies and concerts alone, and of course lived alone. I have another trip planned in April to travel to Big Sur to run a marathon, and again I will be flying solo. If I ever get a permit to hike The Wonderland Trail, I will probably be hiking alone.

On one hand, I am good about not waiting around for someone else before going out and doing the things I want to do. I get to choose the time, place and pace of the trip. No worrying about the other person being bored if I just want to hike around looking at viewpoints. I also have this strange fear of disappointing someone if a trip/meal/movie that I choose doesn't live up to expectation. When flying solo, if things go sideways, it is just me who has to be disappointed. Stupid, I know.

At this point, I am a little too good at being alone though. Inertia, fear and comfort zone are building up barriers, and they are only getting stronger with age. It has been a number of years since I have dated anyone. Habits ingrain, and it just becomes easier/safer not to challenge them.

I went out on a couple of dates earlier in the year, and I thought they went pretty well. It was nice to meet someone new, and the conversations flowed easily, making me feel a bit less socially awkward  than I always feel. Unfortunately, she stopped responding when I reached out, "ghosting" me as they say.

My first try at online dating was not great*, but it may be time to try again. With my lack of real dating experience, ease at being alone, and tendency to stay firmly planted in the comfort zone, I am not adept at putting myself out there, but that needs to change. My excuse lately has been that I haven't been feeling that great about myself, would like to lose some weight, generally get my shit together, etc. I reasoned that I might not be my best self, but I am just overthinking it at this point. Bad habit. Makes inaction easy.

Tonight I am headed out to see a band (flying solo). Tomorrow will be about finding some flattering pictures and coming up with a catchy profile.

Must love dogs, but don't let the pup call shotgun.


*Side note, I just checked prior posts and my try at online dating was over two years ago. Damn.

Maybe someday, maybe not

My ex-wife is engaged to be married again.

She sent me a message a while back to let me know. She didn't want me to find out about it through a mutual friend or on Facebook. We have not had much contact in the past few years, but she continues to be kind and thoughtful whenever a life event from either of us prompts a message.

Even seven-ish years down the road, the message raised a swell of sadness that had been building. It wasn't from any hope of us ever getting back together. Other than knowing she remains a caring person, I do not know much about her these days. No, the sad feeling was more a reminder of what is missing in my life, what has been gone for some time now.

I have not been in a relationship for a couple of years now. Recently I had this thing going on with someone I knew. Our friendship veered into some new territory. She did not want a relationship, and truth be told, I don't know that we would have made a very good couple, but there was some sort of spark that pushed its way through. It was ill-defined - casual but not superficial. I have never seen anyone casually before, nor have I ever had a friends-with-benefits sort of arrangement, but it was new and exciting.

Two days before my ex sent me the note about her engagement, I found out that the friend I was spending time with was now in a relationship. It was sort of a one-two punch, rejection present and past reminding me of how alone I felt, and it made me think again how that may never change.

Before you raise any arguments - yes, I know I am not actually alone. I have a wonderful family and more dear friends than would be expected of this awkward introvert. And I am thankful.

But it is not the same.

I want the belonging in one on one. I want to have one person I am hoping for when a text comes through. Someone to share moments, exciting and seemingly dull. Someone who I will make mistakes with, but who believes that although my heart is often awkward, it is always in the right place. I want a deeper connection that physical and emotional intimacy brings. And yes I want love.

But I don't know that I will ever find it again. For several years now, I have begun to acknowledge (if not accept) that I will not find love again. There is no guarantee that I would - no man behind the curtain pulling the strings or some guiding hand of fate.

I was listening to a podcast recently with an interview with Aimée Lutkin about her article (links below) where she had told her friends as much. There were the immediate objections that "but you're so pretty/funny/smart." "You'll find love when you stop looking/least expect it." "You're not trying hard enough." Her responses:

• Pretty/funny/smart guarantee nothing, if maybe expanding your pool of applicants.
• I have stopped looking for years. how much more can I not look?
• Let me show you all the apps and all the advice I have already tried.

