Desarrollado

This morning the the skies are hazy and I can already tell that it's going to be hot without checking the weather. The pool guy just finished his visit and Glenn Campbell fills the house. (Yes, I also have Glenn in my library.) At this very moment, even though Barry has been in Alaska since Monday, I feel desarrollado. 

To be desarrollado means to be actualized in a way that is fully integrated into life (friends, family, community). Some say that it takes a good while before roots take in a new city and I think there's truth somewhere in that sentiment. Miami will always be home and, while I may never fully warm to Texas, I'm beginning to feel a part something... complete.

I promised myself that I would recognize every moment of happiness in Life 2.0. Too many of us don't appreciate joy until the minute/month/millenia is nothing but a memory and the whole idea of being right here, right now is all about having the clarity to understand that our happiest moment, regardless of circumstance or venue, might just be the one we are experiencing.  Too often, I think too many of us (me included), get caught focusing on the barriers to happiness instead of accepting those challenges as surmountable hurdles and being happy regardless of effort expended.

I made a committment to find something to be happy about every day and today I am happy I found, in Dallas, the kind of friends who would help you hide a body... without asking questions.

Good Karmic ROI

North Texas is cloudy today as small thunderstorms lurk on the periphery showering hail on the small towns just West of the Metroplex. With an 80% chance of rain, I expect that at some point we might befall the same fate today, but the radar clearly shows that those particular torments will not touch the roof of this grand house in which Petra and I are comfortably seated at the table, listening to James Morrison croon.  Cloudy days require a soulful voice and James Morrison delivers a raspy mix perfectly suited to the venue and the skies outside. 

I've been at this keyboard since 7:30am, but today my writing has been of the Professional vernacular carefully phrased in words intended to fully articulate that I am, in fact, the most qualified candidate for the {INSERT TITLE} position and that I possess all of the personality traits that make me a perfect fit for {INSERT ORGANIZATION_NAME}. I do a lot of that these days. Finding the balance between brevity and bragging is difficult at best, but it's the navigation through a good vocabulary, carefully avoiding buzz words and, at the same time, sounding competent (but not cocky) and humble that really creates the tedium.

At my core, I am a practical person and I recognize that my most secure endeavor is to find another job in my field and rank. But in my heart, I want to run my own business. So, while looking for a job I have also been writing a business plan and, for the first time in a very long time, I'm fully engaged and optimistic. At the same time I'm completely terrified to fail and yet excited to get started. And Barry, at least to me, has been extremely supportive by putting me on his health insurance and covering the house expenses. This may not seem like a lot to you, but to me, it's the single biggest generosity anyone has ever bestowed on me.

I've been thinking about how I landed in this life with Barry and just how different my job transition would be had I not looked into those hazel eyes. I have never forgotten a kindness and, even if Barry doesn't think it's a big deal, I will repay his support with never-ending loyalty. I am truly fortunate to have found Barry and I am grateful for everything he does for me. Owning a business has long been my dream, but for one reason or other, I was never able to pursue that goal before. Now Barry has cleared the way and, as I embark on this journey, I hope for a hail storm of good fortune on us both.

I don't really believe in the karmic idea that there is some omniscient and hyper-critical bookkeeper keeping track of your balance at the First Universal Bank of Deeds. But I do believe that there is something in the machinery of living that composes the interest component of your pay back for the way you live and how you regard everyone with whom you connect. Every action, or in-action for that matter, I think carries a transaction fee and, at some point, good things actually do happen to people who do good things for others without expecting a quid pro quo. Real happiness doesn't come from amassing personal achievements or solitary wealth; the lean meat of life comes from building and sustaining supportive relationships and enabling those you love to flourish.

