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The Burden of Being Upright, Part 2

I’ve written a lot about the frustrations that come with trying to be a good man when you carry so much baggage. The burden of being upright is something we all carry, but it’s really been weighing on me of late.

Mood music:

https://youtu.be/KNcvGwaJ-lI

This isn’t a pity party. But I’ve learned over the years that listing my issues and what I’m doing about them can help put them into perspective for me and can encourage others to do the same. The stressers in my life are not unique to me; it’s the kind of stuff every human being must deal with.

So what’s going on lately?

My father is bedridden and in a home, and my aunt — his sister — suffered a stroke and was unresponsive in the hospital for a couple of weeks. She’s responding a little now, but still. I’m not dealing with either of these things on my own, however. My sisters have been particularly awesome about communicating with my aunt’s doctors, and my stepmom has tirelessly seen to my father’s needs.

My frustration stems from the fact that I can’t do more. Living an hour away, traveling frequently for work and raising two young sons means I can’t drive to my father or aunt at the drop of a hat. This makes me feel guilty and failed as a son and nephew. Does my frustration square with reality? Probably not, but I feel it all the same.

Meanwhile, my depression was particularly brutal this past winter. And since the cold air and piles of snow are still here in April, I’m struggling more to come out of it.

I worry about not doing enough to keep the connection with my wife and kids going as strongly as it needs to be. As a result, some hang-ups have taken hold, the kind of stuff that comes from insecurity and is too personal to get into even here.

What am I doing about all of this?

I’m doing everything I can to move forward. I’ve played my guitar every day. I’m even taking walks most days — not yet consistently but more so than I have in a long time. And since I have a charity walk to prepare for, I’m going to keep walking.

My diet could be better, but I’ve managed to stabilize more than it has been in recent months.

I’ll keep plugging along with that stuff, and it’ll work. But it’s going to take longer than I want. That’s OK, though, because as long as I’m moving forward, I’m moving in the right direction.

face being punched by a boxing glove

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8 Things You Should Know About This Blog

Many family members have recently started reading this blog. Given the semi-autobiographical nature of this beast, misunderstandings have caused friction with a couple people along the way. I’ve written what follows in hopes of clarifying a few things.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/wovx8GK3WDo

  • I don’t come here to complain about life. Parts of the blog are dark. Other parts are chock-full of my blunt opinions. Some misinterpret that as unhappiness on my part. That’s not the case. Everyone has ups and downs, and I’ve dealt with it in ways right and wrong. I went from being depressed and anxious all the time to confident and mostly happy, and I share both sides of the coin with readers for two reasons: to clarify things for myself and to tell readers that they’re never beyond repair and never alone.
  • If I seem depressed or angry in a post, it doesn’t mean that I am. Some of you see a post where I recount an episode of depression or a day where my addictive impulses got the better of me and assume that I’m in crisis. Some will read a post I wrote a year ago and think that’s my current state of mind. In reality, these posts are a snapshot in time. Maybe I’m blue at the time of writing, but I share the mood for the sake of a lesson I’ve learned about life along the way — that the bad moods pass and down periods make way for up periods. Usually when you read a post, I’ve long since moved on.
  • I don’t share darker aspects of family history to take shots at people. To share lessons I’ve learned in life, I have to go into detail about where I’ve been, how I got the way I was during the darker times and how I found a better place. If I tell the story of a painful period involving family, it’s not to hurt people. It’s simply to share how certain events shaped me.
  • I don’t claim to be 100 percent accurate 100 percent of the time. When sharing an experience, I never claim it’s gospel. I simply recall things to the best of my memory. But no two memories are the same, and if you ask four people to tell you what they remember, you’ll hear four slightly different versions of the same tale. That’s especially true when recalling childhood memories. If you see something that doesn’t ring true, tell me. In every case, I’m going for the truth.
  • I’m much harder on myself than I will ever be on anyone else. A lot of this blog is about the mistakes I’ve made in life and what I’ve learned from them. I’ve been told repeatedly that I’m too hard on myself, but I disagree. Part of the blog is about keeping myself honest and keeping myself on a positive trajectory. A merciless self-inventory from time to time is essential.
  • “Why is he doing this now?” One family member asked that question, and here’s my answer: I started the blog so that I could use writing to put my experiences in perspective. It’s been helpful to me, and in the process many people have told me it’s helped them as well. We all need a dose of perspective, so I try to do my part. It’s also not all about me. I accept guest posts, and that includes those from family members. I’ll run posts that fit this blog regardless of how I’m portrayed, because, as I said, everyone’s memory captures things a little differently. For a more complete picture of what this blog is about, read this.
  • I’m not here trying to pass myself off as an expert on life. For a better explanation of that, go here.
  • People don’t dissect the blog in search of faults the way you think they do. Whenever an author writes something autobiographical, someone claims they were inaccurately portrayed and that everyone will read about them and think the worst. The truth is that since everyone has dysfunction in their families, no one is going to read this sort of blog and pass judgement.