Believing this casual thing might work was probably born out of all this. There were no relationships on the horizon, and I needed to embrace any connection that made me feel more human. The resulting feelings of loss prove to me that I really miss those connections, and that something casual is not enough, a stop gap at best.

The woman on the podcast still hopes that she finds love, but that she is done wishing and waiting. It is a conscious choice to stop the feeling that her life is in a temporary state (without a partner) and that things won't truly get moving forward until this period ends. And if there is some magic spell that can be cast to make someone come to you when you least expect it, well her article may be just that.

I am not so strong to say that my life would be complete even if I never found love again, but a growing part of me wants to live my life as if it would be. To focus on what is important to my happiness and enrich connections to the people who are in my life. To find passion outside of romance. But I have not yet given up hope. I still look, if clumsily.

There is something in my life that has been taking up much of my time the past few months, which may make it easier or harder to meet someone, or it may indicate I am not ready yet.

Podcast link: Why Oh Why episode 17: Alone Forever
Article by Aimée Lutkin: When Can I Say I'll Be Alone Forever?

Looking to meet my match

At forty eight, I realized I had never been on a date. Well, not really. I have certainly dated some lovely women in my life, but it dawned on me that I hadn’t been on any real dates with people I was just getting to know. The women I have dated I have known from work or through a mutual friend. I went on what was essentially my first date back in February with someone I had met at a wedding. She was a perfectly lovely person, but after three dates it seemed that there wasn’t enough of a spark to continue.

So now a few months later at forty nine, I have thrown my hat in the online dating pool. It has been a bit of a weird experience so far. Not only am I a novice at dating in general, but the online aspect adds another layer of oddities. Like anyone who has signed up for Facebook, you are actively giving up some of your privacy with any dating site. As someone who has been posting semi-intimate details of his life on a public blog for several years, the initial act of putting my stuff out there on another site was not that big a deal, but there are new layers that I was surprised by.

You start by putting up one or several pictures of yourself. Naturally, you try to put pictures up that are not only flattering, but give some insight of who you are. All the decent photos of me were either from a run, a bike ride, or out in the woods on backpacking trip, so that worked out nicely. After putting up a dozen pictures though, I realized that I didn’t have glasses on in any of the photos. Trying to be as accurate as possible (apparently people lie on these things), I stepped out into my backyard and took a quick selfie.

Below the pictures is a section where you write a few words/paragraphs about yourself and what you are looking for. Sort of the cover letter to your online dating resume. And then you get to the checklists.

Back before I was actually divorced (but the writing was on the wall), I was over at a friend’s house for some gathering. We were all hanging out and chatting when one friend from across the room asked, “so, what are looking for in a woman?” It was one of those record-scratch moments when everyone stops talking and looks at you. Again, still technically married and not having thought about it, I answered off the cuff, “Non-smoker, non-hater.”

The non-smoking thing is obvious. I am allergic to cigarette smoke, but more importantly, I don’t want to kiss an ashtray. The non-hater thing is more about not wanting to be with someone who is always looking for the dark cloud behind that silver lining, going through life thinking the world is out to get them. I don’t need or want a Pollyanna as a partner, but I don’t want to be around someone who is constantly expecting the worst out of everything and everybody. To be clear, this was not a reaction to my soon-to-be ex-wife. She was neither a smoker nor a hater.

Several years down the line, I don’t have much of a better, quick answer to what I am looking for in a partner. There are definitely things I hope for, but the list of non-negotiables still basically sits at non-smoker. But with online dating, you are sort of trying to order up your perfect match.

There are checkboxes for height, body type, hair color, eye color, salary, astrological sign, faith, exercise habits, education, occupation, income level and more. I certainly get it, but the volume of it feels like a tailor made desire in what is more of an off-the-rack world. It is the online shopping mentality with the entire world at your fingertips, and it feels like we should be able to punch up our perfect mate on Amazon.com.

It is both amazing and discouraging at the same time. Through the website, you have possible contact with so many more people than you would ever see in your normal path in life, but the sheer volume makes you think there is always going to be someone more “perfect” for you if you just keep looking.

