Hello Readers, welcome back.  

As freeing as the feeling of shirking off the Bachelor/Bachelorette hairshirt I once tolerated is, it is difficult to organize any semblance of a profound thought upon which to leave you pondering week to week.  My commitment, however, is unwavering. 

Recent events (both past and ongoing) in my own busy life over the past couple of weeks have forced me to ponder life and mortality more than I usually do: that is to say constantly.  In the recent weeks I attended the wedding of two people I care greatly about.  For the first time in as long as I can remember, when the priest asked the congregation at the wedding if we would help the new couple to grow by providing support and guidance to them in their new marriage, I whole heartedly responded, "I will."  I actually paid attention during the ceremony rather than wondering what time the bar would open and if it would be a full bar or just beer and wine.  I did not wonder if there would be a DJ or a band.  I did not commit to dance the funky chicken or the hokey pokey.  I simply sat in my pew and enjoyed the happiness pouring from the altar.    

Shortly after that wonderful event, I also attended the funeral of someone I also cared about.  Without providing too many personal details, this person was a very old person who was, to say the least, a huge influence in the lives of her family, extended family, and friends.  A full life is something to celebrate; however, the loss of a person like that is still a cause for sadness much like a final bite of chocolate cake or finishing the final page of a great book.  Like that cake or the book, she will be fondly remember yet difficult, if not impossible, to replace.  Only a few people like that are available to us in our lifetimes and being aware of that is a real gift.  

I suppose all an average Joe or Jane can hope for is to die peacefully while the love and respect you've inspired in others continues to remain alive.  We cannot all change the entire world, but the best of us change the world around them for the better.   

To top all of that off, another person  I care deeply about was hospitalized and, there's no way of sugar coating it, came way too close to joining the aforementioned old person on St. Peter's escalator.  Fortunately, St. Peter will have to wait a while longer to meet that person.      

All in all it's been quite a couple of weeks.  I realize that one's mortality is not the light-hearted banter you anticipated this week, but the thoughts are inescapable.  On a lighter note, there are apparently more than one of you out there who still care about the blog.  Outdated platform aside, I promise to keep the content as fresh as a baby's newly powdered bottom if you'll promise to humor me from time to time.  Thank you for your comments.  I'm glad you're all doing well in your respective parts of the world.        

Franz Kafka once said, "the meaning of life is that it stops."  German atheists have a gift for brevity and bluntness, do they not?   Regardless, that strikes me as true. 

Christians are taught that life is nothing more the soul's temporary layover in an imperfect vessel called the body.  Depending on how that temporary vessel is utilized, the final destination of that soul is either a soft place to land or a hot place to burn . . . forever.

In the world of Instagram, reality television, Tik Tok, and Snapchat, our lives have been reduced to 280 (thanks, for the additional 160 characters, Elon) characters or a brief snippet on social media.  I can literally see what my favorite celebrities had for lunch, look around for 360 degrees on the beach where they ate it, and watch some old lady dance with her granddaughter at any time, at any second, on any day of the week.   

Whether we realize it or not, this unfettered, unadulterated access to everything at all times via an iPhone screen is literally robbing us of our lives.  Granted, my generation had the advantage of not growing up with any social media or smartphones.  My father's idea of social media, was turning off the television, throwing our shoes outside, and us right behind them before locking the door and telling us, "go play."  Back then that was called good parenting.  Today, that would warrant a call from Child Protective Services.  It's a shame, really.  

The most deleterious yet subconscious consequence of burying our faces in a screen for hours upon hours, is that not only are we filling our minds superfluous trash, we never replace that trash with anything substantive.  Scrolling incessantly is like unwrapping all of the merchandise in a vast warehouse, shipping it out the back door, and allowing the cardboard and packing peanuts to fill the void.  It is a metaphorical kicking of the can down the road wherein our minds are never allowed to turn off and never permitted to rest or reset.  We are the balloon caught in the updraft or the hamster caught on the wheel.  This has caused my generation great harm, but it is literally in the process of destroying the two generations behind mine.  

So today, I am going to encourage all of you to do a couple of things.  First, please call, write, text, or make contact with someone you love.  That's it.  There's no requirement that you tell that person what he or she means to you.  No requirement you say, "I love you."  Just be present in their day, if even for just a few moments.  Second, go buy a paper book and commit to read it.  I recently re-read two books that were assigned reading in high school and college to re-examine my perspective as a cranky old(er) man versus the naive teenager I was when I was forced to read them.  It was a rewarding exercise that helped me appreciate my walk from adolescence into middle age and beyond.  It also kept me away from my phone for many hours.       

George Santayana wrote, "there is no cure for birth and death save to enjoy the interval."  Doing that takes a concerted, sustained, conscious effort; especially in today's world.  Do yourselves a favor and make time to enjoy your own interval.   

We'll talk soon.  Have a wonderful week.  DP

SOME GUY IN AUSTIN IS BACK!

How like a winter hath my absence been
From Thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen,
What old December's bareness everywhere!

 

--William Shakespeare, Sonnet 97

 

Winter indeed.  August 16, 2017.  Not only was that day the 40^th anniversary of Elvis’ death it was the last date that I, Some Guy in Austin, posted on this blog.  As mind-shattering as that is to me, I’m pleased to let you all know—if any of you are left—that not only am I still here almost six (yes, six) years later, like Ron Desantis, I’m officially announcing that I’m back in the race.

