As I get older, I've been taking giving thanks more and more seriously. As life gets more complex, more difficult, and less forgiving -- it becomes all the more pressing to spend time focusing on the good in one's life. Even if that success is just the mortar between bricks of shit in a wall that continues up past the desiccated fields and then onward, up and over the horizon.
I'm thankful to be here this Thanksgiving. Here in time. I'm thankful it isn't last year. I'm thankful to have been provided more students to engage and educate. I'm thankful that this academic process continues to be reciprocal and energizing.
I'm thankful to know who I can turn to for support. I have recommitted to those that are committed to me. My friendships feel reciprocal, even if I'm still gun shy after my experiences in the past few years. Recently, there have been moments when I experience spontaneous joy in a way that I thought I'd lost forever, not too long ago.
I'm thankful that my work keeps me focused on systematic inequalities in a way that promotes my constant empathy. Being empathetic takes work. And practice. It's all too easy to write off those who are less fortunate, or even just different than you, because you have a head full of tasks that you have to get done today, and not enough hours in the day to complete them. When your day is spent instilling empathy as a mindset to young adults - it becomes near impossible to deny the humanity in every person I come across. And I'm thankful for those reminders.
I'm thankful for dogs. All dogs. Especially my dogs. Talk about empathy. These dogs have cuddled me when I was down, and forced me to exercise for my own health, even when the couch was warm and incredibly inviting. Grover's fur has absorbed my tears and Falcor's tongue has cleaned their tracks directly from my eyes until I couldn't help but break out in a giggle fit. And that isn't even touching on the love that swells inside me when I scratch their bellies or rest my forehead on the soft wrinkles of their massive foreheads. I'm so thankful to dogs. And a few friendly cats that I'm making acquaintance with get some special mentions here. I'm not saying I'm a cat person - but I do see now that some cats are pretty cool. Pretty cool indeed.
My wife. Oh my wife. So much thanks. I am eternally grateful for the honesty in our relationship. And I guess, in the same way, the trust that we can be honest with each other and that unconditionally, it will be ok. And to be clear, I'm NOT saying that our relationship is perfect. Far from it, if there is such a thing as "it" in the first place. But, I think we both follow the advice my Dad once gave me during a particularly hard time. He said, "If you can't trust and be open with the person you chose to spend your life with, well then, you're really fucked." I continue to be thankful for said advice. I think he's right.
And while this isn't a complete list, lastly, I'm glad I'm writing this all down here on my blog. A place I am actively working on re-inhabiting. As I wrote many years ago, a writer writes because it is in them, a part of their nature. To not write causes a blockage in the system where a backlog of ideas and emotions clog up my headspace, waiting to be thrown down on a page and made real.
The past few years have been, well, surreal. And, uncoincidentally, silent.
Now it's time to reclaim the narrative as I begin replanting my roots in the greater Boston area, and begin to tell my story once again.
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romance. Show all posts
Thanks Giving 2019
Sunday, December 1, 2019 | 0 Comment(s)
Wednesday, June 6, 2018 | 0 Comment(s)
Last week was my wife and my sixth anniversary.
*Pause for audience applause*
Anniversaries are like birthdays for your marriage, but they are also unlike birthdays, in that they celebrate an actual accomplishment.
I mean, unless you want to argue that birthdays are a celebration of the accomplishment of your mother giving birth. Because all you really have to do to achieve a subsequent birthday is not die. And since I don't see people having "Mom" themed birthday parties, I'm gonna say that birthdays are like personal New Year's Eve celebrations: Much ado about celebrating the passage of time as an accomplishment.
Now anniversaries are an entirely different beast. Every year of marriage is a legitimate achievement, worthy of celebration. Hell, anniversaries are important. You don't want to take for granted the success of simultaneously negotiating two lives (at least) without complete implosion. Marriage is work. It turns out that "forever," even for humans, is a pretty long-ass time. And so, every year, at the very least, ya'll earned yourselves a cake. More than likely, a night out is in order.
Last year, our dog Grover took us on a trip to the Veterinary ER for our anniversary. It was, and forgive any potential hyperbole, the absolute worst fucking anniversary ever. So, the wife and I decided to bring it back to basics this year. Get our nostalgia on. And since our relationship poked its budding head out of the soil in Boston, we headed back to the Fens for our weekend celebration.
*Pause for audience applause*
Anniversaries are like birthdays for your marriage, but they are also unlike birthdays, in that they celebrate an actual accomplishment.
I mean, unless you want to argue that birthdays are a celebration of the accomplishment of your mother giving birth. Because all you really have to do to achieve a subsequent birthday is not die. And since I don't see people having "Mom" themed birthday parties, I'm gonna say that birthdays are like personal New Year's Eve celebrations: Much ado about celebrating the passage of time as an accomplishment.