So you keep clicking on pictures, looking for criteria and reading introductions, looking for something to jump out at you. Back to the privacy thing, on odd thing is that when you look at someone’s profile, they know. On your own login, there is a little list of people who have checked you out. On the one hand, it is kind of interesting to see whose eye you caught, but on the other, you sort of hesitate to click because you are being tracked. You also know if someone has read your email. This is mostly nice, since you can’t fool yourself that the person you are interested in hasn’t seen it yet. Nope, they read it, and they just weren’t interested enough to respond. Move along, no interest here, keep clicking on.

It has only been two weeks, so we are a long way from any final judgment. It is an interesting new adventure, and we will see where the electronic path leads. Now please excuse me, I think someone just sent a wink to me. 

49

Damn, still trying to wrap my head around that number. Seems like such a long time on paper, but it flashes by when you aren't paying attention.

Age hasn't meant much to me up to this point. I don't recall freaking out at 30 or 40, but the next round number is starting to sink in.

When I am looking through my client's information, and I haven't met them, I will at some point look at their age. From their set of information (income, kids, deductions,etc.) I will have formed a picture in my head of how old they are, and sometimes I am surprised when I see their actual age. Anyway, when I see someone in their 50s I think, "Wow, I didn't realize they were that old." And then...wait a minute.

The other thing that has me thinking about that number on a sheet is that I am about to throw my hat in the ring of online dating. At damn near 50.

Dating in itself seems like a young man's game, and the online version even more so. I will (likely) resist using the app that lets you whip through pictures/people with the swipe of a finger, but even putting up pictures and a profile has me hesitating over the keyboard. But that is another story.

I am not sure what 49 is supposed to feel like. However, with that said, I don't feel 49. Well, most of the time. The hills seem a bit steeper this year and the strains and pains linger longer than they used to. And of course, I have reached an age were some of the aches are chalked up to "sleeping on something wrong." I always wish that I'd at least earned the soreness through strenuous effort, or at the bare minimum have a better story to tell.

I don't deny my age, but I suppose I want to change what the number means. I am still pedaling up mountains and running around lakes. I want to earn that low bib number at Ramrod as the oldest rider someday, and I want to be that "old guy" that shows up at the local 5k every year and runs with a smile. I suppose every milestone age I reach will be translated into "not that old" on my own personal scale.

Here's to the next 49!

Memories trapped in time

We like to believe that our memories are captured in an amber-like resin, preserved unchanged through the years. Some polished as jewels, others left to fossilize in a dusty drawer. But of course that isn't how it works. We recreate our histories every time we access them either intentionally or by a random connection that prods them forward. We are not reviewing a recording, but rather re-writing a story. They are recreated each time they are recalled, the details changed inadvertently by our subsequent experience.

My older brother sent me an email the other day, "Do you remember someone named X? Someone you dated when you were 16?" The quick answer was no. First, no girl was interested in me, much less dated me when I was sixteen. Second, my dating history is hardly voluminous enough for me to forget someone. He replied that this person was sure she knew me, that we had worked together at McDonald's, and that she had described me pretty well (no one forgets the afro). The plot was thickening, which my brother found hilarious. I scanned my memory, walking through the past, trying to find someone by that name. The sixteen year old thing had to be wrong, but maybe she dated my roommate and the story was confused in the telling.

My brother had sent the email mostly as a heads up, as I would likely be running into this mystery woman in a few hours. Her daughter was in plays with my niece, and we were all going to a a fundraiser for the youth group that evening. The mystery woman had seen my name on the guest list, prompting her question.

My brothers and I met for a drink beforehand and tried to tackle the mystery. My brothers laughing, me starting to get concerned about senility. The mystery woman was married, so the last name didn't help. To the internet! My brother showed me her Facebook photo, but that didn't jog a connection. I scanned her friends list, looking to see if my old roommate's name might be there. Then I saw a last name amoung the faces that finally pried lose the memory.