We’re all imperfect people with flaws. Most people are too wrapped up in their own problems to judge those mentioned here based on anything I write.

My hope is that they can read about a tough family situation and see how the lessons apply in their own lives.

If any of this bothers you, call me, email me or hit me up on Facebook.

With love,
Bill

family fight

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Loudmouth Politics and the Damage Done

I love that we live in a country where freedom of speech is an essential right; that you can call your president names without getting thrown in jail. I also love that people are willing to debate their beliefs fervently, whatever those beliefs are.

But there’s a downside.

For some people, it’s not enough to state a political belief. They have to judge people who believe differently and resort to name calling.

Mood music:

I saw such a display recently. One person, a conservative who hates Barack Obama, was telling everyone that the president is “a piece of shit.” When someone else chimed in, saying something sympathetic to the president, the Obama hater exploded. “If you’re an Obama lover, I don’t like you!”

The Obama sympathizer had the good sense to walk away.

This is why we can’t solve the big problems. We can’t get past disagreements. Instead, we obliterate each other.

Or, more accurately, just enough people choose that approach to fuck things up for the rest of us.

If you don’t like the current occupant of the White House, good for you. If you think the problem is Congress, fine. By all means, speak your mind.

But if you can’t do it like a grownup, don’t be surprised when the rest of us walk away.

Ruined American Flag

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It’s Not How Far You Have to Go, It’s How Far You’ve Come

No matter how much we’ve grown, no matter how far we’ve come, we insist on beating ourselves over the strides we have yet to achieve.

When it comes to self-loathing over one’s vulnerabilities, I’m about the best there is. But I’ve worked hard to break myself of that, because the truth is that I have come a long way since the days when I was owned by my OCD, anxiety, fears and dark impulses.

Do those things still get the better of me? Absolutely. But I’ve found that the more I dwell on it, the longer it takes me to grow into something better.

Mood music:

I used to let myself plunge into days of depression and self-hating every time I made a mistake at work. I binge-ate my way to 280 pounds, and I would let my brain spin for weeks over every possible worst-case scenario for the same reason.

As a kid, I bullied other kids even as I was getting bullied, because finding kids that were seemingly weaker made me feel better about myself.

Thankfully, I’m in better control of myself and my actions than I used to be, though the darker impulses still get the better of me occasionally. I still beat myself over mistakes, which makes the step forward slower. I still give in to laziness when life seems too hard. I still judge other people when I don’t really know them.

But I keep those impulses in check a lot more often than not. When I’m feeling down, I try to celebrate that fact.

Efforts at personal evolution are a life-long thing. The work doesn’t end until we’re dead.

Best to focus on living the best way we can.

baby elephant climbing a steep hill

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The Misguided Coping Tool of My Teenage Rage

The first car I ever owned as a kid was a beat-to-shit 1983 Ford LTD wagon. It had a catalytic converter that always flooded and stalled the car. The power steering was gone. And it was the misguided coping tool of my teenage rage.