Now anniversaries are an entirely different beast. Every year of marriage is a legitimate achievement, worthy of celebration. Hell, anniversaries are important. You don't want to take for granted the success of simultaneously negotiating two lives (at least) without complete implosion. Marriage is work. It turns out that "forever," even for humans, is a pretty long-ass time. And so, every year, at the very least, ya'll earned yourselves a cake. More than likely, a night out is in order.
Last year, our dog Grover took us on a trip to the Veterinary ER for our anniversary. It was, and forgive any potential hyperbole, the absolute worst fucking anniversary ever. So, the wife and I decided to bring it back to basics this year. Get our nostalgia on. And since our relationship poked its budding head out of the soil in Boston, we headed back to the Fens for our weekend celebration.
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| Pictured: My wife and my relationship, as a metaphor, in Boston |
Tuesday, June 7, 2016 | 1 Comment(s)
Straight guys shouldn't write blogs about penis size. I mean, there are a limited amount of directions for said narrative:
"I have a huge dongpipe, and it's cool."
"I have a average dongpipe, and my dong related activities are unrelated to its size."
And, of course, the most fascinating to the general public: "I have a tiny dongpipe and here is how I work to overcome this . . . shortcoming."
Personally, with the exception of casual sympathy for the micropenis'd (there ARE other ways to please each other though), I find all three storylines rather dull. HBO felt differently, apparently, when they green-lit their 2009 original series Hung. The entire plot of the show revolved around the main character being a good looking middle-aged guy with a huge schlong. Essentially the guy's penis was the main character. I watched a few episodes. There was a lot of spur of the moment sex and seemingly satisfied customers. But, with a one eyed worm that hides inside a guys pants all episode as the lead, I legitimately didn't give a damn for any of the characters -- including the dong's owner. The show lasted 3 seasons. My guess is that it got extended for the later two because the only thing HBO loves more than entertainment is the opportunity to increase viewership with the promise of nudity. It is the Victoria's Fashion Show of TV stations in that way.
"I have a huge dongpipe, and it's cool."
"I have a average dongpipe, and my dong related activities are unrelated to its size."
And, of course, the most fascinating to the general public: "I have a tiny dongpipe and here is how I work to overcome this . . . shortcoming."
Personally, with the exception of casual sympathy for the micropenis'd (there ARE other ways to please each other though), I find all three storylines rather dull. HBO felt differently, apparently, when they green-lit their 2009 original series Hung. The entire plot of the show revolved around the main character being a good looking middle-aged guy with a huge schlong. Essentially the guy's penis was the main character. I watched a few episodes. There was a lot of spur of the moment sex and seemingly satisfied customers. But, with a one eyed worm that hides inside a guys pants all episode as the lead, I legitimately didn't give a damn for any of the characters -- including the dong's owner. The show lasted 3 seasons. My guess is that it got extended for the later two because the only thing HBO loves more than entertainment is the opportunity to increase viewership with the promise of nudity. It is the Victoria's Fashion Show of TV stations in that way.
Thursday, May 14, 2015 | 0 Comment(s)
One of the most common responses I get when someone hears that my graduate research concerned romantic relationships and marriage is, "So, it's like, 'Happy wife, Happy life.' AmIRight?" Most of the time it's a guy who's faux-asking the question whilst simultaneously patting himself on the back prematurely.
Generally speaking, I no longer want to be a part of the conversation at this point so I nod and smile and agree and walk away with a, "Oh totally! You nailed it, man. You've got marriage figured." It makes em feel good and gets me that hell out of there. The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated.
It's at this point that I have to jump in quickly to say that there is a heteronormative assumption being made when we talk about marriage as a negotiation between a man and a woman. I want to say explicitly that homosexual couples, not having well-worn societal gender stereotypes to lazily fall into, generally do better in dividing the labor of housework equitably in a manner that makes both partners happy. Without stereotypes to rely on, each partner gravitates towards what they enjoy more/have more competency in. For the rest of this blog post, we'll be dealing with heterosexual couples when talking about marital couples. But, this doesn't mean to devalue all other forms of love because, frankly, heteros ain't all that.
Taken at face value, "Happy Wife, Happy Life" tends to hold up. The truth of the statement, however, isn't half as important as understanding the mechanism of action at work behind the scenes. Women, both historically and still today, doing more than half the domestic work. This includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, yard work, trash takeout, etc. Women, even and especially working women, demolish their male counterparts on time spent doing housework. By how much? I'm glad you asked.