My 48 year old brain tried to recreate the faces and places. She had gone by a less formal version of her name back then. We did indeed work at McDonald's together. She dated a good friend of mine, and the three of us often hung out together. I remember her as beautiful and confident, and their relationship as somewhat volatile. In the winter of 1984, they broke up. I will leave the details and justifications to the dusty drawer of history, but for two weeks she and I dated, before she broke it off to return to dating my friend.

It was a crazy two weeks. That first real moment when someone finds you desirable, among all your teenage anxiety and awkwardness. A whole new world was opened up to explore, and just like that it was gone. That two week aside showed me both the amazing and ugly sides of relationships. I lost both friends, walking away more of an adult for better or worse. Imagination surpassed, illusions shattered.

And here she was, more than thirty years later. Married, three kids, successful, and by all hopes, happy. She brought a copy of my senior picture to the fundraiser as proof that our memories were real, that those seventeen year old kids existed. My niece enjoyed seeing the photo with my out of control curly hair, encouraging me to grow it out again. I looked at that same kid in the photo and wondered about it all.

We hugged and chatted a bit about what was going on with our lives. I met her daughter, just a couple of years shy of the age when her mom and I knew each other. We didn't talk at all  about when we were seventeen together, and I wonder how she remembers that time. The scenes are shot from a different perspective, a different director calling out what she wants emphasized. The soundtrack is different, and I can't even be sure we would be reading off the same script.

I've often wondered this about my former wife. What would it be like if we caught up over coffee. Would we try to bring our past scripts into alignment, and try to show the other what we had seen through our perspectives. Could comparing our differing memories bring some sort of clarity, or would we just touch base on our sequels, sticking to the stories un-entwined. I used to long for that future coffee date, to find out what she saw and why it all ended, but these days I am less sure of any promise of clarity.

And of course what I really want is to unearth that original memory preserved unchanged, so we could look at it together with the fresh perspective of time. But those perfectly preserved moments don't exist. In addition to our different understanding of the exact same events at the time, our recalling would change the details and feelings enough to make understanding elusive once again. Even still, I am curious, be it for seven years of marriage or just two crazy weeks as a teenager,

Back in the present, as I drove away from the benefit, the first song on the radio was "Night Moves" by Bob Seger, a song about those teenage moments.

"Working on mysteries without any clues...
trying to lose those awkward teenage blues."

Seeing those memories in the flesh, thirty years on but only a few blocks away from where it all took place, all through some chance connection of the next generation. Every so often, the universe just gives you a wink.

Strange how the night moves.

Valentine's Day

It is just another Friday, really, but it started off well. I walked out the door, still greeted by my reversed Welcome mat.

My apartment has interior hallways, and one time after they vacuumed, they set my Welcome mat in reverse. I have decided to leave it this way. Now the world welcomes me every morning, and it starts me off on the right foot.

Anyway, as I left the parking garage, there were two deer walking across the road to the grassy area near my building. I had just reset my phone, so there was no chance for a photo, so I just paused and stared at them for a moment. They were still, but ready to move if I did. So I didn't. I eventually drove on, my heart rate down just a bit.

Not a block later, I reached the apartment office where they were handing out donuts and coffee. The managers had mentioned this a couple of weeks ago, but one small bonus of a bad memory is you get to be surprised more than most. I hadn't even left the complex, and a Valentines Day with no expectations was starting off well.

I reached for the iPod to choose a podcast to listen to on the way in to work. I had seen this great Google Doodle when I turned on the computer to catch up on things over breakfast.

When you click on each candy heart, you are treated (treated, ha!) to a different short story about love produced by Ira Glass and This American Life. The doodle changes each day, but I think this (link) is a more permanent one so you can check it out whenever you wish. I only had time to click on two of them before heading out, but This American Life was on my mind when I reached for the iPod, and I found a Valentine's Day episode waiting for me.

The intro segment was a repeat of the segment I wrote about six years ago in a post Never tell me the odds. In it, the authors present a picture of what a long shot it is to find your special someone, with a spin on the Drake equation. When I originally heard and wrote about the story, I was part-way through marriage counseling that would ultimately fail. Even though I don't subscribe to the theory that there is only one person out there...the odds were long back then, and now, well...