As is probably the case with any of you reading this, a lot—and I mean a lot—has happened in my life since 2017.  I’m certain that some of you keep up with Lincee Ray (ihategreenbeans.com) on her site and her podcast, which means that you’ve been listening to me on a regular basis.  While that’s something I really enjoy doing, I recently found myself contemplating my life in the way that insomnia-ridden men of my age do from time to time.  In the middle of the night, I pulled up my blog and began reading the comments on some of the old posts.  I smiled a lot.    

 

The truth is that I miss writing.  Granted, as a lawyer, I write constantly, but not the same way I do here.  I miss the introspection that pours from my brain into my fingers on the keyboard.  I miss the catharsis of hitting “send” and awaiting your feedback.  I miss the process. 

 

So, rather than languish in self-pity, I’m dusting off the creative side of my brain and committing to blocking out some time each week to post on this blog again.  I do not physically or, more accurately mentally, have the energy to watch and recap The Bachelor anymore.  I also don’t have the time.  Ergo, the length of the posts will be substantially shorter than my prior ones, but I hope to pack them as full as a fat lady’s jeans.  Reading my blog, like taking off that fat lady’s jeans, will be like opening a can of biscuits. 

The subject of the blog will be whatever pops into my head and stays there when I sit down to type it out.  I wholeheartedly ask that you provide me post ideas in the comment section of the blog.  As was the case in the past, I’ll attempt to get to all of them.  I don’t know if any of you are still out there.  If you are, please know, I’ve missed you and I am thrilled to be back.  Now let’s get to it.

 

First of all, do people even read blogs anymore?  I feel like I did in 2008 when a very long relationship I was in ended and I had to “put myself out there” again.  When I entered that relationship texting didn’t exist and Match was something you used to light a fire.

 

As nostalgic as that memory makes me feel, it also reminds me that I’m lucky to be married to Mrs. Some Guy.  She’s proven herself to be reliable, patient, and tolerant.  Did I mention tolerant?  Regardless, this blog is my preferred vehicle to communicate my musings.  For now, anyway, I’m choosing to own it. Robert Frost once wrote, “[h]ome is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”  Here, I’m home.  Take me in.

 

In reading through some of my old posts and the comments they elicited, I was struck by the renewed sense of familiarity I felt.  I felt as if we’d never been apart from one another.  I felt as if we still cared about one another.  I suppose that feeling is perhaps one of the greatest gifts of bridging the gap between fear and vulnerability by sharing a part of oneself with another person.  There is a comfort and a security in it and I never realized how much I missed that until I began reading the comments once again.  Granted, I’m not alone now.  I have a very blessed life with Mrs. Some Guy; however, if you’ll recall, our relationship began as a result of this blog.  

Looky here:  (http://guyinaustin.blogspot.com/2012/07/dp-off-season-post-34-peak-behind-vail.html).

 

Incidentally, like many women, I suppose, Mrs. Some Guy makes lists of things to do, to pack, to throw out, to donate, to look up, to eat, to (insert anything).  She’s like a living Buzzfeed.  In looking at one of her lists last night I was remind that she has beautiful handwriting.  I mean impeccable penmanship.  Like, if she was an Essene, her Dead Sea Scroll would have been the neatest one found in the broken clay pot in the cave.  Archeologists centuries later would know exactly what she was scrolling about.  Good penmanship is a turn on for me.  Over the last ten (yes, ten) years that penmanship has proven to be an apt metaphor for who she is.  My penmanship is sh*t.  Jackson Pollack painted neater than I write.  Let’s not dwell on what that says about who I am.  Anyhoo.  I digress.  

In my quest to tackle my busy life over the past six years, I had forgotten what gifts I received simply by writing to all of you.  It’s hard to believe that half of that time included a pandemic that shook us all to the core.  Our tenuous grasp on all things real (at least mine anyway) was challenged in a way none of us could foresee.  It wasn’t all bad for me, however.  After stocking my deep freeze with meat, accumulating as much bottled water and toilet paper as I could gather, and preparing for Armageddon, something unexpected happened. 

For a short time at the beginning of the pandemic there was a silence in my life that had not been there for, well, ever.  There was calm. 

 

There were no planes to catch, no laptop to take out of my bag in the security line, no traffic to swear in, no deadlines to meet.  There were substantially fewer emails, and even fewer places to be.  As upended as my life became, serenity permeated through the uncertainty. 

 

There was no twenty-minute wait at my favorite place to eat lunch. There was a homemade lunch.    There was no dry cleaning to lug across the parking lot to my car, no suit to put on, and no tie.  There was a t-shirt and jeans, and my favorite pair of boots.  There was no late-night phone call to Mrs. Some Guy from a strange hotel room after a day at the courthouse.  There was a hug or a light rub across the arm and a “goodnight” in my ear.  There were no lines to stand in, no people to wait on.  There was no road noise to drown out the birds singing in my back yard.  There was just me.  At home.

 

Goethe wrote, “he is happiest, be he king or peasant, who finds peace in his home.”  For a short time after March 20, 2020, I indeed found that peace at home just as I used to find peace writing this blog.  I hope all of you did too.  Welcome Home. 

 

Well, there it is.  Please join me again once a week and tell others to as well.  Take care of yourselves and recognize the places you feel at home.  In the meantime, if you need me, I’ll be shaking off the rust.  It’s nice to be back.  DP