Generally speaking, I no longer want to be a part of the conversation at this point so I nod and smile and agree and walk away with a, "Oh totally! You nailed it, man. You've got marriage figured." It makes em feel good and gets me that hell out of there. The truth, as always, is a bit more complicated.
It's at this point that I have to jump in quickly to say that there is a heteronormative assumption being made when we talk about marriage as a negotiation between a man and a woman. I want to say explicitly that homosexual couples, not having well-worn societal gender stereotypes to lazily fall into, generally do better in dividing the labor of housework equitably in a manner that makes both partners happy. Without stereotypes to rely on, each partner gravitates towards what they enjoy more/have more competency in. For the rest of this blog post, we'll be dealing with heterosexual couples when talking about marital couples. But, this doesn't mean to devalue all other forms of love because, frankly, heteros ain't all that.
Taken at face value, "Happy Wife, Happy Life" tends to hold up. The truth of the statement, however, isn't half as important as understanding the mechanism of action at work behind the scenes. Women, both historically and still today, doing more than half the domestic work. This includes cooking, cleaning, laundry, yard work, trash takeout, etc. Women, even and especially working women, demolish their male counterparts on time spent doing housework. By how much? I'm glad you asked.
Monday, November 24, 2014 | 0 Comment(s)
I love Taylor Swift. How could I not? I'm sure if I were a younger man, say like, 14 or so, I'd be standing neck-high behind a velvet rope somewhere screaming at the top of my lungs how I would slaughter my little brother for the chance to touch Taylor's arm. Thankfully, my more ancient Swiftiness manifests as a hidden shame and then peaks right where the motivation for this SNL gem of a fake commercial came from:
My Taylor love exposed, I still am sick to death of hearing Shake It Off getting overplayed on the radio. Just like Pharrell's Happy and Gotye's Thatsongoftheirs before it, Shake It Off is the drill bit in a jackhammer being repeatedly pounded into the national consciousness without even buying us dinner first. Taylor, I'd be happy to go to dinner with you, just ask! Then you can gladly pound me into oblivion with your vocal abilities.
I get it. A catchy pop song with a message of upbeat joy only comes around . . . every month or so . . . and everybody feels better when they are bopping along on their merry way. If only the music machine could come out with all their #happyhappyjoyjoy songs at the same time, then perhaps DJ's could concoct a more palatable long term rotation. Until that time, I will patiently await Ariana Grande's future single, Jubilation! (the punctuation mark being part of the title of course), and it's predictable three months of overexposure on 92.7 FM.
My Taylor love exposed, I still am sick to death of hearing Shake It Off getting overplayed on the radio. Just like Pharrell's Happy and Gotye's Thatsongoftheirs before it, Shake It Off is the drill bit in a jackhammer being repeatedly pounded into the national consciousness without even buying us dinner first. Taylor, I'd be happy to go to dinner with you, just ask! Then you can gladly pound me into oblivion with your vocal abilities.
I get it. A catchy pop song with a message of upbeat joy only comes around . . . every month or so . . . and everybody feels better when they are bopping along on their merry way. If only the music machine could come out with all their #happyhappyjoyjoy songs at the same time, then perhaps DJ's could concoct a more palatable long term rotation. Until that time, I will patiently await Ariana Grande's future single, Jubilation! (the punctuation mark being part of the title of course), and it's predictable three months of overexposure on 92.7 FM.
Tuesday, November 4, 2014 | 1 Comment(s)
(originally post 6/3/10)
Pull up a seat kiddies cause im's a bout to preach a bit--and help ya'lls relationships.
I give you: "the 30 minute rule."
I'm not gonna lie folks, and I'm not gonna front--I believe I actually saw something to this effect on a Sex and the City Episode. No, i will not see the movies. Ever.
When you get home from whatever you do during the day, may it be school or work or some combination of those things or no combination of those things, but when you come home, you are utterly and unchangeably unable to focus on any new problems. Home is where we retreat, it's our safe space.
Interestingly, part of what makes home our safe space is that our significant others (may) live there with us. This is almost always wonderful. The pesky thing about living with other humans, however, is that they have needs. And because of these "needs," when they see the person they care about most walk through the door, they want to share all the day's hopes and dreams and frustrations and anger and questions and stories with that loved one. Unfortunately, when you come home, you are utterly and unchangeably unable to focus on any new problems (or hopes or dreams or frustrations or angers or questions) other than your own. You need to retreat first. Power down. Relax.
This often creates conflict, as the partner that has been home vies to connect with their partner at the end of the day while the partner just coming home vies to get some space to decompress from their own day.
All it takes is 30 minutes.
