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 40th 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.
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
