Keep on Running

Image

Taken over the Great Salt Lake.

* * *

I’ve learned a lot of things this year. Some good things and some not so good things. Some useful, some painful, some horrific. I’ve learned more about myself, about others, about truth, denial, hope, trust, fear and failure than I have in a long, long time. I think I’ve been pretty good about honesty with myself. I’ve bled plenty here. Still, this is a formative time and I don’t want to let it pass without learning the lessons, however painful, that will help shape my future and, most importantly, help shape me.

There has been pain galore. Deep, searing, awful pain that matches and even exceeds the hurt when I’ve lost family members and friends. I think the hardest truths are the ones that destroy us and remake us. The problem is doing the best right thing at every step. The difficulty in seeing the right and the best is obscured by fire, smoke, ash and tears. It’s hard to accept the past choices that I’ve made, that others have made helping me to arrive at Painville Central Station.

* * *

I’ve traveled a bunch this year and each time I travel, there has been a giddiness and hopefulness that I’ve loved. But that usually fades about 30 seconds after I get off the plane in whatever city. Because I don’t have to check in. I don’t have anyone to call or text anyone that I’ve landed safely. I have friends, but they would be puzzled or laugh at: “Hey, I’m down. Made it safely. Talk to you soon.”

I miss not checking in with somebody. I may be unique in this regard, as I know a lot of people who prefer to check out when they travel. I’ve had to come up with ways to fill the surprising void of not having to check in with anybody. It’s strange.

In February I thought that I could escape my pain by traveling. It’s only given me distance to see even more clearly how awful things are. It’s not running away as much as it is gaining perspective. And perspective is what I’ve been lacking for a very long time.

No one likes to be told hard truths. They are, after all hard. But when you know deep inside that despite the hardness, inside that truth will be the very thing you’ve needed to see, but refused to see or couldn’t see for any number of reasons. That realization—that it was right there, if only…—will add to the hardness. But it’s there. Right there. I see it now. The smoke has cleared somewhat.

Time to act on that truth.

* * *

Affirmation: I control who I let into my life.

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  • http://twitter.com/lildanes Dana Bojangles

    Rock on, Jon. Your photos and words are beautiful, as always. P.S. Check in on twitter – I’ll keep an eye out :)

  • http://twitter.com/ConcreteThinker Patricia Flesher

    I totally understand what you mean by missing checking in with some one. It was like that the first time I travelled after my seperation last year. And you know what, it does get better. Wishing you the best

  • loradow

    Whenever someone tells me (or I try to tell myself) that a move to a new city is what’s needed to make my life better, I remind them that they will still be themselves, with all their problems, just with a new zip code and without a support network.

    I can be a real ray of sunshine sometimes, let me tell you.

    But, for all that you’re still you and I’m still me wherever we find ourselves, I do think that new places subtly remake us. They open us up and give us a whole new context for our stories and our emotions.

    In your case, regardless of where you are geographically, you truly are in a new land
    now. The customs are different and you’re probably more than a little
    homesick. But, you’re also still you, with all the strength and all the
    neuroses that come with it. Luckily, you didn’t lose your entire support
    system in the move.

    PS – You could always check in with yourself, right? Stop, breathe, think about your affirmation, say thanks to a harried flight attendant, whatever.

    • http://blurbomat.com/ blurb

      That’s typically what I do; take a moment, breathe and smile.

  • Janine Ohmer

    You are completely not alone in this; in fact, I think it’s totally normal to feel this way. I take it a step further and find that the whole travel (or whatever) experience is diminished for me because I don’t have anyone back home to share it with. Friends just don’t fill the void, no matter how much they may want to.

    I used to have a therapist who told me I was co-dependent, but I’ve since decided that she was wrong about a lot of things and this is one of them. I think that some of us are just more drawn to pair-bonding than others, and those of us who are have a much harder time feeling ok on our own.
    That doesn’t mean you should be in a rush to bond with someone else – therapists are right to warn you away from that. But I say don’t feel like there’s something wrong with you for feeling this way – it is what it is. The feelings will get less intense with time, even if they never completely go away.

  • http://www.megsmind.net Megs

    For the record, I don’t think your friends would be puzzled by that check-in. And if they are……maybe it is time to let them in more? or develop a few new friendships that understand that you need that? I have some friends who demand I check-in, some friends who don’t care but wouldn’t laugh or be puzzled, and some friends who would. You may not have the ideal situation, but don’t let that prevent you from creating the emotionally supportive environment you need or desire.

  • Lyn Belzer-Tonnessen

    Well, the not-checking-in thing is true… for now. Wait ’til the girls get older, and that may change. (It may not, what the heck do I know, I’m just a stranger on the internet.) But I do know that at 38, whenever my either of my parents (78 and 81) go places (and I am lucky enough that they are both still world travelers), I like hearing that they got there okay.

  • http://twitter.com/Sadandbeautiful Sarah R. Bloom

    Not capable of well-crafted thoughts today. Just chiming in to give support. xo to you.

  • http://www.facebook.com/kate.weneta Kate Lawton Weneta

    i think A LOT of people understand the not checking in and how strange that feels. it’s a tangible feeling of having your anchor cut or being adrift. it can make you feel like no one cares where (and when) you are, but it’s not true. and it’s all a part of that strange adjustment period when you are still moving and breathing around another person, even though you don’t have to anymore. at some point, it shifts from feeling like something is missing to feeling normal. and if you just want someone out there knowing where and when you land, pick a parent or best friend, and tell them you just want someone to know you landed safe and sound. in my personal experience, they’ve always been happy to oblige.

  • http://twitter.com/asg923 asg923

    So sorry to hear that you are struggling. Check in w/your friends. I’m sure they’d be glad to hear from you.

