Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3

It might seem that my mother’s nomadic tendencies would have caused bitterness in her children. That continually uprooting my brother, sister and me would cause frustration and resentment. I can’t speak for my brother & sister, but I was always excited to move. I liked the idea of being able to re-define myself at a new school… to trade in the classmates who knew how shy and pathetic I was in favor of others who didn’t already have an impression of me. I dreamed of moving to a new town and fooling the kids there into believing I was “cool”. It never worked out the way I envisioned it… not once. But I kept dreaming the dream.

It was a natural cycle, really. Happily move to a new school, fail to make good impression on my peers, suffer teasing and further degradation of self-confidence, live a lonely life, happily move to a new school… I never really put down roots, so being transplanted wasn’t that big of a deal. Only in that last move did I ever really leave anyone behind, my good friends Brooke & Tim, but since our new home was to be so much closer to family, the choice was clear. And I believed this time, I would finally succeed in becoming popular. I was in 16 years old, practically a man… there would be no more childish timidity. The dream would become a reality.

The dream died in record time. My new persona didn’t even make onto the school bus.

Perhaps if I’d owned a car or lived close enough to walk to school things would have turned out differently. Or maybe if my bus stop wasn’t shared by two attractive young ladies, I wouldn’t have started stuttering at their polite questions and clammed up. But as it was, this cruelty of fate set itself against my final attempt at redefining my self-image. My dream of glory now dead, I had to come up with a new plan… to lay low until graduation. I had to accept that I didn’t have the charisma to charm my school mates, but it occurred to me that there was an easier alternative to shyness… I could be an asshole.

The greatest offense you can ever lay on the sheepishly unsociable is to call us “shy”. Well… no… the WORST thing you can call us is “bashful”, but shy is a close second, followed by timid, sheepish, mousy… the list goes on. On the other hand …introverted, anti-social, reserved… these are remarkably less cutting. These imply only that someone is of a quiet nature, they do not specify whether he is so because of weakness or whether he simply isn’t interested in you.

I was surprised how closely the two personalities aligned. Neither the shy nor the unfriendly speak much. Both eat lunch alone. Both have few, if any, friends. It was a simple transition really… I merely had to convert the panic and fear I normally portrayed into impatience and disdain.

I quickly learned, however, that although such an image was easy enough to portray while walking through the halls, it became much more challenging when my peers would chance to interact with me. Such occasions required me to exude irritation at their presence, make cutting remarks, and verbally chase them away. Unfortunately, just because I’d mentally committed myself to this self-image, it didn’t magically make me any more capable of speaking on cue. I still stammered, I still panicked and couldn’t think of anything to say… and even when I did have a retort at hand, I discovered that being able to inflict intentional cruelty is simply not in my genetic makeup. I couldn’t even emanate the needed disgust to their presence for fear of hurting feelings. I made a lousy asshole.

In order to maintain my desired “lone wolf” countenance I attempted to avoid people altogether. I sat as far apart from the other kids as possible during classes. For lunch break, I would sneak my food & my novels to a dugout on the baseball field. I finally succeeded in flying under the radar, becoming invisible… almost.

Unfortunately, I had shot myself in the foot. When I initially signed up for “School Newspaper” class before school started, I had still been under the misconception I could be popular, but now it was the only roadblock to my anonymity. This class required me to interact with fellow classmates, to conduct interviews with teachers and students, and to express myself in print. I had a few opportunities to drop the class, but the newspaper was already short on reporters and I worried that my withdrawal would handicap the class. So I stayed, and in the end, in spite of countless awkward interviews and dozens of published stories that I can’t bring myself to read today for their dreadful writing, I’ll never regret it.

Being the only part of my education that I forced myself to fully participate in, the newspaper turned out to be the most important part of my high school experience. It was in this class where I would first become part of a team, where I would commit to my thoughts and opinions on paper, and work hard to publish these ramblings in a tangible product. And it was in this class that I met my future wife.

Brandy and I were a great team… we often paired up on group projects, reviewed each others articles, and assisted each other with computer layouts. I’d like to say we quickly became friends… but truthfully we sat in the same class for 4 months before she asked me one day in the computer lab: “Are you in this class?” But once the talking had commenced, it didn’t take long for friendship to follow. We were an odd pair for friends, I was an introspective loner, and she was widely popular. We only interacted during newspaper class, but our friendship grew deep nonetheless. While typing away at the computers we confided in each other. She had a boyfriend, there was no question of romance, but I held her in high esteem regardless.