That said, Valentine's Day is not a bummer. Sure, it would be wonderful to have a special someone in my life again, but I still feel like a not-ready-for-prime-time-player. I am caught between feeling like I am and would be a better partner, and being unsure that I have enough to give just yet. So I am not really looking. Of course, so many of these stories seem to say that it that is exactly when you find love.

But what are the odds of that?

Leaving California with an aching in my heart*

*Apologies to Led Zeppelin 

I moved down to San Diego back in February of 2010. As I mentioned back then, I came down here for several reasons. 2009 was a tough year for me, my toughest really. Several of the pillars on which a life is built crumbled beneath me. I lost my wife, my house and my job. Through the process of loss and counseling, inner walls cracked and fell as well. By the end of the year, I felt shattered into a hundred little pieces, but with the feeling that I could build a more authentic version of my self.

I spent the week after Christmas 2009 down in San Diego with my friends Matt and Holly. They of course were going through their own struggles. Jobs had been lost, and money that was already tight became scarce. With my life a jumble of puzzle pieces, I decided to move down to San Diego. They needed a renter, and I needed a fresh start. I had no clue how it would all work out, but it felt like forces were coming together, and that it was the right turn to make.

I figured I would be down here for six months or maybe a year. Clear my head and open my eyes to new possibilities. I already had some good friends down here, and with time we became even closer. People I sensed were something special, revealed genuine beauty. Friendships grew, and then turned into something more, and I found love here as well. I started considering San Diego long term.

My time in San Diego up til then had always felt like a break from real life, a temporary visa that was due to expire at any time. As San Diego began to feel more like home, I felt more torn than ever. Though my heart was growing again here in San Diego, Washington still felt like my real home. Deep reflection ensued, and I made myself miserable for months.

Although I have made progress on the personal front, professionally and financially I was moving in reverse. I needed to make a new foundation, and for several months I wondered where to begin, and not just in a to-do sense. After some difficult debates and painful conversations, I have decided my best chance to start again is back in Seattle. Once again, I have no clue how things will work out, but it feel like this is the next turn in the road.

As difficult as it was to say goodbye to everyone in Washington when I moved down, it may be that much harder to say it again to California. When I left Washington, the rough plan was to return in about a year, so that buffered the decision. Now I have no clue where the next few years will lead me, and I have no such comforting feeling as I pack up the U-Haul this time around.

As close as I was to Matt and Holly before, they are now family. Sean Hawkins was already a good friend, but now he has become one of the best. Marci and their kids have welcomed me into their Home (capital H). So many like the Kesslers who I met as these great people who gave their time and spirit to the 2008 remodel, turned out to be sainted friends in everyday life as well.

And of course there is Kristy. She is the biggest fallout from this decision. There were other issues, but this mid-life reckoning of mine was the brick wall we ran into. Even though the relationship didn't ultimately work out, she made me believe in love again. I don't know what leaving will mean for either one of us, or where our paths may lead. I only know that there will be a void, that it will be painful, and I may live to regret it.

Sean Hawkins, being the enthusiastic, creative force that he is, started (verbally) writing the sequel to my life story at work the other day.

"Here's a guy who headed south after a painful divorce, only to find love again. He stopped being this morose guy, he wrote a book, and learned to brew beer. He ran in a bunch of races, got faster and faster, and dropped twenty pounds in the process. And he brought shade to hundreds of overheated Californians."

Though I never doubt for a minute how lucky I am, I rarely look at what I have done with such a rosey lens, so it makes me appreciate friends like Sean that much more. I would like to return to Washington the conquering hero, fully cleansed, having left my baggage on the shore to be washed out to sea. But I know that is unrealistic, and I am still a bit of a mess. I don't know what life would have been like if I had not made the leap south, but even though I have plenty left to work on, I know I am a better person than I was a couple of years ago. San Diego, and more importantly all the people, have been a big part of that.

The plan is to move back sometime in early or mid November. Work and U-Haul schedules are a bit up in the air, but I would like to be back home by Thanksgiving. I look forward to spending more time with my parents, my close and extended family, and reconnecting with old friends once again.

