Yes, it’s a not-so-subtle brag. But, screw it.  I’m taking a victory lap.

The victory lap equates to a night of eating pizza until passout.

Before the carbs and fat sink my consciousness I’m going to attempt to eek out this post.

I’m not proud here, but I’m back on caffeine. I’ve written about swearing off the stuff a few times. For a month or so I’m off it and then I get back on. Lately, I’ve been using it like crazy.

Most of America is hooked on caffeine, so what’s the big deal? For me, it’s different than the average consumer. I use it as an escape – a way to change my state. A high, as it were. In short, I abuse it.

The problem isn’t that caffeine is ruining my life (it’s not). It’s that I am “on” it most days all day long. Over the past few months I’ve become habituated to the drug and its positive effects are almost nil.

I no longer receive energy from caffeine. Maybe a slight pick me up in the morning, but it fades quickly. I have to increase my dosage for continued alertness. Since a stimulant’s main job is to stimulate, and mine isn’t working, what am I left with?

Well, I’ll tell you because I’m on it right now. I had two Diet Pepsis tonight before writing. For some reason caffeine now makes me anxious and scared. I’m not a naturally fearful person and I’ve never had anxiety problems. Yet as I’m typing this I’m feeling a slight sense of impending doom. Also, caffeine depresses me. It reduces my humor to nothing and induces some less-than-pleasant feelings. It makes me dark and foreboding. It crushes my creativity. I don’t get the rush of ideas throughout the day that I get when off the stuff.

So, with limited upside and a whole bunch of downside, why do it at all?

That’s a darn good question. I guess I’m still hoping caffeine will work – that it will give me pleasure and make me feel good. It did this in the beginning. No longer.

Well, I’m obviously using it to escape – escape what?

I’m afraid of regular, daily life.

Somehow I have the misaligned belief that if I’m not having extreme experiences I’m missing out. Of course 99% of life is living in the middle and not on the edge.

This is what I’m running from. In an effort to avoid the discomfort of regular life I escape through caffeine.

I’ve been exploring this addiction (with me it’s a definite addiction) for a few weeks and I’m about ready to let go of it entirely. Well, first, it isn’t working anymore as I mentioned earlier. But second, I’m retarding my growth. I’m not feeling emotions that would naturally arise. I’m just feeling the effects of the drug.

Today I decided that I wouldn’t buy caffeine no matter how much I wanted it. I walked by a grocery store and didn’t go in. My inner addict yelled, “You’ll feel better on it! It’s going to be fun!” Then, another voice started listing all the ways in which it would harm my day. These two voices battled for a few seconds.

Tonight, however, the addict voice won and I finished off the last two cans I had in the refrigerator. And just as I suspected I am feeling the negative effects throughout my body. They’ll wear off soon, but I’ll have the urge to drink caffeine again tomorrow.

The answer is simple – I must learn how to stay present without escaping. This means sitting in normal day-to-day discomfort. Boredom. Tiredness. Natural states we all experience. The feelings that I am terrified of.

I’m excited to get off the stuff and back to regular life. I’m sure I’ll be battling it over the next few days, but it’ll pass and I’ll be back to my normal non-extreme self. This time I’ll try to stay there permanently.

There’s nothing I own that is appropriate for negative temperatures. If I dug deep into my closet I could find a pair of long underwear. But then what? Put them on under my suit pants? I’d get to work where the temperature is a 72. Then I’d be hot for the day.

Plus, I’m only outside for between five and twenty minutes depending on how fast the train and bus arrive. Yes, I ride both the train and the bus. I own a car but I’m too cheap to put the miles on it. I live close to the train and my work is near the station.

When I climb the train platform I have to wait only three minutes before one arrives. The train is never full and I stand against an interior window. The backpack which houses my dog is removed and placed between my legs. I pull out my phone and start thinking of things to tweet.

Today the train took five minutes to appear. Then it zoomed past. This is bad for three reasons. One, the obvious temperature discomfort. I’m exposed outside on an elevated platform with no heater. Two, the train not stopping means that something is wrong. It’s  skipping stops to fix whatever goof-up happened earlier. Third, when the next train does stop it’s going to be jam-packed.