At Home in Dallas

It's been a little over a week since the sale of my house was finalized and today I sit on my chair at my dining room table in Barry's kitchen/family room area while my stereo transmits Lyle Lovett throughout the house over Barry's speakers. The skies and the occasional blooming tree outside indicate that March and, with it Spring, will soon make its all too short appearance in North Texas. In Miami, the season's change from dry to wet is subtle and the progression from Winter into Spring and then into Summer goes virtually unnoticed until the humidity steals the air from your inhale sometime in June. But north of the frost line, the seasons arrive with an advanced warning as was the case yesterday with a high temp of 80 degrees.  I pulled my car out of Barry's garage and spent most of day touring the State's bureaucracy with the sun on my face as the convertible carried me through North Texas suburbs most notable for their high-income demographics and exemplary school districts.  Today the temps are cooler and now that I'm officially a Texan as documented by my driver's license (non-flattering picture included at no additional charge), regardless of my comfort level or how I feel about it, I am officially at Home in Dallas.

While the project was completed on schedule and I met all of the intermediate milestones, the move to Twin Brooks for me (and I suspect for Barry as well) was a bit stressful.   Selling my house was easy and a complete relief as I can now contemplate my future without the burden of a hefty mortgage; but it was the integration of our things (and documented histories) that created the rub.

For me, it started when the counter for the question, "Do you want to keep this?" hit double digits as we packed the contents of my kitchen.  Now, my first thought was to express that I obviously wanted to keep the 1950's Georg Jensen Stainless Steel & Teak Covered Fish Tray as it had made not one but two previous moves and, as such, should be considered not only a family heirloom but a wise $5.00 financial investment that will most assuredly win me a starring role on the next Dallas-based episode of the Antiques Roadshow.  Instead, I found other words in my mouth that sounded a bit more... diplomatic.  Although he hasn't articulated it yet, I think for Barry, it wasn't watching me load his one-of-a-kind table and chairs onto the Craig's-List Buyer's truck that got him nervous. It was the displacement of the things he hadn't already mentally rearranged that got under his skin.  You see, for control freaks such as Barry & I, it's not the change that's difficult; it's not driving the change that makes the blood pressure spike.

I think it would have been easier (for me) if we had each sold our homes and put together our new, shared abode starting from a fresh coat of Navajo White. Instead, I moved into Barry's house and, although I've been here for 7+ months, I brought none of my things except for some sundry toiletries and my clothes.  Until a few weeks ago, all of my things (art, photos, chattel) remained on Sugar Mill Road.

For the most part, Barry and I were in agreement of what would stay or go and where the remainder would land but there was no conversation of my extensive (okay, perhaps excessive) photography displays. In my house, my photography covered the walls, evenly spaced and widely distributed.  In Barry's house we'd have to reach an agreement in the number, placement and selection.   Maybe I'm just too sensitive to reality that, although he's been highly accommodating, I'm really just a guest in Barry's house.  I found myself waiting for the invitation to install my art and even when I presented my ideas, I made them in a highly edited format, far short of what and from where I otherwise would have wanted because I didn't want to impose. Barry avoided giving his opinions, preferring to remain acquiescent in order to create space for me to make his home mine as well.  Now I know what happens when two type A personalities take on the task of not being in charge at the exactly same time. Hijinx ensue.

In the end our things, including my photography, are integrated in a way that blends our likes and lives into something harmonous and comfortable. That, in and of itself, makes this particular house, regardless of ownership, my Home. 

Seven Year Suck Up

It's almost lunch time at the office. My door is open and, over Basia's Time and Tide, I hear the normal office noises and the occasional thwap and thunk of the construction site across the street.  It's no secret that while I'm perfectly comfortable in Dallas, I just don't feel at home.

The ocean calls. Its voice, high-pitched and distant rings in my ears and I feel its breath on my neck in a soft whisper: come home. The call gets louder on either side of a Miami trip and I guess I'm just used to it by now. The song is familiar and late at night it fills the small spaces in my head like a lulaby.   But I also recognize that right here, right now my job prospects are better in Dallas than anywhere else and, as such, I will most likely remain here for some time to come.

And then there's Barry. Our new relationship is heading in the right direction and even after 2-plus weeks of 24 hour togetherness on the open road in my trailer, we still honestly enjoy time in eachother's company.  No, really. We not only survived two weeks of relative isolation, we thrived.  Barry and I make a good team and, while there's a possibility that he's just playing along, we seem to share values that make for, in my estimation, a happy long-term relationship.