Mood music:

http://youtu.be/biXnwOMznkg

The LTD’s exterior was a toxic green, covered over in patches with stickers promoting whatever anarchist political causes I espoused at the time. In one inspired move, I took a “No Sludge” bumper sticker that had been proliferated by groups opposed to a sludge burning plant at the Rowe Quarry, cut off the no part and stuck sludge to the rear hatch. (The no-sludge people ultimately won. A massive condo complex sits where Rowe used to be on the Revere-Saugus border in Massachusetts.)

Some days I loved that car. Some days I hated it.

I hated the constant stalling and the smell of gas and oil that always seemed to make its way into the passenger compartment. The steering wheel was thin, which wasn’t masculine enough for my liking. Loose metal around the rear passenger-side wheel well constantly sliced the tires, though that at least gave me plenty of tire-changing practice.

But I loved its battered exterior and the sound system. The speakers were actually blown out, but I liked how it made the bass rattle the car whenever I put an Ozzy cassette in. I loved how I could pack a bunch of friends in the back for trips to the Worcester Centrum, the main place to see the big rock acts before we had the TD Garden and Verizon Center.

I was always told the back was perfect for sex, though I never attempted it. At least two friends did. If I wasn’t in the car at the time, I didn’t care, as long as they cleaned up after themselves.

Despite the engine’s shortcomings, I broke a lot of speed limits with that car. I had a vicious temper and often drove too fast to feel better. I used to blast up and down the causeway between Lynn and Nahant. You had to slow down before reaching Nahant, though, because the police loved to bust kids like me. They often did.

I would drive within an inch of the car in front of me and bang the horn. I would flip off anyone who slowed me down. And I punched the ceiling over the driver’s seat so much the fabric started to sag.

Looking back, I could have killed someone. There were many opportunities to do so. I could have killed myself and my friends in those moments of road rage. By the grace of God, that never happened.

The coping tools I have today — music, my guitars, walks with my wife, the elliptical machine in the garage, my faith, my mindfulness exercises — are far more effective. Nobody gets hurt. Everyone wins, because I’m easier to deal with.

Still, there are occasions, however infrequent, when I miss that wreck on four wheels.

10365338_10200980974005449_1817783465759390831_o

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So You Wanna Blog About Your Demons

Quite a few people are starting to share stories about their mental health challenges and other demons. Some ponder if they should start blogging about it. Having written such a blog for almost five years now, here’s my take.

Mood music:

If you feel you have reached the right point in your journey to start sharing, then do it. If nothing else, it will help you keep things in perspective. I always feel better after I’ve torn a few skeletons from my closet and tossed them to the light.

Once you expose them, they seem a lot smaller. Chances are you will also touch a few people who need to know they’re not alone; that they’re dealing with the stuff that makes us all human. They need to see proof that they are not freaks.

If you are still at the beginning of figuring out your issues and you’re in that confused state where you don’t know up from down, it might be better to start writing just for yourself. Fill notebooks but don’t share yet. Wait until you reach a point in recovery where you’re ready to come out. Then you can take what you wrote when emotions were still raw and put them out there along with fresh perspective of where you’ve been since then.

When I started this blog, I wanted to break stigmas and make people more comfortable outing their own demons. Not many people were doing it back then. Today, many are taking the leap. Whether I’ve influenced any of it is for others to determine. All I know is that I’m happy to see it.

Whatever you decide to do, know that I admire you and gain extra strength from the experiences you already share.

Godspeed and good luck.

skeleton closet dance

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Sometimes, a Sex Song Is Just a Sex Song

Columnists have gone nuts since Beyoncé and husband Jay Z performed “Drunk in Love” at the Grammys. The song is about them having steamy, drunken sex. Nothing more, nothing less. Yet we can’t help pontificating about what it says of their marriage.

Here’s the Grammy Performance:

http://youtu.be/LaVeoJt0jfI

Here’s the official video, which is dirtier:

Debate over this song illustrates how we tend to overthink things.

Alyssa Rosenberg raved about the powerful case Beyoncé and Jay Z made for marriage in a Think Progress article:

Beyoncé Knowles-Carter and Jay-Z got on the Grammy stage last night and did what conservatives have been dying for someone to do for ages: they made marriage look fun, and sexy, and a source of mutual professional fulfillment.

