Men

This is not about me turning gay. I am pretty sure I am not. And I will save you the Seinfeld line here. I am not gay. Maybe it is just all the Phillip Roth I have been reading lately. Too much Zuckerman. But I have been looking at men lately. Taking a good look. Like never before. Really looking at men. Almost for the first time.

I like men. I like being a man. I have a pretty good definition of men. It is pretty broad and open. Very accepting. I feel for men. I feel the pain of being man. The conflict of maleness. How hard it can be to be a man. Difficult job that never ends.

For me, it is what life is about. Being a man. Hard work. Nasty stuff. It is a cold cruel world. It moves fast. It is always changing and the world always wants more. And there is not much help out there.

It is a confusing, rule oriented, demanding no excuse world. As Frank Sinatra would sing, you’re riding high in April, shot down in May. Nothing lasts and like any good prize fighter we are judged by our will to get off the mat, try again knowing another punch is sure to come, and knowing that there is a punch to come that could end it all.

This is what I think about when I look at other men. As I do, I wonder…how is their fight coming along. What do they fear, how do they cope and how do they get through their day. How is the world treating them.

I see slight answers in how they dress, how they walk, how they hold themselves. I notice that more men limp. More men seem to carry pain. I see some men that are behind on points in the fight, I see some men that look undefeated, and I see some men that look like they cannot take another round.

And I worry about them. And I forgive them. And I want them all to find happiness and above all acceptance.

More and more I notice how life is not good to men. We are most likely not like the guys on TV. We typically are either not that pretty or that stupid. I have never asked any other man, but I sure do not like the way we look on TV. We are not as simple as that. We are dealing with way more fear and confusion than TV portrays.

So I go through my days, take my punches and punch back at the invisible foe from behind my guard. I seek shelter in my corner. I take refuge in my castle and thank my lucky stars that there is someone in my corner who loves men, knows my pain and sometimes even clears a path for me and sheds light on another way and at times understands why I sometimes cannot take that path even though I know it is better.

Don't Want a Pickle

This post's for real. After HS graduation I bought a 1974 Honda CB 350. Drove it all summer and off an on for a couple of years. Shortly before I became a father in 1977, I gave it up. My brother took it to sell it for me and that is the last I saw of it.

Now Harley's seem to be the rage for us 50 pluses. They have a marginal pull on me, but quite frankly the new motorcycle designs don't do much for me. My eye likes the old models.

I have been looking on Craigs List for some time for one like the one I lost track of so many years ago. Today I found one, spitting image and it is in great shape. Certainly better shape had I owned it for 35 years.

I bought it.

It's mine.

Vroom Vrooom!!!!

Day Jobs

A lesson in life finally hit me this week after being broadcast to me for all of my 54 plus years. Why does life grant you these visions at such times? Perhaps maybe the question ought to be why I constrict my life with such a definition. Perhaps this opening is the topic for another rant / post.

But this week I finally learned the danger of DAY JOBS. Massive occupiers of time that misdirect the meaning of life and while allow one to survive perhaps get into the way of allowing one to thrive. Interesting that these words rhyme.

On Tuesday I saw one of my heroes, John Irving speak. By hero of course I mean someone I admire, which is to say envy, which is to say “why can’t I get it together like that."

Last night I attended a poetry reading for our favorite waitress. Smaller venue, smaller world. She was supported musically by another waitress from the same restaurant. The poetry and music were wonderful. Quite entertaining. But significantly different from John Irving. Significantly different from watching musicians who perform for a living. I love our poet friend, but in my rustic limited vernacular – they were the JV. Talented, but not ready for prime time.

Words said by John Irving on Tuesday night came screaming back to me. I understood the words on Tuesday. I thought I got the point on Tuesday. But on Thursday night the sky opened, a voice screamed at me and a point was made.

On Tuesday John Irving was asked to compare his books and perhaps name a favorite. Like any parent, he said he was proud of each and could not single any one out. But he went on to say that structurally, his later books were vastly superior to his first five books. He said the simple reason for this was TIME. For his first four books he wrote when he could between his day jobs. And for his fifth book, although he was a full time writer, he had not mastered how to manage his time, how to be a full time writer.

Day Jobs.

They get in our way. They consume us. Our current day process of food foraging and seeking of shelter get in the way of the pursuit of which is burning.

I reflect on things that got away. Why did I not pursue things that burned in me? What distracted me from the pursuit of baseball, of words of a myriad of things more interesting than accounting? Simple fact. Those that I know who pursued these things forsook the practicality of eking out a life over the pursuit of what they knew they wanted. They were willing to loose it all to get what they wanted.

My practical side forbade me from shooting the moon, damning the torpedoes and rolling the dice.

I am comfortable. My feet are dry, I have no physical hunger. My life is happy; my needs are more than met.

But god all mighty, sometimes I am so hungry.