While waiting for the train I stared directly into the sun to feel a bit of warmth on my face. I’m sure I looked like a weirdo. Next time you’re in that kind of weather, try it. It works.

The next train stopped. Jam-packed. Normally this doesn’t bother me. I can be squished and I don’t freak out. But I have a backpack with a dog inside. This means I have to hold the backpack down near my legs for about thirty minutes. I’m not exactly crushing the weights these days – this is no easy task. Also, I have to be constantly thinking of the dog’s safety to make sure some jerk doesn’t knee her in the skull.

The train ride was uncomfortable but without incident.

After emerging from the station I looked for a bus parked outside. Once in a blue moon there’s no bus and it might take five or ten minutes before one arrives. Today, blue moon. When I looked down the street there was no bus in sight. I’d have to walk.

Distance to work from bus stop – one mile.

The sidewalks were barely plowed and there was slush everywhere. I couldn’t move as fast as I wanted and kept slipping. Every time I passed another bus stop I looked back – no bus.

I was halfway to work and crossing a bridge when I remembered I was carrying a dog. Meepers never makes a sound and I had forgotten she was back there. I felt terror. The backpack has a mesh covering around most of it. This allows the dog to breath. Also, it allows cold air to come in. I had dressed her in three layers of clothes, but I was nervous. What if she had frozen to death? I was too afraid to take off the backpack and look so I tried to walk faster. I didn’t know how long a seven pound Chihuahua could survive in that weather. I whispered a foxhole prayer and started to cry.

A few minutes later I arrived at the office doorstep and turned the key. Stepping inside I felt heat. I ran to my office, tore off the backpack and opened the zipper. The dog jumped out as usual and went to her bed under my desk.

After the euphoria of her being alive wore down I was saddled with a tough reality. I had placed my dog in danger.

Guilt and shame flooded my core. I tried to start the morning but couldn’t shake the weight of those feelings. A coworker snapped me to reality with a meeting we had scheduled. I buried the feelings.

I’m not sure I’ve yet forgiven myself for this mistake. I will, but I need to sit with it a for a while longer.

photo credit: ChaoticMind75 via photopin cc

I stared at my therapist blankly.

By 10am I had been having a “not feeling good” kind of morning. The cold and the sludge and no sun – it was affecting my well-being. I was bummed. Plus, I hadn’t slept enough the night before. Not in a good mood.

The first thing that my therapist does in our sessions is to ask how I’m doing.

“All I want is to go home, overeat pizza until I pass out, play video games, write jokes on Twitter so people tell me I’m funny, and not be responsible.”

Okay, you want to blow off the day. How will that make you feel if you do those things?

“Um – worse.”

So, escaping is not going to make you feel better. What could you do instead?

“There are things I can do instead of blowing off the day to change my mood?”

She then asked the soothing question. I didn’t understand what “soothing” meant so I asked for examples. Being a woman she listed things like chocolate, pedicures or massages, buying an item of clothing. These I can’t relate to, but I understood the concept. She was talking about self-care. What were some small gifts I could give myself that would change my feelings?

I can’t put on music or a podcast at work and it’s too damned cold to take a walk with my dog. Other than that, I was out of ideas.

She reminded me that I didn’t have any other strategies to cope with a tough day other than powering through or completely escaping. Both are not ideal.

I needed to find ways to give myself things I enjoy when I’m feeling crummy. The problem is I have no idea what soothes me. I just know how to obliterate feelings by going off the deep end into short-term pleasure.

Since I didn’t have any suggestions on soothing she offered this idea – I start trusting that my body knows this information. To continue to stay with the discomfort until answers bubble up from the feeling. I agreed to give it a shot and went back out into the cold.

What I ended up doing was leaving work a few hours early and taking an hour long nap. That was what my body was telling me to do. Then I was interviewed for someone’s podcast and my body suggested another short nap. I obliged.

Now, I’m ready for bed and I feel better. I listened internally and did the suggested actions. I didn’t blow off the day or try to use force to change my state. I trusted there was something happening inside of me and that it would pass. It did.

I still ate pizza and tweeted a little and I’m about to play a video game. But all in small doses.

I wish someone when I was younger would have told me how “feeling your feelings” would be one of the most useful skills to life. Would have saved me God-knows-how-much in therapy.