There is plenty to look forward to, but so much I will miss. Matt and Holly have been torn between Seattle and San Diego since they moved back ten years ago. Now that I have a deeper connection with the sunny state, I can finally understand what it is like.

Love and friendship

Most change comes with a side of discomfort. Some change comes with pain, and this is one of those times. Kristy and I are no longer a couple.

Though we talk throughout the week, because of work and other commitments, we usually only get to see each other on the weekends. For the past month and a half, things came up in our schedules that kept us apart. The physical separation only accentuated the feeling that something was coming between us.

Though we both felt that something was wrong, I don't think either of us wanted to broach the subject, knowing where the conversation might lead. We finally talked about it a week or so ago, opening with the simple question of, "does this silence feel awkward?" We talked about what had been going on over the last few months, how things seemed to have changed, and what our future(s) looked like. No vases or insults were hurled at each other. It was mature and reasonable. And all too painful.

We agreed that there were certain issues, bits of our personalities and other differences that would continue to plague us. Neither of us felt it necessary to go through any sort of listing of grievances, willing to accept that they were there, and not feeling it necessary to point them out to each other. Strangely, without even going into detail about our issues, I have a better understanding of them than after seven years of marriage, and four months of counseling.

In a different time, we may have been able to work it out. But at this point, I need to change my life fairly dramatically, and it was not fair to the relationship, or either one of us individually, to continue it half-heartedly. We both deserve a partner that is fully committed, both to the relationship and a common future, and neither should settle for less.

I have tried to remain friends with the women I have previously dated, but it has never really worked out. Most of the time, I worked with my former girlfriends, so we were forced to deal with the break up on a daily basis. Kristy and I do not work together, but we are both in the same tight group of friends. A week after we broke up, we both attended a birthday party where most of the people had no idea we were no longer a couple. On the outside, everything seemed fine, but we were both in pain.

We actually spent the next day together as well, and it was a fraction better. We spent the afternoon in the sun, floating in the deep end of a pool, trying out casual conversation as if the last week, or last year and a half weren't sitting on our shoulders. Later on, we were able to talk a bit more deeply about last Sunday. Things that still made sense, but that didn't erase the feelings we have for each other.

Kristy and I began as friends, and we desperately want to remain good friends even though our relationship has ended. Before we started dating a year and a half ago, we worried about sacrificing our friendship for the chance at something more. When we took the plunge, we told ourselves that we simply wouldn't do anything to jeopardize what we already had. Now we are having to make that promise come true.

I think we have a good shot at it, but it will be painful for a while. The breakup was mature and mutual, but just because the head knows that something makes sense, the heart doesn't always understand. Or agree for that matter. The feelings remain, even if they are no longer appropriate.

Even though it didn't work out, I am so glad we tried. Already close as friends, it was a new and wonderful experience to become that much closer to her. To add love to friendship, rather than exchange it. Though we found out things about ourselves that were in conflict, I didn't learn anything that changed my opinion of what a wonderful person she is.

It is just going to be hard for a while. For both of us.

Someone special

There is someone new in my life.

Well, she has been in my life for a while now, but the relationship has taken on new meaning recently. Kristy is someone I have known for a few years, but have spent much more time with since the move down to San Diego. I think there was always some attraction between us, but we have only recently taken the leap from friendship to something more.

I think we both held off, not wanting to torpedo the friendship if things didn't work out. We are part of the same, great circle of friends, so as silly as it sounds, it felt like we were risking that as well. I also don't think I was ready for any sort of relationship for a while. But I really feel like I have turned a corner in the past six months and I am excited about this relationship.

Even though we have been friends for a long time, we are still discovering new things about each other. We have been dating for about three months now, and it is going great so far. It feels wonderful to turn that part of my brain back on, and to be more deeply connected to someone I care about.

I don't know how much I will write about the relationship, but since she has appeared here a number of times already over the past year, it seems silly not to say who I am dating. I mostly wanted to share the good things that are going on in my life, and to say that I'm happy to be happy.