sounds familiar

I think I know what’s happening.

You are changing… becoming You 2.0… I know you don’t think it’s much but I think it’s more than you realize.

Consequently, I am being introduced to, am meeting for the first time, these brand new parts of you.

And, perhaps predictably, or at least fortunately, I am falling in love with those new parts. Just like I fell in love twenty-eight years ago… that’s what I’m feeling… all those feelings that come with falling in love.

Beautiful feelings like discovery, euphoria, anticipation, fascination and seduction.

Less beautiful feelings like anxiety, fear, vulnerability, obsession and jealousy.

I think I know what’s happening.

Since he was born we’ve called our son Cohen “Coco” for short.

It’s been an endearing nickname; one he embraced and which got heavy usage in immediate family and even across friend-family. We still use it, but… but lately I’ve been saying “Cohen” more often. I think it’s the beginning… a subconscious drift away from the childhood nickname to being addressed as a proper adult.

When the realization of my recent proper-name favoritism hit my consciousness this morning, I had a moment of the sad. Where are our kids going? They are big now, smarter, becoming their own humans. This may seem silly, but it was a meaningful moment to me… another indicator of change… my little man beginning to outgrow “Coco.”

Until later then. Hugs.

I’ve mentioned that, of late, I am finding myself feeling a little… “less.” Less sure, less secure, less confident, less strong. It’s been sort of a creeping thing, really… snuck up on my for the most part; caught me with my guard down, perhaps. But there was one sort of lightning-bolt moment that, in retrospect, I can look at with a little humor. Let’s explore…

One of the bigger draws, aside from the nearness of family and a change of pace in lifestyle, to moving from California to Florida was the fact that we’d be close enough to get annual passes at Disney World. As soon as we’d established our Florida residency we bought passes, and we’ve been doing our level best (COVID gap notwithstanding) to get our money’s worth from the purchase.

On one recent trip, Sharaun and the kids headed to Epcot after school let out, and I drove out to meet them after getting off work for the day, so we had two cars at the park when it came time to leave. We all walked out of the park together, and out to the lot where we’d both parked, actually not far from each other in the same section & row, by happenstance. My car was a little further down the row than Sharaun and the kids, so when we got to their vehicle I told them I’d see them soon and kept walking. I smiled and waved to them as they drove away while I continued to walk towards my car.

And I kept walking. And I kept looking. And walking. And looking. Walking. Looking.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. I sent a a slightly irked yet still mostly cheerful message to Sharaun, “Hey I cannot find the car, I’m actually still here walking around. Just wanted to let you know I’ll be a little behind you.”

I ranged up and down the rows, knowing right where I thought the car should be… but never finding it. I held the fob to my chin and used my entire mortal body as an antenna while pressing the panic button, straining my ears for beeps. I imagined the scene from above, painted an imaginary search grid in my mind, and set-out to methodically cross off squares.

Twenty minutes. Thirty minutes.

I flagged down a security truck to alert them to my plight. The lot is now beginning to thin-out, people are leaving, the park is long closed. I still have not found my car. I am still walking, and I have already walked for hours, so I am getting tired. I am also getting frustrated, and feeling increasingly stupid. I send another message to Sharaun, “I’m still here, I’m still walking. I’m really sort of upset now. I’ve talked to security. Do you think people steal cars from the Disney parking lot?”

It’s getting dark. There really aren’t that many cars left and I swear I’m in the right place. It’s been forty minutes of me shuffling around. I am well and fully defeated. I actually feel like I want to cry, like legitimately sit down and cry. Somehow, this situation is all my feelings of “less” come-to-life, given corporal form and mocking me. I can’t find my car; I’m this stupid; what is happening to me?

Sharaun calls to say they’ve arrived home. It’s been an hour and I’m still walking around the lot, now in a state of mixed desperation and shame. I don’t know what to do, I’m starting to question everything… Am I on the wrong side of the park? Am I misremembering entirely? And, again, what the hell is wrong with me? I am not irresponsible; I don’t lose my car; I don’t forget things. This. Is. Not. Me.

It’s so empty here. It’s dark. The pavement is still hot from the Florida summer afternoon, though. I’m sweaty and so tired of walking. I have no water. The car must be gone, stolen or whisked into a black hole or… or I don’t know. I have lost my edge. I am not who I think I am. I am incapable. Is something wrong with me? Should I go to to a doctor? I still feeling like crying, I think I might be breaking.