That being said, I’m still allowing one blow off day a week. Getting high by eating four donuts at 10am is simply fun. Don’t judge me.

photo credit: Adam Kuban via photopin cc

(this was written last night, by the way)

When I woke up I felt my normal happy self. But soon, everything changed.

I had an early situation which warranted some anger. Basically a work thing popped up unexpectedly that had me thinking I was being attacked by a certain employee. I lost my cool but took five minutes to calm down before acting. I sent a polite but firm email and received a nasty one back. The coworker called me immediately after and we worked it out over the next fifteen minutes. I still had slight residual anger but I felt better. I have 100% confidence it will get resolved.

I also spent a few hours in traffic today due to a snowfall, but normally that wouldn’t bother me. A mild annoyance. Sure I only went a total of sixteen miles, but I have Sirius/XM and can just zone out listening to the comedy stations.

For some reason, though, the cars next to mine bothered me. I fantasized about smashing into many of them. And I never have road rage.

The air temperature which normally has little effect on me was chilling to my core. I hated the snow and sludge under my boots. I was cold outside, and hot in the car.

I found myself criticizing thoughts that popped into my head. Other people’s decisions, my own mistakes, music that came on the radio. Nothing was good. I was uncomfortable.

I even did a thirty minute meditation which, during that time, removed the negativity. As soon as I popped back to life all the darkest thoughts were there waiting for me.

My girlfriend and I attended a Mac and Cheese contest later in the day. This is one of those events where twenty people compete with unique recipes. I was excited to go. All the food tasted just “okay” to me. I know my mood was affecting my ability to enjoy taste.

We then went to an NBA game – third row tickets. Both of us hadn’t seen the Bulls play in over ten years. This was supposed to be an exciting event.

Thankfully I popped my ADD med right before the game started and the mild euphoria side-effect did kick in for most of the game. But after the final buzzer I was slammed back into my dark reality.

Just a few minutes ago, back home, my girlfriend bumped her knee hard into the coffee table. We were on hold with her internet customer service at the time, and I just stared at her blankly while she moaned in pain. I knew I should be feeling sympathy for her, but it wasn’t showing up.

Since I’ve been so negative all day, I’ve also had self-judgment about these thoughts and behaviors.

I’ve been critical of myself that, in theory, this should be a great day! I have a loving woman who supports me, I’m healthy and can pay the bills, and I’m lucky to get invited to food events and basketball games. There’s plenty to be thankful for and not anything that we’d all agree was worthy of my reactions.

The darkness felt physical, as if I had no control over it psychologically. Women go through hormonal changes every month that affect their mood without consent. Maybe something like that was going on with me. This was weird.

Since there’s nothing tangible that is looming over my head, I suspect all of these feelings will be gone by morning. I don’t generally wake up with sadness, fear, or anger. I like the mornings and often dance a little on the way from the bed to the bathroom.

My girlfriend put it succinctly. “You’re having a bad day.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make sense.”

She shrugged. To her, having a bad day is acceptable even when there’s no logic to support the feelings.

As a guy I want to figure things out. Did I do something goofy nutritionally? Did the no-sunlight thing make this happen? Would working out have fixed it? If I would have done psychological exercises, could this have turned me around? I have no answers.

It’s now the end of the night and I’m exhausted. It’s tough being such an asshole all day.

Going to wake up tomorrow and feel better and never know why this happened.

photo credit: country_boy_shane via photopin cc

I called it CelebTweets. After a few posts went live a television producer contacted me with an idea. If I wrote fifty more of these she could pitch it to publishers and get a book made.

She cautioned me, however, to be very selective on what else I wrote on my blog. I did a lot of other styles of posts and she thought that might hurt my “brand.” If I wanted a book deal, I needed to decide if I would be the guy that bugs famous people on Twitter exclusively.

I decided against it. I wanted to do other things.

At the time I was separated and starting to go through a divorce which would become the most painful experience of my life. I had only, up until then, written silly posts. I was terrified to try anything unfunny. Looking back, I don’t know why this was such a scary proposition – I only had fifty readers. If nobody liked the serious stuff I could always go back to comedy.

By the way, my dad’s dick post is still the most popular story on this blog. Can you believe 154k visitors read that last year? Yes, that’s sad. And yes, I’m bragging.

