[1266] Here Again

I want to talk about, hopefully briefly, an old and recurring theme.

It’s been my longstanding position, and technically joke, that I would perhaps become relevant to many people in my life at about this late-30s space. After the kids have grown up a bit, the divorces, and the reality that none of us were going to be properly rewarded for being smart or hard-working. That’s been, slightly, kinda, true insofar as I’ve had at least some fleeting conversations or interactions with people who I might not have for years, but the weight of my presence is more or less carried by a single friend whoever does anything with me or carries on regular conversation.

If we think this through, it’s hard not to draw what I think people will perceive as either “damming” or “dark” conclusions. I think it implicates the past and foundation of what I perhaps mistakenly took to be “friendly” or “true” and “nice” about people. I think it spells fairly obvious and not-necessarily-

catastrophized conclusions about the future. I just sincerely wonder if it’s what anyone actually wants.

The theme in group this week has centered around what it actually means to make a choice. How much are you riding the impulsive waves of feelings or reactive insecurities and ruminating on the judgments of the forces around you? Do your feelings inform a choice, or are they steering the ship? Do you feel dependent on accessing a certain feeling to maintain a level of (what) that let’s you off the hook for what it takes to find your choice and responsibility or relationship to something?

I think I chose my friends in college at least. If nothing else, I chose whether or not to throw you out of the party or invite you back. I chose to keep trying to organize get-togethers as they felt more and more strained and the enthusiasm waned. I’ve chosen over the years to be the first one, always, to reach out. Part of me feels like this is essential to being who I am. I actually do want to talk and hang out and learn about what you’re thinking. I liked our time together back then. I like our brief stints of interaction today. I’m excited and lit up by the prospect of doing some shit in the future.

So, to that end, I don’t lay my propensities or preferences at anyone’s feet. If I’m like an aggressive pet looking for your attention, and you’re over it, that’s on me on one level. But, also, unlike a pet, I’d go away if you just said so. The ghosting or the days/weeks of not responding to a message, or the “yeah that’d be great, but…” and whatever reason you’re gonna stay busy until the end of time sweeps in. It’s like, what are we doing? I’m trying to hang. You appear to be trying to slowly break up with me for…ever?

I’ve never really wanted an online existence. I’ve never considered facebook “friendships” constitutive of the word. It’s why I invite you to the show. It’s why I say, I know how busy you are, let me come to you if that makes it logistically easier. But also, it’s hard to believe and just kind of seems to betray common decency that we can juggle this litany of things that keeps us apart, but finding an hour or an afternoon is just a bridge too far. I’m just, generally, over the dance I think. I’m not pining for the past. I’m not resentful of the country-hole I’ve put myself in. I’m just trying to hang out, and it feels like every expression of this invites a fucking blog like it’s something complicated.

My dad and uncle are coming to the area for a couple days next week. My dad’s like “we can do lunch, we can do dinner, we can bowl, see a movie…” My dad is an iron-worker driving hours to work regularly. When he’s not working, he’s working on his own business or working with my step-mom on her business, or tending to the other people in the step-family, or needs of his crew members, or trying to fix some issue that the other grown adults in his life can’t for reasons that similarly seem to betray all common sense and decency. His instinct is nonetheless time with me is worthwhile and something that can be figured out in conjunction with the other plans he and my uncle have.

It’s not hard. It’s not an excuse. It’s not “Yeah, but.”

Is literally almost everyone I’ve ever known and enjoyed spending time with cut from the same “Actually, I don’t actually give a fuck and don’t want to spend time with you” cloth? That seems, hopefully, unlikely. Are they all suffering from the same addict-adjacent condition and/or delusion that there’s like a prize at the end if they only spend one more minute doing whatever it is they’re doing first besides grabbing a burger or beer with me?

I feel struck by how much I don’t think it has anything to do with “me.” I know people aren’t thinking about me in the perfectly normal way that no one is really thinking about anyone beyond themselves. I’m not trying to sit here blind to some kind of naked irony. I’m no less getting angsty by this idea that everyone around me seems swallowed up in this hole I’ll call an abjectly lost sense of agency that’s registering as wholesale disregard for a kind of recognition and dynamic I put at the center of my values.

I want people I can talk as equals with, and joke with, and share history with. I want people who can vibe and sing along with the same music. I want people laughing together. I want people who view these things as precious and fleeting and worth practicing before we never get a chance to again. I don’t want to be invited to summarily dismiss, like it feels I’m summarily dismissed, because that’s not actually how I think or feel about the people I’m trying to share with.

So, it’s like really fucking annoying. I can’t control whether you’ll find either the balls or humility to tell me to go fuck myself, but I can write about the experience of the ambivalence. I don’t need to be handled or kicked down the road indefinitely nor do I need to beg like I’m needy in some unwarranted or entitled way. Time is running out though, you get that right?