I lose sleep over it.
Because this project matters to me. Other than my son and job, I don’t dedicate energy to anything like I do this.
I’ve grown to love it. I might even need it.
As more people begin to pay attention—some I know, most I don’t—the pressure mounts. To punch these keys in such a way that provides value for those of you kind enough to read.
And that right there—is where I try to stop myself.
Because my goal here has always been to simply work through this unexpected new reality in which I find myself.
My journal. To explore who I was, who I am, and who I want to be.
And if telling these stories—stories told with honesty—can help just one human being feel better about themselves or rethink their life choices a little bit, I’ll have done something meaningful.
It’s a wonderful fringe benefit of being honest with myself—having people tell me that these stories matter to them. That honesty matters.
I feel a little better about my life each day now.
I credit friends and family.
I credit God.
I credit time.
I credit you.
I credit this.
What Is This Thing?
And now this exists. This… thing. This place where I write. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know what it can be. I don’t know what I want it to be. But I know it needs fed.
And I know I want it to matter.
I want it to be relevant.
I want it to be cathartic. To write and to read.
I want it to entertain. And inform.
A small, positive contribution to humanity, regardless of how many people ever see it or ever care.
I just need one.
Just one shitty husband to change his life—to actively choose to love his wife and save his family.
Just one lost soul lying to herself and everyone around her to start choosing honesty. To choose the truth and feel freedom free from the shackles of living a lie. To really start to feel alive—outside the shadows, with nothing to hide.
Just one young man to learn from the sins of my past and build a strong foundation with the girl he loves to create something lasting. A relationship that will produce beautiful little children who will get to find out what family is supposed to look and feel like. The blueprint for marital success. So that they may grow up making positive choices and being part of generations of people who contribute positively to this planet.
It only takes one. One brave person to influence somebody so profoundly that this new person develops the courage to do the same.
The ripples take effect. And good spreads.
I’m not strong enough or smart enough or credible enough to be the influencer. I don’t know a goddamn thing about what it takes to be a good person, or the meaning of life, or what happens after we die, or how to feel peace when you lay down at night.
I’m an absolute failure at marriage and at always doing the right thing even when no one’s watching.
But I AM brave enough to try. To shine a little light on my skeletons. To try to reach that person who IS strong enough to instill change in their life and the lives of others.
In the hopes that some other husband doesn’t lose his family. That some wife doesn’t have to be afraid. That some innocent children aren’t poisoned by the anger they had no part in creating.
I’ll never know. And that’s okay. Because I have a good imagination. And that’s my fantasy. That one story can make a difference for one person who can REALLY make a difference.
Now What am I Supposed to Write About?
Before, there was scandal. Sex. Drama. Anger. And sadness.
I actually cried writing at least three of these posts. Maybe more.
I understand why people read that stuff.
But, what now?
As the scandal fades. As my anger fades. As I transition from Total Freakout Spaz to Typical Divorced Single Dad Guy, is any of this going to matter?
What will I write about?, I wonder.
I’m scared to lose whatever relevance this has.
Things will come to me.
Old, embarrassing stories. Things I remember from my marriage that are applicable to the idea that we all need to be giving more and taking less.
New stories about dating whenever I get around to trying that again.
Stories about my son as he continues to grow and evolve and experience life and the human condition now that he’s being exposed to all of the challenges that school brings—academically, socially, spiritually.
Even though I want this to be a healing mechanism for me—a way to grow as a human and as a writer—I’m absolutely guilty of wanting to keep you.
I don’t know how to write for nobody. And I don’t want to know what that looks and feels like.
I wrote once about The Fear of Losing What We Love.
And now I’m afraid to lose you. To lose this. Because this is the first and only good thing to happen to me as a direct result of my wife leaving.
Now, I feel like I need you.
I’m going to write a bunch of self-indulgent crap once in a while. I think this may even be self-indulgent crap. But it is sincere.
I’m going to write a bunch of nonsense once in a while. I’m nothing if not juvenile. But I want this to be bigger than that. (*wink*)
I’m afraid of so many things in this world. Some big. Some small.
And that fear is paralyzing. It prevents us from trying.
This—the words on this screen—is me trying.
This is what I know. All I know.
And I hope it’s enough.
Not for me. I’m never satisfied.
Not for everybody. I’m just not tall enough.
But for one.
Maybe it’s you.
I need you.
And so does everyone else.
Go be great.