Padfoot
woke me up this morning at 6:00 with his 9th vomit in 2 days (this is totally
normal for him (¯\_(ツ)_/¯). I hopped out of bed, started hot water for
coffee, and cleaned up his mess (in that order). Annie was already gone for
another day of intern year, so there I was, cleaning up vomit at 6:00 am on a
Saturday. Which was actually totally fine because I was in bed by 8:30 p.m. on
Friday.
Since I was already
up, I decided to use my extra time (thanks, Padfoot) to meditate for a bit on
my experience so far living 10 hours from home.
This morning, like a
lot of weekends recently, I've noticed a general sense of melancholy when I
wake up. The weather wasn't great and it was still dark when I got out of bed,
but the feeling was pretty constant with where I'd been emotionally of late, predominantly
on the weekends when Annie is already gone by the time my eyes are open.
It's been 5 months
this week since Annie and I moved to North Carolina... Prior to June 1st, 2017
I'm not sure I had ever spent more than 10 consecutive days outside of
Kentucky. Now it's been 5 months since I've seen it.
To be completely
clear - This move has been great for
both me and Annie - I really have loved my experience so far. I can't say
enough how special this area is.
For one, it's forced
Annie and me to rely on each other, which has been awesome for our marriage. We've
really only had each other in this process, and helping each other through this
has been good for both of us. On top of that the environment here is pretty damn
ideal. Beach and mountains both within an hour or two drive? Pretty hard to
beat. I love the school that I've ended up at - the kids are great and my
co-faculty are rockstars. The food scene here matches up with Louisville pretty
well (quite the feat), and the beer scene wayyyy outpaces KY. And maybe most
importantly - the people are amazing. I've told everyone I've talked to that
the neatest part about this area is that everyone is in pretty much the same
stage of life. We're all a bunch of 20-30 year old transplants in the process
of starting anew in the Triangle-area. I've met more new people in a month here
than I did in 3 years of living in Louisville.
That last part
especially has been really good for me. With Annie working 60-80 hours a week,
and rarely having weekends free, I've found ways to keep myself busy. I work
out with a group of guys 2-3 mornings a week through F3 (check it out @
f3nation.com). I'm in a sand volleyball league through Meetup. And I've somehow found my way into a book club with 3
awesome guys who opened up and let me in after we met just once.
But while all of
these things contribute to a lot of fun and a general 'busyness' that fills my
time, they don't do a lot to fulfill my want of real bonding. I miss having a couple guys within minutes I knew I
could call and they'd be there. I miss having a clear community to call my own.
Being forced into a
world of making friends and meeting new people has me reflecting on just the
general difficulties of manhood. Especially the way we deal (or don't deal)
with emotion. In a culture of 'no homo' and 'bro-hugs,' finding guys to be open
and vulnerable with is so damn difficult. We do this to ourselves. We put up
walls and create these paper thin plaster shells: a faux display that we're
emotionless or hardened. We do everything we can to maintain that facade. My
constant struggle to maintain mine yet the simultaneous desire to tear it down
may be why bonding with women has always come more naturally to me.
I guess what I
really want to say here is 'I miss you' to the guys who have been there for me
and helped me feel more comfortable with myself throughout my life. To my dad.
To the men I've cried with or consoled, or the guys who were just there to say "no
really, how are you?" when I'm too quick to respond "things are
great!" for the umpteenth time.
And I'd like to also
use it as a challenge - to myself and to other bros out there. Open up. Be
vulnerable. Let someone else in when they're trying. Invite them in if you have
to. Give real hugs. Plaster is soft and brittle. It takes a lot more effort to
maintain it than it does to just let it break.
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