527 Miles and Death's Cold Hands

I wanted to be a long way from here tonight. I wanted to be 527 miles from here. I wanted to be traveling, to be with people I care about and seeing new things with my family. I wanted to help celebrate. I wanted to encourage and approve and be proud. I wanted to be there.

I wanted to be looked for. I wanted to be checked on. I wanted to be invited, to be thanked, to be valued. I wanted to be missed. I wanted to be cared for.

One of my favorite people was recognized tonight. It was an award honoring hard work and perseverance and sterling character. It was earned, and it was exciting,

But instead, I found myself driving to the viewing of an old friend. Someone I've known for a long time. Someone who was quiet and smiley, and friendly. He made me feel like our friendship was important. He was older, but way too young to march into the past. I saw him last week, waved, smiled, visited for a short time at the office. I miss him. I grieve for his family. I hate that he's gone.

And yet in struggling to make sense of relationships, that years of struggle and heartache have brought nary a single element of appreciation, I find that perhaps death is the appropriate experience to mull over.

No matter how much I wish him back, my friend will never show up again to say hi or ask about family. No matter how much I feel like I should have future experiences and chances to interact, that just won't happen. Death's hands are cold. They don't do favors, just because we are earnest or well-meaning.

As I watched a relationship die, I held on to the hope that the future would bring more opportunities, that next time I wouldn't be held as distant and as casual. I refused to let go of the chance that it would change and the relationship would be revived and return to health.

I'm not sure that I've yet given up on those things.

But tonight I know that death is cold. And death of a relationship is cold and hard. Hope becomes a distant idea, and stress and the expectation of sadness and disappointment become the companions I walk with every day.

Congratulations! Condolences! Curses...

Little Things hurt too (Cleanup. From sometime in late January 2014)

A month ago, just after Christmas, a misunderstanding occurred that resulted in one of my favorite people going on at some length that they were opposed to something that we as a family had planned to do. The ranting continued long enough that there was no doubt as to their opposition and in fact had gotten to that awkward point where everyone present was busying themselves in other things and trying to pretend it hadn't happened. We accepted the overwhelming perspective as best we could and departed for home with as much humility as we could muster. And while it would be nice to note that the energetic and dissenting party later apologized or at least addressed the uncomfortable situation, that part never actually happened. Not a word was said or the slightest hint of contrition in regards to the pain that had been caused.

And then a week ago, I posed a question or request of another of my favorite people. The response came quickly and clearly that they were too busy to accommodate the scenario that I had proposed, and there was little point in persisting in the folly that was my continuing efforts. This was painful as well.

After both of these taking place in such a short time and with those people being of such importance to me, this was really tough to take. It felt reminiscent of being depressed and the complete uncertainty about what was going on in people's approach toward me.

To this point, I have not responded to either person for fear that I would say / write something that was far beyond appropriate. But... Life goes on...

Night comes early these days (Cleanup. This is from Thanksgiving 2013)

There's a sadness in my soul. Sometimes amidst the cacophony of life I only want a quiet night to numb myself and ponder the points where existence ceases to match my image of fairness. More often though I find myself seeking numbness in crowds and noise and no matter how hard I look I always find myself at the end, and am only left with regret. Then when the quiet nights come they are full of recrimination and mentally berating myself for such shortsightedness, and ignorance. There is no respite from self-doubt. I cling to doubt in many forms, it is the building block which underlies an open and even charitable view of the world around me. The belief that other points of view share equal validity with my own enables much less harshness when dealing with other people. The counter side of believing in the validity of other people's views is constantly questioning and pondering your own ideas and beliefs.

Then following a particularly cringe-inducing and regret-filled episode, being around the people you care most about is hard. I want so bad to see love and care instead of judgement and ambivalence. It's not hard for me to see that it doesn't matter a great deal how I'm feeling. And since that confirms my expectation that I am extraneous and unimportant to other people, I'm left with wistful, self-loathing regret. The darkness threatens to consume me, yet no one notices that there is anything wrong.

I want to retreat into music, and dimly lit rooms, and look out on those who pass without dealing with relationships or the pain of rejection. "A Rock Feels No Pain, and an Island Never Cries."