  • http://www.katandgray.blogspot.com katherine_at_grass_stains

    It won’t be long before Leta and Marlo will want to get that text or phone call telling them you landed okay. And if you’re open to love again, once all of this passes, I’m sure there will be a lovely lady who will want the text, too. Always thinking of you and the rest of the family.

  • http://blurbomat.com/ blurb

    Thanks for the kindness, all of you.

  • Meg

    Because I don’t have to check in. I don’t have anyone to call or text anyone that I’ve landed safely. I have friends, but they would be puzzled or laugh at: “Hey, I’m down. Made it safely. Talk to you soon.”

    Ugh – this makes my stomach flip. :( So understand and going through a lot of similar stuff lately.

  • http://twitter.com/SassafrasMama SassafrasMama

    I have felt this way as well. For me, it wasn’t about the check-in so much as the implication that someone, somewhere had my back and was thinking of me. I substituted friends and it was very helpful. 6 years old of my divorce, I’m in a much better place but I’ve never forgotten how hard the journey to get here was.
    Take care and know that there are lots of us holding you in the light.

  • chernevik

    So last night I took my 12 year old son to a hacker space event. We learned to solder circuit boards, building a contraption for turning off any tv set. He went from nervous to “Dad, get out of the way” in 45 minutes. He was totally turned on, wants to go back yesterday, couldn’t wait to show his buddies. On the way back we talked a bit about my business, and he made at least one comment showing both deep savvy and some some need of further value formation. I couldn’t sleep for joy.

    It will be decades before the girls want you to check in — maybe when they’re worried about you making it out of the shower without breaking a hip. One, kids think they and everyone else are immortal, and two, they’re selfish and just assume you’ll be there.

    But their minds work like yours and they will be drawn to at least some similar things. They will become such wonderful company you will need to remind yourself that you can’t let their role become “friend”.

    If the world you see is true and real, if it is unfiltered by your own mistakes and insistences and self-justifications, you feel those moments that much more truly. As deeply lousy as things can be, and brother I’m having a bit of it myself, they can get that much better on the other side.

  • michelle fournier

    I check in with my parents. I call them when I land, or when I get where ever I’m going. Sometimes they don’t even know I was going anywhere, but I call them anyway. It is just that habit, wanting someone to know that you have arrived safely and that you will be back eventually.
    You can check in with me!

  • zchamu

    Every one of your posts makes my heart ache. I think of you often, and I hope that soon the sky will brighten and your new life will look beautiful to you. It won’t be the same, but maybe it will be better.

    And I bet Leta would love a check-in. :)

  • http://twitter.com/BradLawless Brad Lawless

    Jon – Thank you for sharing this. I appreciate the honest emotion in this post even though I know it’s hard to discuss in these hardest of times.

    I enjoyed getting to know you this year at Dad 2.0. Please know there are plenty of people who love you and care how you’re doing.

    Hang in there, man. When we pause to reflect on the hard truths in life, we have the opportunity to understand who we really are. It’s not often a pleasant experience, but that reflection helps us transform into who we really should be.

    Keeping you in my thoughts. Hope we can catch up again sometime soon.

    • http://blurbomat.com/ blurb

      Thanks for this note. I think the hardest part is looking in the mirror present and past, seeing the reflections with new eyes.

      Keeping on.

  • http://www.facebook.com/cricket.mason.3 Cricket Mason

    Well, I’m checking in. I got an email from Twitter that you (not even sure who you are) posted a new tweet, and so it led me here, to check in on you. So, even though it may appear a polarized situation, we’re all checking in. All the time. On each other. Strangers or friends. People see you. And I think it’s impossible to read this post and not feel it keenly. Be well, stay strong, and that affirmation is one damn epic affirmation. (And by checking in on you? I checked in with myself. So, thank you.)

  • http://twitter.com/TheSteve0 TheSteve0

    Hey Jon:
    2 years out from the separation – the check ins still hurt (I travel a lot as well). It comes and goes (my attempt to not be a total downer). Right now I am in one of the troughs and it really sucks. Had the 3 yungins tonight for dinner and then they went back to their moms. Tonight it is hard to go to sleep and tomorrow it will be hard to wake up.

    And then, somehow, it passes and the space feels good, with good air, and clarity, and love, and possibility. Sometimes going back and reading people like Pema or, since I am Jewish, some of the Jewish Wisdom literature helps. Sometimes it just makes me sad.

    Sometimes going out into nature helps, other times I can’t bring myself to do it alone, again.

    Sometimes taking pictures help

    Sometimes it just resolves all on it’s own with no pushing from me

    Having been through cancer and then the separation, I have tried to learn to lean into the pain and see what it opens – what jams it clears – what lessons it can teach. Right now (and for a very very long time) the hardest for me has been around the loneliness. I still can’t seem to get a toe-hold on it – I just keep slipping on it’s slopes when it rises up.
    Well here is to “this too shall pass” and peace at the other side.
    Along the same path…
    Steve

    • http://blurbomat.com/ blurb

      Thanks for sharing this. I am right there with you when you talk about leaning into the pain and trying to learn from it. I’ve debated with myself about sharing the pain here. But your comment tells me I was right to share. More men need to talk about this. Maybe not publicly, but we need to talk to each other when shit gets heavy.

      I wish you the peace you seek.

  • Lindsay

    Your writing is truly moving. Thank you for sharing your experiences. It gives me a bit of hope to know that there is so much growth and perspective to be had even while living through what feels like hell. Please, don’t stop writing… Your words inspire me to be more open and honest with myself, my husband, those I hold close. I hope you are able to find peace through such tumultuous times.

    Yours sincerely,

    Lindsay