I think starting a relationship at 20-something or even 30-something, is easier than on the something side of 40. You see, by the time you've hit 40, unless you have some sort of arrested development or make your living as a vagrant, you carry a lot of luggage (as well as furniture, electronics, housewares, linens) in to the relationship. And so does your potential partner. When you don't have, it's easy to add. But when you both have (and in our case there is an abundance), the subtraction is the hardest. It's especially hard when you have different taste.  For me, giving up my noguchi table would be worse than parting with a kidney. Luckily, it's not my things that are on the auction block.

It's now ten hours later and I'm at the table in Barry's kitchen. I have not started the music so right now all I hear past the clicks of my keyboard is Barry's knife chop & scrape the celery and cucumbers that will fill our lunch pails. Barry takes wonderful care of me and he has me almost convinced that I deserve it. He pulls me from bed, gets me off to the gym, reminds me to take my meds, and corrals my keys and wallet where I will find them before I ask, "Honey, have you seen...?"  All in all, he understands me and I think in good measure he appreciates me too, even if he doesn't act like he won the lottery everytime our eyes meet.  The only thing he asks in return for his kind stewardship is compliance. He's my Benevolent Dictator and therein lies the rub.

Now, let's for a moment, put the chattle aside. Combining houses at 40 can be tough, but merging lives and life goals can be down right painfull because each of you arrives into the relationship with not just an idea of what you want the future to hold, you show up with approved working drawings and a fundaising goal. After 40, you don't look wistfully into the sunrise and dream of children and far away anniversaries. At this age, you stand your cards on the table and hope the house you can build together resembles something livable.

Barry has his life in order and he's well on his way to hitting his goal: retirement in seven years. So it's no small wonder I hear "It's seven years, suck it up" when I talk about going home or making changes that might make me happier here in Dallas.  (He doesn't say it all the time. Only when he's participated in a bottle or four.) Like a true engineer, once Barry has an idea (like getting out of bed at exactly 6am), there is no variation allowed.  Now intellectually, I completely understand. From his point of view, if we're going to assemble a 20-40 year life together, then putting my goals on hold for seven years will allow us (him) a much easier life for the remainder.  Well, it IS only seven years.

So what's this thing that's been simmering under my skin? Is it the discomfort of not being the one in control? Is it that I feel displaced and I don't feel like I can be a full partner in this thing until my job search is over and my house is sold? Or is it really what I fear the most because I've been here before. I remember it all too well. I still have the project plan.  What's been making my skin itch is the realization that I lost seven years of my 30s sucking it up so Tim could go to school and the idea of sucking up another seven years for Barry to retire without some real consession for my hapiness just doesn't fly.

I've long preached that when confronted with any situation you have three choices: 1) Participate willingly and focus on workable solutions, 2) Participate unwilling and make yourself and eveyone else around you miserable or 3) Don't partipate at all.  Throughout my life, I've always chosen door #1 or #3 because I think being a misery to myself or anyone is shear stupidity.

I hope Barry will choose option #1 too so we can go about the business of making this work. Otherwise, there's always door number three.

The atheist and the hymn

I did not sing today. I just couldn't. Maybe it was because I didn't know the words. Maybe I didn't know the tune. Maybe, just maybe I just didn't feel like finding praise for the death of a woman so loved and admired and full of life. In any event, the service was lovely and the hymns uplifting and the readings inspiring and I'm glad that my friend counted on me to keep all the details in order while he managed the day of tributes and tears and ackward condolences.

My job, the thing I do the best, is to be the good man in a storm.  Since my arrival on Monday afternoon, I've been making sure Wayne was ready for the service and able to walk through the day assured that the small things would be handled. And they were.  Tomorrow Wayne is off to Alabama to bury his mom surrounded by his family and college friends and I head back to Dallas happy that I could help my friend through this rough moment. I express love through service and I most suredly love Wayne.