Missing here is the fact that marriage is about much, much more than sex. It’s important, to be sure, but it’s not enough to make a marriage go the distance. Have all the steamy moments you want. If two people can’t fill the gaps in each other’s souls, nothing else matters.

On the other hand, New York Post writer Naomi Schaefer Riley declares that Jay-Z is a shitty husband:

For years, these award ceremonies have pushed the envelope; Beyoncé’s booty-shaking was certainly no worse than Miley Cyrus’s twerking or any number of other performances by Madonna, for instance. But there’s something particularly icky about doing it while your husband looks on approvingly.

“Honestly, I didn’t want to watch Jay Z and Beyoncé’s foreplay,” says Charlotte Hays, author of “When Did White Trash Become the New Normal?” Indeed, the happy couple seems to have completely blurred the line between what goes on in their bedroom and what happens on national TV. So much for the woman that Michelle Obama has called “a role model who kids everywhere can look up to.”

Too much information? Maybe. Does it prove Jay Z is a pig whose idea of a strong marriage is exploiting his wife? Not really. Long before these two hooked up, they were performers who never shied away from controversy. Riley suggests Beyoncé is a victim. She doesn’t give the singer nearly enough credit for controlling her image and destiny.

Another line of debate concerns this lyric from Jay Z in the song: “Eat the cake, Anna Mae.” Beyoncé joins in on the rap, which alludes to a scene in the 1993 Tina Turner biopic What’s Love Got to Do With It? where abusive husband and musical partner Ike Turner forces cake on his wife in the prelude to another violent blow up:

http://youtu.be/DadlLq2yrBw

Is one line of a song proof that he espouses domestic abuse? Hardly. Since the beginning of time we’ve heard musicians sing of love publicly while being abusive in their relationships. We’ve also heard musicians talk tough in song and be anything but offstage.

The thing is, sometimes a sex song is just a sex song.

beyonce and Jay Z

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Cable News and the Justin Bieber Effect

I lost faith in cable news as a conduit for useful, balanced information long ago. Once I stopped watching, the drop in my depression and anxiety was considerable. I grew a lot less bored, too.

When I see respected journalists like MSNBC’s Andrea Mitchell cutting off an interview with a former congresswoman to report breaking news about Justin Bieber’s DUI arrest, I know all the more that shutting it off was the right course of action.

With its action, MSNBC is telling us another star getting arrested is more important than all those troubling revelations about NSA spying. That’s what Mitchell was talking to former US Rep. Jane Harman about when she decided to interrupt the report. So that must be the message.

And it’s not just MSNBC. I see the same type of behavior from Fox News and CNN on a regular basis.

People love to pick on Bieber for a variety of reasons, and you all know I’m no fan. But his antics look pretty mundane when compared to the bullshit these cable news networks dish out with rushing speed.

Excuse me as I shut the news off again. I have more important things to do, like counting the socks in my drawer.

Justin Bieber MSNBC Jane Harman Illustration by Starcasm.net.

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Don’t Let Social Awkwardness Get You Down

I’m a pretty public guy. I’ve given many public presentations about this blog and the security industry I work in. Blogging by itself means I’m putting myself out there every day. So, you would think I’d be comfortable in public by now.

But sometimes I’m not.

Mood music:

I was reminded of this over the weekend, when I attended the ShmooCon hacker conference in Washington, DC. I got to see many friends and had a great time. But there were several conversations in which I was ridiculously uncomfortable. That’s no fault of the people I was talking to. In this case, it really was me.

Some of this is because of social media. Many of the people I enjoy conversing with on Twitter and Facebook use avatars that are usually not the standard mug shot. Some use symbols, others use cartoons or pictures of animals. So when I see these people in public, seeing the actual face behind the online presence can be jarring.

I also get a little weird in big crowds. I’ll usually insert myself into a group of people and listen to conversations, and when the attention turns to me, I get tongue-tied and sweaty. I’m sure that for every person who notices, there are five more who don’t.

