“It’s getting close to time to get back on the horse… You’re 15x braver than you think you are.”
There is a self-aggrandizing and self-flagellating bullshit axiom that goes something like you’re not really an adult/man until you lose a parent/father.
Now that I’m on the other side, I think it’s even less true than I did before.
Here is what I know. It is impossible for someone on my side of it to prepare or even to explain it to someone on the other side of it. You can think about it, even dwell on it all you want. But understanding it from a future perspective is impossible. And it takes going through it to understand that.
I guess we’ll just have to adjust.
I’ve written two novels (N.B. one he might have liked), around two hundred blog posts (N.B. a couple he would have liked), several really hilarious emails, one honors thesis (N.B. he definitely would have liked), countless brilliant legal briefs (N.B. that would have bored him to coma), and one or two touching letters, and I don’t think my dad ever read a word I wrote. (N.B. That is if you don’t count my re-writes of the barely intelligible letters of recommendation he’d send me to proof read.)
Quit these pretentious things and just punch the clock
WD, this pretentious thing, existed in a universe away from him. Prolly solely because I could feel my cluttered explanation to him (a man who could waste countless hours watching the Food Network) as to why I wasted time with this silly hobby. Expecting weird disappointment, only for him to respond: whatever makes you happy.
But after, regardless of the bullshit axiom, I felt a part of me veering toward: Grow up, you’ve got a wife, two kids, a mortgage, a career, a bald head, a greying goatee, and you’ve done this long enough. It’s not necessary any more, if it ever was.
The role of our survivors is to serve as witnesses who remember and who testify about our existence.
But his opinions on and reactions to the world (some of which made it to his son) had to inform much of the tripe herein. And I remembered a piece of advice he gave me. Maybe the most important. Certainly the one he emphasized the most. And I got encouragement (even if you just told me the music you were listening to) from you desperate few who for some reason act like you look forward to this shit.
And I realized I’d take up this pretentious thing again. Not because of bravery. But because it’s what I do, what I’ve done, part of what I am, and someone would be really fucking disappointed if I stopped doing something I loved and used him as an excuse.
So I guess I’m back. It may be a little different, maybe Weekly-ish Download. But brain will still need to vomit, and music is still great. It still means something. It can still remind you of your life better than anything else can.
And what are you dorks gonna listen to if I’m not feeding it to you?
Much love. Incredible amounts of love.
See you next week.