I’m starting to see a bit of light.

I try very hard to be objective, to seek the recognition of the reality in situations where I am predisposed to blindness, either through atrophy or willfulness, assuming I know where those blind spots are. And in many cases, I simply become aware that I am ridiculously unaware. That used to bother me, not having the answers; I’ve historically subscribed to the idea that there is an unassailable truth in all things, whether we see them or not, and if the truth can be divined, we do ourselves a disservice not attempting to seek it. Of course I see the fallacy in both the subscription and the attempt, but that doesn’t stop me from trying.

What I’ve come to appreciate over the years, is that we all have our own truths – that your truth is different than my truth – and they are all equally correct. The truth of your pain isn’t affected by the truth of my hope, because while they can see each other they have no impact except to debase and resent each other’s presence. How can your hope exist when my pain is so great? How can your pain remain when I hope?

And in this we become blinded by the mask of intention. My intentions are kind, but yours are misguided – because you can’t see the whole of my truth. So why, then, are we punished for our blindness?

It’s a curious notion that I need to contemplate more, because understanding creates balance for me, an acceptance that moves beyond simply knowing a thing to embracing a thing, forgiving a thing, loving a thing – simply for its purity.

Why does this matter? Because I’m starting to understand.

(Side note: Explore the idea that growth is always linear when viewing the past, but never linear when assessing the future.)

Understanding is different than justification, of assuaging one’s perspective and massaging it to feed our ego. I do that sometimes. But when we’re finally able to plumb the depths of that understanding to find the base – that spotless, infinite, and invariable glass of our conscience – understanding can rest there without fear.

And what do I understand?

That I really had no idea. That truth changes, through will and chaos. That the quest for understanding without achieving it is, itself, the understanding that creates awareness. Wonderfully circular, isn’t it? In other words, we have to be blind before we can see. There is no other way.

I don’t think I like that last aphorism. It sounds too biblical. But it’ll stay.

I dunno. I need to build confidence in my thought processes again. I need to think more. Because the more I think, the more I come to recognize the truths in all of this.


I started riding again a few days ago. It’s felt really good. I about had a heart attack riding up Washington today, but I did it, and now that I know I can do it, I can’t not do it. So I think I’ll be riding my bike to AA from now on, ’cause that’s just dumb not to, especially with the parking situation in the new space.

I’ve got to jump on some work this week in preparation for heading to Santa Rosa next week. On one hand it feels nice to get back to it, but on the other, damn it’s been awesome not having to stress it. I’ve had plenty of other things on my mind, frankly. I’d hate to have had to navigate this while trying to hold down the work front. In that, this couldn’t have been better timed. Weird, I know.

I feel gross physically. I’ve let myself go and I’m keenly aware. I don’t have a lot of confidence in this space at all and I really want to. I’m going to need to, one way or the other.

And that’s the other thing, as I wax philosophical about linear progress: I have by no means been strictly linear in any of this, but I’m starting to see classic themes emerge. Right now, I’m bargaining, I’m still denying some things. But I’m recognizing certain actions, small tokens that would once have brought hope or a desire for more, as clear signs that I’m just now coming up to speed to what has been a reality for months. I’ll get to acceptance which will bring kindness and resolve in it’s wake… get to being the operative phrase.

I know this, though. I am still heartbroken and I will be for a very long time. But it’s almost time to get off the mat.



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