On Being Numb

Once again, I’m finding myself fairly numb. Perhaps it’s my age, perhaps the grind of work (or the semi-grind of it). Not excited to get up, although it is far better than December.

It’s really the rather endless nature of it all more than anything. All days seem the same, with no beginning and no end. Small, incremental changes, aging, growing kids - but nothing right now shows any of the mile markers of life.

I suppose that I shouldn’t complain - those mile markers can be either good or bad. Hanging on to the middle - the neither good nor bad - probably does create this rather frameless world where one can simply float, from day to day, from week to week, from year to year.

It is time to start something, but I’m afraid to jump. Like most of my life, I have been in a situation where the status quo is good enough to live comfortably, but never enough to be fully happy. Too good to risk it all, though. Consistently too good to risk it all.

I suppose that is the cause of upper class malaise - something which I am definitely suffering from. It’s not a struggle to survive, just a long, relatively formless and boring march. That’s the problem, I suppose.

I Saw a Ghost Tonight

Tonight, on the eve of my 50th Birthday, I saw a ghost. He was hanging out at a coffeehouse/music cafe in Culver City. He was a bulky guy, about 5’10”, maybe 230-240 lbs. Red hair, a round and fleshy face, big lips - about 25 years old. He was there with a woman, maybe his girlfriend, maybe his wife - pretty, but not gorgeous, a little overweight - and perhaps 5-10 years older than he was. In his face, I saw a mirror of who I was - what I was - I saw myself.

Twenty-five years ago, in Boston, another bulky guy, 6’2”, maybe 230-240 lbs, with red hair, a round and fleshy face, and big lips was hanging out at a coffeehouse/music cafe. He was with a woman, his girlfriend, pretty but not gorgeous, a little overweight - and seven years older than he was.

I couldn’t take my eyes off this kid at the coffeehouse. I watched his every move. On this, the end of my 49th year - the official end of anything I could call my youth - I stood there, staring at the ghost of me a half-a-lifetime ago.

Tonight, a child is being born - one who will be a bulky guy, about 6’, maybe 230-240 lbs. Red hair, a round and fleshy face, big lips. He’ll be with a woman, pretty but not gorgeous, a little overweight, and about 5 years older than he is. Fifty years from now, in a coffee house somewhere, I will see him - the ghost of the first half of my life. He probably won’t notice me - I’ll be small, shriveled and bent over by then. But in his face, I will see a mirror of who I was - what I was - I will see myself.

Somebody's Father...

I’m in San Francisco at a Starbucks, New Year’s Day, waiting for my older child to finish a training camp. Next to me are a group of 20-somethings, basking in the post NYE glow.

The guy next to me (in a red baseball cap) was joking with his friends about how his dad hates the friend’s hair (true, it’s somewhat pink and spiky). A good laugh was had over the baseball cap’s dad and whether he likes the other guy’s hair.

The conversation continued, talking about another guy’s dad who made it during the “dot-com” era - he got on the ground floor of the world series of poker. It was like it was ancient history - the invention of the light bulb or something.

Wait, I’m a dad, too.

Fuck, I’m old!