I decided to change up my style. I started to chronicle feelings, thoughts, and perspectives around daily life. Sure I’d pepper in a joke or two, but the overarching theme was honesty and vulnerability. That was my mission.

In 2012 I ended up writing every day.  I published 185k words that year. And let me tell you, not all of the posts were gold. Some were flat out stinkers.

The number one reason bloggers tell me they don’t write more often is that they want each post to be gold. I understand. I do, too. But I have way more singles and doubles in me than home runs. I also have strikeouts.

Yesterday I struck out. I sat at my computer for two hours trying to save a piece of shit. It wasn’t working no matter how many times I edited. But, in a way, I felt okay about it. The piece was as good as it was going to get. I had pride because even though the post didn’t turn out perfect, I had done all that I could. I hit publish.

According to stats 74% of my daily traffic comes from new visitors. Today many people were introduced to my blog with maybe the worst post I have ever written. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t return.

So, why do I publish strikeouts?

One, failure is part of human experience. We all put effort into projects that don’t pan out. People relate to mistakes. Two years ago I dropped the need for my posts to be perfect and the weirdest thing happened. My viewership increased. The comments from readers got longer and more frequent. I was connecting with people at a deeper level than that of just fart jokes.

Also, many kept coming back after a less-than-stellar post. People forgive. I found that the only time anyone got pissed was when I didn’t share something intimate or “real.” Like if I wrote a joke that for a quick laugh I would receive little engagement.

I believe part of respecting and honoring an audience is to show them the truth. The flubs. Times that it doesn’t come together. As long as the writing is honest and in my voice I push it through. Now, I accept the consequences of this behavior, too. I lose readers who expect better consistency.

I guess at the end of the day I just want to feel good. During that marathon session yesterday I put my heart and sweat into that piece. I just re-read it again and yes, it’s cringe worthy. It was also the best I could do. I feel good about it because I see all the hard work that went into the process.

The question is, however – should I subject the audience to a mediocre post?

I’m probably alone here, but I say yes. A resounding yes. I just want to try my hardest and let the chips fall where they may. Were there readers bummed out after reading yesterday? I don’t know – I’m sure some were unimpressed.

So, here’s my deal. I write a lot. I have a boring, normal life and sometimes my posts will suck. Usually they won’t. Thanks for understanding.

photo credit: Plutor via photopin cc

It’s not intentional. There are plenty of men who don’t cry. Guys think that tears might reduce their machismo to the level of an eleven year old girl finding out that their favorite singer in One Direction is a smack abuser. Hmm, maybe shouldn’t have made such a non-masculine reference.

Note – I have never listened  to a One Direction song. Man card reclaimed!

I’m not exactly macho. Well, I do take care of my woman which I consider masculine. I don’t, however, get into fights, grow out my beard, yell at the television when my team loses, frequent strip clubs, or enjoy action movies. I ain’t a guy’s guy.

I am similar to the macho-archetype in one area – I don’t cry. Like ever.

This, of course, is not entirely true. I’ve cried during some of the toughest moments of my life. We all have. But I’m betting it’s less than twenty times total.

Instead of looking at my crylessness (not a word) with a psychological lens, I’ve accepted that fact that for the most part I just don’t do it. Some of us are just built that way.

There is something that always got me, however.  Extreme Home Makeover.

I caught around twelve episodes of the show and each time I weeped like a baby. Those producers are emotional terrorists! Scenes are edited to squeeze any and all feelings of depression and elation out of your eyelids. I broke down every time and enjoyed the ride.

Seeing the squalor the family was living in at the beginning of the show was always the first mile marker in this crying marathon. Then the show would send them to Disney World (or, if they were less lucky, Universal Studios).

The crew would demolish the old house (another time to cry), and then start construction on a new mansion.  Those houses always had way more bedrooms than normal. If the family had eight children, there would be eight bedrooms. And each would be outfitted to whatever the kid was into at the time. Which is a fine idea until five years later when the child is in high school and trying to score. It’s just not ideal to bring the prom queen up to your “Dude Ranch” themed bedroom.

Ty’s special project was always one of the big moments of the show. He was always doing something crazy. I think I saw an episode where he built a room that doubled as an iron lung.

