2024 vs. 2020, or The End Times vs. the Good Ol' Days
This last year sucked ass
My 2024 was so bad I look back on 2020 as “the good ol’ days.”
When you’re on a bad run, you never know if it’s coming to an end. A few bright sunny days and wins gets you feeling like you really might be turning the corner. Then the sun rises on another tomorrow behind yet another dank bank of clouds weeping fog.
I’m not supposed to talk about my divorce. My wife (soon to be ex) asked me not to because, to her point, I can be a vindictive fuck if I feel “wronged.” I try telling her she has nothing to worry about. I wasn’t “wronged.” She’s a wonderful woman. The marriage, mostly for her, had run its course. How can you not respect that? No one cheated. I was given ample time to find a new house (which I did), during which she let me stay in the “old” i.e., her house, even after she bought me out (and she was more than generous with the amount). I have a lot of complaints. How I was treated during this dissolution is not one of them.
Still this last year has been brutal, and it’s hard to discuss that without talking about the divorce. For one (and it’s a big one), I’m still very much in love with her. She’s gorgeous, very smart and kind, and if all things were equal, we’d still be married. But things aren’t equal. (When is life ever?)
I’ve had a bunch of new subscribers to this … thing. Substack or whatever. I feel obligated to create new content. It’s tough to write when you’re sleeping on a couch and all your stuff is in your kid’s closet. (Took me 3 weeks to write the back jacket copy for my new short story collection, Bigger Bites.)
Adult life is messy. It’s something you can’t really explain to kids, this world of, as the Boss puts it, adult compromise. When you’re younger, your ideals are steel. You see right and wrong very clearly. And you’re not wrong. When you get older, you accept eating crow and swallowing its shit is just part of the deal.
One of my favorite singer/songwriters, Frank Turner, has a song on his new album where he’s talking to his 15-year-old self, explaining just this, how all those lofty expectations are wishful thinking. No one gets everything they want. Or if they do they’re a pompous windbag with fake hair and a spray tan. (Not talking about any specific rap/cist here. Fill in whomever you see.)
I’ve never done great with gratitude. It’s one of the keys to happiness, they (Bernie Horowitz) say, appreciating what you have. It’s a character flaw. Or maybe it’s what I need to keep moving.
I just returned to the gym. I’m somewhat of a rat. Had to take 3 or 4 months off because I tore a muscle. Got a PRP shot. I can barely lift my right arm above my head. But I’m back working out, building myself up. The analogy is too spot-on to pass up.
So am I turning a corner? I don’t know if I’ve turned a corner. I think I’ve found a house. It’s on the 17th hole of the golf club I belong to. Which is pretty nice.
Hate to quote that singer whose shadow I never escaped (because he is much better than I, and I’ve never been that good.) But I’ve been playing a lot of piano, and that’s a great fucking tune. So here’s hoping maybe next year is better than the last.
Anyway, thanks for all the love and support.