This Isn’t Going Where You Think

Every time I imagine meeting a famous person I find myself starting the conversation the same way: “What brings you to Fresno? Are you in need of assistance?”

Maybe I just landed on Anne Heche’s Lost Weekend and never updated my “reasons famous people go places” logic. Or maybe it’s the idea of starting the interaction with a sense of control, establishing that I’m in my element and they are not.

I think I’m overdue for some time outside my element. I’ve gone out of my way to create a life that barely requires me to drive, much less navigate anything unfamiliar. It’s easy to forget that seeing the world means something more than non-stop news consumption.

Now that we’re safely distanced from the threat of a “New Year, New Me” association I can more comfortably say that I’m starting to believe that self-care requires a degree of selfishness. Not a heartless I-Got-Mine-So-Screw-You thing, just an understanding that it’s okay to tell the people you love that you’re doing your own thing for the weekend.

If I recall, the term co-dependent/codependency blew up in the late 80s or early 90s. Everybody in America was throwing it around like a weatherman who just learned about The Nor'easter. But as Chairman Comee knows, just because every blow-dried talking head in the English speaking west keeps repeating a word or phrase doesn’t mean they’re using it right.

I think the line between codependency and non-pathologized relationship imbalance is a clearer, brighter thing than Sally Jessy Raphael led the housewives of the late 20th Century to believe. I also believe that it can be an otherwise reasonable reaction to an unreasonable situation. A subtle way of exerting control when confronted with narcissists or the chronically insecure.

For someone finally in a healthy relationship it can also be a little like a miscounted riser on a flight of stairs. You hike your leg in anticipation of a step that isn’t there. Nothing bad happens, you just make an awkward gesture and move on unharmed if slightly confused.

Today I’m there. I’m wanted but not needed. And that’s a really great place to be. It means my wife knows we’re partners and that we don’t owe each other anything more or less than honesty and kindness. My youngest knows how to ask for advice and guidance, but there’s no approval-seeking for its own sake. So, finally, at 42-years-old I get to ask myself The Question.

What do -I- want?

I need to get my passport. The only way I’m going to accomplish my longer-term goals is by securing that thing.

There’s also a part of me that thinks it would be great fun to spend the next eight or nine (or 20 to 30-something) months throwing myself into whatever it takes to be Peacemaker for Halloween. It is 100% possible that I’m going to have to settle for Economos. There’s something cringy and midlife crisis-adjacent about all that, but John Cena is two years my senior and he was trained by a dude named Christopher Daniels, so anything is possible…

Will steroids rustle my jimmies since I’ve had a vasectomy?

You’re welcome.

I’ve got the house to myself this afternoon. I’m going to knock out some chores, some leftovers, and a Rocky Patel. Tomorrow we’re back to the Russian invasion of Ukraine, a CPAC-recap, and a debate about the future of Twitch (or our channel, anyway).

Find a few minutes to do you. Make sure you’re not existing only for others. A life of service is a beautiful thing, but becoming a martyr to ingratitude is a terrible waste of YOU.