But the biggest crying moment came when producers brought the family back from vacation. Straight from the airport in a limo still wearing Goofy hats, they would be lined up behind a giant bus. Half the town would be there hooting and hollering. I suspect they were really yelling at the family out of jealousy and not support. The editors, though, would have deleted out anyone yelling, “You rot!”

When the Greyhound pulled away, that family would face-plant into the gravel crying (they always lived on a gravel-road street). I lost it every time.

Then they’d run around their new house and I’d cry even more.

It is cathartic to cry, I believe. And now that the show has been canceled I haven’t found a replacement. I’d like to get back to it because the show has been off the air for several years now. This baby needs to wail!

I’ve thought about buying entire seasons on DVD but I don’t think it will have the same impact. I’d just be thinking about all the money the family had to pay the government because the home is technically income, and that they probably couldn’t afford the property taxes and all that. It’s too depressing. Not fun crying, either. Just sad.

So, I’m going to start searching for my next cry-show. I need it to be about how someone overcomes tragedy or personal loss. I’m tired of being so desperate to cry that I put my face down next to chopped onions. And don’t suggest that I start feeling my feelings as that might trigger some tears – while true, I’m still a guy for chrissakes. We don’t do that.

For most of my life I wouldn’t let caffeine into my system. I decided at eighteen that it was a terrible chemical to introduce to one’s system and never let it pass my lips. In that same year I became an evangelist against milk and swore off the white. I had read a book which said both were evil and would be the downfall of health. You have to remember that this was before the internet and anything I read in a book was gospel. I fell for pretty much every new-age fad including chakra healing, food combining, subliminal positive messages, and neuro-linguistic programming. I studied hypnosis and moved my furniture around so my bed was in alignment with the earth’s polarity. I bought a juicer and had nothing but freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast. Today we call that an unbalanced breakfast (and probably the onset of a candida fungus). Back then it was the healthiest thing you could do.

So, even though I would punish my system with heroic amounts of fast food I never touched a Diet Pepsi. Oh, and I couldn’t stand the taste of coffee, either. Weird, I know.

I was good with any of the three flavors of Fresca. Simple and clean.

Well, after a lifetime of avoiding caffeine, I took the plunge. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but, in a moment of weakness I tried a Monster energy drink and got gacked to the nines. Oh yeah, I don’t drink or do drugs, so it was pretty exciting.

Caffeine was a real rush. Pure pleasure shot up my spine and into every neural synapse. I could concentrate like never before and a sense of well-being emerged.

It took around a week before I was hooked.

Unfortunately, my body doesn’t understand moderation. As much as I’ve educated myself through exercise, diet, therapy and education, I’m just not wired up to have one drink of anything. I’ve tried coffee (which I hate) and I end up having like four cups in a row. It’s an insane rush and I must have more.

I even switched recently from caffeine drinks to caffeine pills (not the super unhealthy diet pills – just pure caffeine) to see if that would manage my intake better. It did not. I ended up drinking energy drinks plus  the pills.

In short – I was hooked. Correction – I am hooked.

Now, I know people think energy drinks are the devil and all that, but I’ve looked at the research and it’s not all that alarming. I’m not dealing with any health issues that I know of. Of course my adrenal glands are probably burning out, but, who knows?

I decided today to stop cold turkey.

Today is Day 1.

I had a few last energy drinks in my desk at work yesterday. I slammed them in a final hurrah of immaturity.

The reason why I’m giving up caffeine isn’t for a health concern or even that I’m abusing the substance. It’s because it’s yet another example of how I use an external object to take me out of the present. The present consists of my thoughts and feelings. I am so afraid of the tough feelings that I run from them at first sight. We all stray away from time to time, but I’ve remained jacked on the sauce for pretty much every waking hour of the day the past few months. Not ideal.

When I’m on caffeine and not present for my feelings I don’t write well (or at all), I’m not as active with my friends or relationships, and I just don’t get a lot of stuff done. I escape to a fantasy world. It’s a little crazy.

Most people just use a cup of coffee to wake up a bit. I drink 200 mg and start flying around the room.

So tomorrow it’s back to the old D.J. – all of me which includes  fear, sadness, anger, and guilt that that I’ve been avoiding for the past three months.

Oh, I know I’m going to have a massive headache for a few days so I will stay jacked up on ibuprofen. I’m okay with that.

