Family

This time has me sitting as close to center the of my sobriety as I did in the earliest days. I think about it when I wake up, when I make coffee, when I sit on my couch and look at the sun coming up, or the sun-having-already-come-up since my wake up seems to be getting later and later.

A few things I'm thinking about this trip around the sun.

To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love. This is where've I have lived. This is where I am.‍

I’m not going to tell you that you only need to love yourself, or that romantic love isn’t worth all the hype, or to love the whole world, or that love is all there is (although yes).

Something I know to be true only 100% of the time is this: once you know a truth, you will never not know it. You’re going to end up at that truth no matter how long or complicated a detour you take.

I have a beautiful wife and three young children. Here's the thing, I feel like I'm dying. It's been three months and I can't find a job in my industry. Everyone is willing to help, but I don't know how they can. It's like, yeah, ah, get me a job. After you stop drinking life doesn't go away.

I’m sitting on the edge of my bed looking out at the bay, still in my work clothes. It’s Friday afternoon, Memorial Day weekend, and the sun is bouncing off all the roofs of the houses, the water, the docked boats bobbing in the bay. Even after living here for two years, the view still stuns me. The house sits on top of a steep row of houses, the highest on the street, and from this perch in my bedroom, the beauty is always so shocking I believe it washes away all that is wrong. How can a marriage break in the face of that view? How can there be any pain at all?

It has occurred to me that the thing I love most about running is HAVING RUN. It's also the thing I love most about writing, and telling the truth, and cleaning my bathrooms and mothering.