Weekend recap -- no literary icing, no exploding candles, just the cake!

This past weekend was exactly what I needed: a balanced mixture of work, community volunteering, socializing, and enjoyment of the outdoors.  Saturday morning and early afternoon comprised an increasingly frenzied pre-party prep session in Monroeville (including vehicle loading) timed for completion just minutes before heading down to the Heinz History Center for a Bar Mitzvah party setup with Micki and Dena--luxury sports car-themed, I might add.  (Each table centerpiece was a different car: Ferrari, Viper, Bentley, Bugatti, Mercedes, Maserati, Porsche, Rolls-Royce.)  I'll admit that I felt tense; I was still in a rather sensitive place emotionally given my hospital experience two weeks ago, and I anticipated that there would be some unpleasant clashing.  However, despite the chaos at the history center thanks to the massive influx of visitors there to behold the Vatican Splendors traveling exhibit (which initially forced us to stand around for about half an hour, unable to do much of anything), we finished in plenty of time, succeeding under light duress with minimal tension and no lingering drama.  We had a phenomenal time at Chicken Latino in the strip, bantering hilariously with the staff and socializing with a new friend, a Chilean man recently arrived from Miami, soon to transplant his family in Pittsburgh--and elated to have found a decent joint in town serving Chilean cuisine.  At 11pm, after a little relaxation, we headed back to the history center and spent no more than half an hour tearing down.  I was in bed by 12:30am.

On Sunday, I was up early and marching toward the corner of Forbes and Murray by 7:30am to help coordinate our annual fall Squirrel Hill cleanup.  This is an event that always renews my faith in people and in our community.  The weather was perfect, the turnout was magnificent, and I was actually able to get my hands dirty picking up trash on the streets with my friend Greg for a few hours rather than standing behind the tables for three hours looking important.  It was wonderful seeing old friends from the Litter Patrol, including Judy O'Connor, wife of the late Bob O'Connor, former mayor of Pittsburgh, and her son Corey.  I was also comlimented by a volunteer who marvelled at my seemingly boundless energy and sense of purpose!  (Ego booster--sometimes important!)

Sunday afternoon brought me a tremendous feeling of relief as I finally found the perfect old wood planks for my Arbor Aid piece (due in less than two weeks!).  Fortunately, Brian Koski is back in Pittsburgh from his expatriate quarters in Florida for a visit with his wife, my occasional part-time employer Allyson Holtz, meaning that I have both a wood shop and an experienced woodworker at my disposal for the next week.  After a refreshing walk back to Squirrel Hill from Highland Park, I relaxed a bit at home, had tea and take-out Chinese with friends at Te Cafe on Murray (yes, we actually brought our sushi and Wonton soup into the cafe), enjoyed a little Baskin Robbins, and was miraculously in bed by 11:30.

I spent blessed little time worrying about the aftermath of my "incident" (that's a nod to Josh and Porcupine Tree!) or what tomorrow will bring.  My focus in the next two weeks will be on my Arbor Aid contribution, which must be installed next Wednesday.  I have also been without a drop of alcohol for two weeks now--an all-time record for the entire stretch of my adult life during which I have been a regular drinker.  Has it been hard?  Not even remotely!

Reflections on a necessary crash-and-burn episode

Hello, blog.  I know that we haven't talked for awhile, and for that I apologize sincerely.  Life has taken a few very dramatic turns lately.  I promised myself that I would minimize how much I talk about what happened last week and how much I write about it.  The problem is that I can't stop thinking about it.  I can't stop regretting.  In an afternoon of despondent resignation I made a rash decision, quickly devolved into a desperate emotional catastrophe--a weakened fraction of the man that I am capable of being--, cried out a few final times hoping that someone would intervene, was stopped (thank God), and spent four days of treatment reflecting upon what I'd done and about the very substance of my life--all the insecurities within me, changes without, pain that I had harbored, truths denied, depression gone untreated, cancerous alternative narratives of reality entertained mentally to the point of hijacking real reality...all this that brought me to self-implosion.  I honestly believe that what happened needed to happen.  I required a violent, epic wake-up call.  I needed to face the illness of my mind and spirit.

Last night I was browsing through photos I'd taken in Costa Rica three years ago and found this one of a broken, almost comically misplaced phone booth on a nearly empty Pacific beach.  Once, perhaps, it provided a fitting metaphor to describe the way I had come to envision and contextualize my own life: despite having been blessed, surrounded by beauty and offered the gifts of serenity, peace, and productive capacity, I could not escape the pervasive self-defeating delusion that I am an outsider destined for mediocrity--isolated, neglected, misunderstood, unlovable (with, I should add, not much in the way of self-value behind those seemily impenetrable sunglasses).  I am happy to note that that attitude, with tremendous effort and humility, is being fed to the wrecking ball right now--such effort because there's a lot to demolish, not to mention great consequences for stopping work; and that photo, rather than allegorically relating a particular story of how my life is or was, is simply a pleasant and darkly funny photo taken at a gorgeous beach.  Even that very day in 2007, when I took the photo, there were emotional struggles.  I'd decided to swim out to a rock offshore and sit behind it for two hours because I thought that a friend wanted me to disappear; she was actually worried and entertained the idea that I might have drowned.  Of course, that day later developed into a remarkably rewarding string of memories to be treasured after all.  Huh.  Maybe there's more metaphor connected to that phone booth than I thought.

I want the people around me to know that I'm confronting the reality of my situation with total alertness and, I think, a slightly elevated consciousness.  I am learning to find value within myself.  I deal with each day's challenges as they arise.  I remind myself frequently of my blessings.  I am learning to accept.  I cannot take away the events of last week (although I wish that they hadn't been necessary).  I cannot undo the damage that I've unintentionally done--the absolute horror that I caused my family and friends.  I hope that they've forgiven me, that they'll offer the gift of support as I move forward, that they will allow me to rebuild trust and to develop into a person of higher character.  I hope that certain relationships in particular can be restored, even if it takes months--or, if they cannot ever again be what they were before, that I can accept the new reality fully and with a certain amount of wisdom.  I hope that my life--and my ability to sail the inclement weather of my life courageously--will only get better with time.  I am accountable to myself, to my friends, to my family, to this world.