Wish me luck.

I’m very proud to announce that the official ThoughtsFromParis app is now available for free in Google Play. You can download it here!  If you’re an iPhone or iPad user, it will be live by next Tuesday in the Apple App Store. For now, though, Android users can start right away.

This was a total labor of love. It actually goes back a few years when I was #1 on Google for terms like “best blog” and “funny blogs.” An app company reached out to me to ask if they could build me my own application. There were no strings attached – they thought I was a much bigger deal than I was and they wanted this to be in their portfolio. I agreed, and then it fell apart. They must have noticed that, despite being highly ranked on Google, I wasn’t exactly getting the traffic of Dooce or TheBloggess.

I’ve always tried to evolve this website. At first it was just stories of silly things that have happened. Then I ran out of stories and started talking about my feelings. Later I added videos to the mix and then a podcast. While I’ll probably always be strongest at writing, I love the idea of trying new creative outlets.

I have never been completely satisfied with my blog as being the repository for locating all of my content. I’ve got headings in the navigation bar to my podcast and my videos, but it’s not very clean. I wanted to make something that was easy to use that would aggregate all of my stuff. The app seemed like the best vehicle.

My developer and I have worked hard to create version one. It’s not perfect and not glossy, but it does work.

I have one more feature that I’m bidding out right now which would really take the functionality to the next level. I’ll keep you in the loop, and obviously if you’ve already downloaded this version, it will be made available as a free update.

Thank you for continuing to read, watch and listen. Now, go download the app so you can see my face on your screen way more often than is healthy.

Here’s a video I made (I know – super nerdy) that shows the Android functionality.

I was lucky this year. BlogHer, the largest blogging conference in the country, was hosted in my hometown of Chicago. This meant easy travel from my condo to the conference. Actually, it was kind of a hassle. Sure I saved some dough by not having to spring for a hotel, but I was traveling back and forth at least once a day. Each time I parked it was $36. I had to go home to let the dog out.

On the first night I was invited to a wonderful dinner by my friend Tracy Beckerman of LostInSuburbia. At the meal were twenty of my favorite bloggers. Some funny, some serious. All awesome. This is my fourth blog conference and over the course of these events I’ve developed relationships that evolve each time we meet.

After dinner my new friend Julie DeNeen took me out for dessert. She gets a mention because she spent $8 on my chocolate molten lava cake.

As a humor blogger I tend to seek out other humor writers. And this conference has a lot. To have the funniest of the funny in one location for three days is damned exciting. Pretty much everyone who’s fun comes to BlogHer.

Last year I only knew three people going to the conference. This year I knew over a hundred. I would say thirty or so are actual friendships. People I actually long to see.

When I first arrived at the hotel I scanned the lobby for familiar faces. I found several. Over the course of the weekend the others emerged. You find that even though there’s six thousand people there, you find your tribe. And it’s a really fulfilling experience for me.

We’re writers. We need to be around other writers. We get each other’s head space. Also, we’re sort of nutso and have boundary issues. It’s okay, though, as we have each other.

The weekend blurred with lots of notetaking during sessions devoted to better writing. You also watch a lot of keynote speeches by famous people. Lastly, you dance. Lots of dancing.

I don’t know how many parties go on at BlogHer, but I bet it’s over thirty. I personally went to six. Most of the private events are invite only and sponsored by brands who want the bloggers to write about their products. I don’t usually get invited to these for obvious reasons.

Oh, while we’re on the subject let’s talk about the guy thing.

I estimate around a hundred guys attend BlogHer. After two years I don’t understand why more don’t. It’s just a shitload of fun. Most of my readers (I believe) are women. Most of my blogger friends are women. And hey, I like women. Makes all the sense in the world for me to attend.

Plus, the ladies have sort of adopted me into the tribe. As a man I get probably more attention than just being one of the thousands of women there. And, for me – the attention tramp I am – it’s a fun thing. Dancing at an all-women’s party is really an experience. You have to realize 90% of these women are married, so it’s a totally non-sexual event. A safe place. Somehow they don’t see me as a threat. I don’t know if that speaks to my masculinity. It probably does.