I enjoyed her intoxicating company, but never overstepped the bounds or propriety. At least, not intentionally. I must confess my romantic instincts were more than a little dim-witted… at least in regards to situations where I had to analyze things in the first-person… so I may have crossed the line a little. After graduation, our friendship continued via telephone and the occasional outing. We would talk for hours and I would show her constellations in the sky, and tell her the mythology behind them. In retrospect, Brandy’s boyfriend may have been very put out that I was having long intimate conversations and engaging with her in such amorous activities as stargazing. At the time though, I couldn’t comprehend that she might be interested in me, and although I was infatuated with her, I respected her commitment and wasn’t intentionally trying to woo her… These were merely the things that interested me, and therefore, that’s what I talked about. To me our friendship seemed perfectly cordial and innocent.

Late that summer, Brandy broke up with her boyfriend. I spent a lot of time with her afterward, to help support her through the heartache. And after a week or two of obligatory solitude, shes called me and very tactfully and guardedly sent out feelers to gauge my interest. But in spite of her carefulness, I misunderstood what she was saying and it didn’t occur to me that she might not be interested in me… a remarkable, once in a lifetime event, where my romantic senselessness actually worked in my favor.

We made an easy transition from best friends to lovers. A few years later we married and spent more than ten years, creating a family and a life together. She gave me three beautiful children and we had many wonderful years. Our marriage lasted longer than one might suspect for a social butterfly and a hermit.

The scars and the anguish of a broken love belong to both partners of the relationship. I would not presume that those stories are mine alone to tell, so let’s suffice it to say that our marriage didn’t end in spite and broken dinnerware, but rather with weeping and clinging to each other, crying for our love to stay as it had been, but knowing that life could only begin again when we let go. Brandy and I are no longer partners in love, but we’re still close friends and partners in our children’s’ lives.

I can’t pretend that the loss of my marriage wasn’t devastating for me. I had defined myself by this family we had made. I hadn’t placed much stock in my life other than this relationship… I worked in a job that I didn’t particularly enjoy, but never could be bothered by it because I found my fulfillment waiting at home. I had neglected to pursue interests or friendships because I didn’t feel much need for them, such things would only distract me from my wife & children. Now that my family was broken, I found myself hollow with nothing to cling to. Whether reading the wisdom of Budda, the Bible, or the Three Little Pigs, we are taught that the house we build must have a firm foundation. I had built my house on the sand, and it washed away. Yes, I had my children, and they are precious to me, but in order to for me to be part of the framework of their lives, I had to find solid ground for myself to stand upon. This was true even before my marriage ended, and perhaps this contributed greatly to my divorce, but until it was over, I didn’t realize that the marriage itself wasn’t my cornerstone.

Alone once more for these past couple years, I’ve been watching love from far away. I’ve had one crush since my marriage died, but although I would like to claim that I’ve finally grown past this strangeness, that my romantic sensibilities have matured since kindergarten, my few efforts to pursue this infatuation were as awkward as ever. I tripped on my words, I still had moments of extreme nervousness which rendered my incapable of conversation. Déjà vu.

But on the other hand, there were differences too. First and foremost that I DID actually approach and talk to this beautiful woman. I made the effort, I did the pursuing. In addition to that, I actually have some legitimate concerns and reservations about relationships nowadays, not just childish fears. Most importantly, I have to figure out how my children will fit into any romance that I might someday have. Love is a daunting prospect.

I can’t deny though that it is alluring. To have someone to hold, and to love, and to love me… it’s very appealing. But I want to make sure I’m doing it for the right reasons… for me, it’s far to easy to use such a person as a surrogate to the rest of the world. To consolidate all my social needs into one everlasting swoon, but this is not enough to keep a relationship going. The poet Rilke once said in a letter (translated): “Once the realization is accepted, that even between the closest human beings infinite distances exist, then a wonderful side by side living can grow if they can succeed in loving the distance between them that allows each to see the other whole against the sky.”

I want to be seen whole against the sky, and this is how I want to see the woman I will love. We cannot see each other this way if I choose to hide away with her in a space just large enough for the two of us. The only chance for true love is to set out and live life, to search for self-fulfillment. To find a place in this world for myself where I can stand whole on my own and to build my house on solid ground.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3