My defense mechanism is usually to go wandering around the hotel aimlessly for several minutes. Then I come back and rejoin the conversations.

I think it goes back to childhood, when I had trouble talking to other kids and making friends. It was often easier to be alone with my Star Wars toys and dark thoughts.

I know I’m not alone when it comes to social awkwardness. Friends have described a similar feeling and reaction in their own travels. These are not introverts or hermits. They give talks, take principled stands on many a controversial issue and mix with people at these events until the wee hours of the morning. They look perfectly at ease, but they’re not always.

The good news is that I’ve learned to stick it out; to keep talking to people in the crowd rather than retreating to my hotel room. The awkwardness usually goes away after a few hours, and it’s all good from there.

If I’m really feeling the social anxiety, I will go to my room, but only for about a half hour so I can breathe and collect my thoughts. Then it’s back downstairs I go.

I used to let the awkwardness get me down. Sometimes I outright hated myself for it. But I’ve come to learn that it’s just part of being human. I used to think it made me a freak. Today I see it as a normal sensation we all experience.

I had a very good weekend. I was productive and made new contacts because I didn’t let the awkward moments get me down.

hiding

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When Patriots Fans Eat Their Own

My interest in football is minimal. I love a good story of an athlete overcoming the odds and showing us that anything’s possible. In that regard, Tom Brady is a hell of a role model.

I’m not a fan of the Patriots quarterback’s wife, Gisele Bundchen. I don’t dislike her, I’m just not big on the modeling culture. But here’s something I like even less: Whenever the Patriots lose a big game, as happened Sunday, the Bundchen haters make nasty, foolish comments.

Mood music:

The haters start to joke about how she makes Brady wear ridiculous clothes and how their castles include fancy toilet bowls. They go on to complain that Brady is whipped and that, as a result, he hasn’t been able to win a Super Bowl since they got hitched.

The disdain people have for Bundchen really came out a couple years ago, minutes after the Pats lost Super Bowl XLVI to the New York Giants. On the way out of the stadium, someone heckled Bundchen, saying “Eli (Manning) owns your husband.”

She responded, within earshot of the TV mics: “My husband cannot (expletive) throw the ball and catch the ball at the same time.”

What outrages people most is that her comment essentially blamed the rest of the team for coming up short. It probably wasn’t one of her better moments. But people tend to forget that she’s a human being, prone to all the same moments of weakness as the rest of us.

The morning after that Super Bowl loss, I read a Boston Herald column by Margery Eagan on the whole affair. She wrote:

Super Bowl Sunday offered a telling glimpse into the Brady/Bundchen household. Our suspicions may be true. It was never Tom’s idea to dress like a girl in headbands with hair down his back. Or buy a $1,000 Toto toilet with water jets and blow dryers. Or ride a bike through town with Gisele’s 5-pound ratty dog in his front basket like a teeny, tiny, nasty ET.

At least Tom put his foot down when Super Gi had the Super Idea to name Super Baby Benjamin … River. “Something always flowing, immortal,” blogged Super Gi after her Super Pregnancy and Super Childbirth in the tub, where she meditated for 8 hours. And don’t forget: She wanted a law requiring all mothers to breast-feed and claimed she’d potty-trained Benjamin by six months.

I mean, beyond nauseating.

I laugh when people suggest Brady never asked for the life of a whipped husband. That’s the woman he chose to marry. In marriage husband and wife merge their lives in a blender, and the end result sometimes looks strange.

That’s beside the point, though. We all do and say things that are nauseating. I’ve read and liked Eagan’s columns for years. But she can often be nauseating, too.

When she writes a lousy column, do we blame it on her love life?

No.

Yet when Brady and company lose a game, his love life is exactly what people like to blame.

Blaming the athlete’s wife makes you a sore loser, a hater, and someone who likes to make excuses for a job not done well.

Even more, it makes you jealous and petty.

Cut the crap and be glad your team made it this far despite a season of setbacks.

Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen