Am I evolving into something... beautiful?

 Is it okay that I rarely leave my house these days? It’s not that I’m agoraphobic, I’m not afraid to go out. There’s just not much “out there” that I feel a need to engage with. 

I have no need to engage with other people more than I currently do. I’m not looking for friends. 

I don’t seem to get bored. I honestly don’t know what boredom is, it never happens to me. I manage to keep myself quite entertained. 

What do I need with the outside world? Been there and done that. Honestly, I wouldn’t even have to go to the grocery store if I didn’t want to. Everything — literally everything can be delivered here. 

I suppose I could get an illicit boyfriend; it would at least get me out of the house once in awhile. But jeezus, who needs that hassle? It’s not like I haven’t had offers; so far, I've declined. Other fish, as they say, but it turns out I’m not fishing. 

Because here’s the simple truth: Despite all we’ve been through, despite our issues and our problems, after 40 years together, Drew is the only other human being I can seem to tolerate for more than a few minutes. If that isn't love...? 

 

No, I don’t think there’s anywhere else I need to be, or anyone else I need to see. I do wonder though, if I lived alone, would I still be this insular? Yes, probably worse. It’s possible I would never speak to anyone again. 

This is all totally normal, right? And srsly, who cares. Out there, right now, the world is burning down and most poor suckers don’t have a clue.  

* * *

I heard that old Joni Mitchell song the other day:

“But now old friends are acting strange

They shake their heads, they say I’ve changed

Well something’s lost, but something’s gained

In living every day…” 

To say that I’ve been “changed” by events these last three years is both an understatement, and a misnomer. You don’t lose the last of your family, go into rehab, nearly end a 40-year relationship and wrap up a decades-long career without leaving a few craters. 

They say I've changed. 

That shit will change you, whether you like it or not.

But in my case I’m not sure that’s it’s change so much as simple candor. I’ve spent too much of this life pretending to be Mr. Nice Guy. I was the one who said “please” and “thank you,” the one who did your favors, the one who laughed at your jokes. 

Everyone liked that Dumbblog, he was a swell guy! 

Except that I wasn’t that guy. I projected nice, nice, nice, I made everyone around me feel okay, I was always so acutely aware of everyone else and their endless fucking feeeeeeelings. 

But, of course, I was a complete fraud. Inside, I was seething. Feeling used, abused, unappreciated. Poor, poor pitiful me. 

I don’t feel that way anymore. I ended all of that when I dropped out of polite society, picked up my marbles and went home. 

Here’s some brutal truth: I stopped feeling sorry for myself when I started telling everyone else to go fuck themselves.  

* * *

The thing about this stage of life is that I’m never sure if I’m actually evolving, or if I’ve just dropped all my disguises. What seems like change to others, may in fact be something else: Honesty. 

Maybe telling the truth is the change. 

Fine, I’m not a monster, I wish harm to none, I detest cruelty and wish everyone would calm down and stop killing each other. I’m still presentable for a nice brunch.  

But I’ve never been a "nice guy," despite what I let others believe. Sorry I lied about that, but I thought I had to in order to survive. I’m sorry to break it to you this late in the game: I’m not actually that nice guy you thought you liked. 

Trust me on this. 

I'm evolving into something beautiful.