I got a little weepy (which almost never happens) on the drive home because I realized I have love for many of these attendees. We spend the year chatting online, reading and commenting on each other’s blogs, which are really extensions of our lives. Then, in person, you already know much of what is happening to them. “Sorry you got laid off,” or “Congrats to your kid for hitting the winning home run!” or “Did that bitch Betty ever get fired?”

We all desire connection and love. And two years ago I didn’t have a blog and I certainly didn’t read any. I now have a network of people who stay in touch and reach out. They love me – or at least as much as they can electronically. I love them. And once a year we get to be together to share this love. It’s often unsaid, but I can feel it. To think that this didn’t exist for me up until recently creates feelings of extreme gratitude.

And on the way home it sort of hit me all at once. I had just hung out with people from all over the country that like spending time with me. I consider myself to be very lucky.

I’m still wholly unsure.

In fact, I have no idea how this thing is going to turn out, and I’m massively insecure about it. Oh well. I can always go back to stories about falling through glass tables.

My parents were nice enough to come up for Father’s Day. We were also celebrating my birthday which was last Monday. This morning at brunch the music at the restaurant was up a little too loud for my liking. It pierced my ears a bit. Now, I’ve written about how I probably have Sensory Processing Disorder which basically means that I’ve overly sensitive to stimuli. I don’t mind music at breakfast, but this was loud, hip-hop music, and it bugged me. I thought I was going to have to ask our waiter if they could turn down the volume.

Then I noticed in the lyrics they said the f-word a few times. Now, I’m no prude, and a good “fuck” can make for some great art. I use it all the time. But I didn’t want to hear it over orange juice at a trendy restaurant at ten in the morning. And then it hit me…

I can’t block out the music because I can’t control it.

My parents didn’t seem to notice the music. It was loud to me, but registered no impression on them. They didn’t hear the lyrics or mind the techno beats. That aggravated me even more. Sure, I have a little more sensitivity to stuff like this, but surely they were bothered! They weren’t.

Not having control over people, places, or things, I’ve come to realize, is a major issue for me.

At work, I have full control over my job. I’m very lucky. If I want to bring my dog in, I do. If I want to bike in, I do. Should I want to leave early, I can. Nobody tries to change what I do or how I do it.

I also live alone. Everything is within my control, too. I don’t have to deal with a girlfriend, wife, or roommate. Currently I’m single so I spend most of my time by myself. More control.

But when I’m in a situation where I’m not the center of the universe, I freak out.

I met a friend’s parents the other night for dinner. Even though they were perfectly lovely, I wanted to bolt after dinner but had to wait for them to finish their beers. I was uncomfortable even though I had no reason to be. They only had one beer all through dinner, yet I almost couldn’t wait the extra four minutes. Weird.

I was taken to a party recently where I literally only knew my date. There were over eighty people at this gathering. Part of my day-job is that I interview people for positions. I’m used to striking up conversations with strangers. I have no problem going over and talking with anyone.

But at this party I found myself annoyed at everything and everyone (except my date). I was so uncomfortable and rarely struck out on my own. I sat in one spot and just felt out of sorts and angered. I wanted the drunk dude to cease being so loud. I wanted to stop someone from singing karaoke because they sucked. I wanted my date to introduce me to more people. I wanted to be alone when I was eating the food. In short, I wanted to be in control. It’s a lot of “wanteds” that I couldn’t control.

Over the past few months this control thing has made it difficult for me to enjoy being in groups with people. I just want to go home and isolate. Not healthy.

How I got over the hip hop issue this morning is the lesson here. I knew that since I didn’t want to be a dick and ask them to change the volume just for me, I would just have to learn to tolerate it. Could I sit in discomfort and would that ease the discomfort?

Learning how to tolerate that which I don’t like is really tough for controlling personalities like mine.

Here’s what happened. About ten minutes in, the music drifted away and I didn’t notice it anymore. I mean, this was bizarre. I had such a visceral reaction initially. I sat through some tough feelings of wanting to control it, and over time my body acclimated. I actually enjoyed it!

When I let go of my need for control, I experienced relief from discomfort. In essence I need to tolerate that which I don’t like.

So, going forward I’m going to force myself to not run when faced with tough feelings. Not to go off by myself every time. Not to leave the social gatherings. In short, learn how to be out of control. This is a good thing.