Eventually, over an hour after Sharaun and the kids left I managed to find the car. It was in the section I knew it was in, in the aisle number I knew it was in, just a few hundred feet further down than I remembered… and apparently I walked around it the whole time and never managed actually see it. I got in and drove home, hitting a massive backup on the highway which delayed me even further.

I don’t know why but this experience really took it out of me; wrecked me. Writing about it now it’s not painful anymore… but man at the time I was deeply embarrassed. I felt stupid. All I could do was laugh (nervously) at myself.

I feel like so much is changing right now.

I’ve gotta work my use of “hedging language,” which I incorporate into my verbiage by habit, turning what should be matter-of-fact statements into apparent ponderings, as a way to soften them. Phraseology like “I feel like” and “perhaps” and “maybe” and “to me…” I do it mostly to give me wiggle room. Did you catch that “mostly” in the last statement? Case-in-point.

So much has changed. So much is still actively changing.

Even when change is positive, is forward momentum, even when change is the realization of something you may have wished for – it’s still change and change can be scary. I find myself working to balance happiness over positive change with the natural anxiety change brings.

Because I process verbally, I have talked at-length with those I love about it. While discussing why I might be experiencing such anxiety as things change around me, two friends made statements which have stuck in my head:

I think you fundamentally hit a switch on your priorities, you put family first where it was a source of tension before. That doesn’t come free though and now your brain is figuring out how to reconcile. – Alex

Because it’s new. It’s that simple. – Jeremy

I have been trying to use this as a sort of mantra: Change isn’t free and new is scary. While I am still feeling the feelings, that mantra is a nice reminder that it’s OK and maybe even expected.

Everything has always been good, but somehow it’s getting better.

I think too much.

In certain situations it’s a strength, like the game-theory work that I feel helped me maneuver corporate politics (when I was still a corporation man), or in a leadership role when having to deliver a tough message to someone, or even in conversations with our children about important or weighty subjects. My tendency to plan and think has helped me dodge pre-considered pitfalls in many a potentially-thorny conversation, and I’m thankful for that.

In certain situations, though, it can be a real deficit for me. Particularly when the amount of neurons I’ve burned on a seemingly small matter heavily outweighs the amount of thought whomever I’m engaging has invested. In these instances there is an imbalance, and my habitual overthinking can project an air of obsession – the level of thought I’ve afforded something swelling it’s perceived importance far beyond the actual, at least to the outside participant.

For instance: When a heretofore un-broached subject arises in conversation between us, there is every chance that, for me, I may have already thought about it for hours at some point in the past. For certain subjects, this is more than just “it crossed my mind” level thought, it’s sometimes full-on overblown analyses, perhaps even including imagined conversations where I examine a mental fishbone of all possible directions the discourse may go and have some notion of my responses to each.

Good, perhaps, for debate prep… but in real-human conversation I think can be frustrating. I imagine it would read as forceful… or me being on the offensive with no apparent rationale.

I remember being critical of my mother for shades of this same exact over-thinking. I don’t want to be doomed to inherit that. I am working on it.

Peace.

Last night I picked up Sharaun from the airport around 9pm.

She’d been gone for four nights, and I’d also done a quick overnight day trip during that time, so I was super excited to catch up with her.

I guess maybe a little too excited because I totally put her on her heels with my, in retrospect probably pretty frenetic, “welcome home I missed you!!” energy. It was a bit of an assault of attention, I think.

A guy gets happy, you know? Sometimes it just boils over and can scare people. Is just a little bit me.

Hugs

One of the things I decided when we moved to Florida and consciously downsized our living situation was that I was going to take care of my own yard again.

I do not judge nor scoff at the outsourced yard-care model… it’s inarguably a wise time/money trade when the circumstances are right, but I came here to have less time focused on the office and more time on the not-office. That, and, the physical labor aspect of it is attractive to me, at least in concept if not always in execution.

I bought a battery-powered rechargeable mower, edger, trimmer, and blower – really went all out. I dislike working with gas, although not doing so does seem to diverge a little from the 1950s suburban nostalgia I’m half-consciously channeling in this yard care fantasy. Bought a few batteries so I can rotate and always have one charging/charged if one runs down on me while I’m working.

This is all to explain how I find myself out here, sweating, smelling of grass and dirt (and sweat). Sometimes I’ll wear my wide-brimmed hat and no shirt, when I’m feeling extra manly. I listen to music and take a few breaks to hydrate and try to breathe the soupy Florida air a little less gulpy.

I imagine the conquistadors, wearing bits of armor over clothes, hacking through the dense growth, and feel a little better about my self-inflicted plight.