Journey's Joys Outweigh the Pain

You know how you can hear a song dozens of times and it’s just a song and then at just the right time, a certain lyric brings you to tears and gets you out to the blog? Yeah me neither. Oh wait. It just happened. Frank Turner is nothing if not a fuck up. Brilliant writer. Expert at breaking hearts and/or getting his heart broken. And today that mother fucker got me good with his song “Journey of the Magi”.

He sings about Moses (because what former punk rocker doesn’t) realizing he’s never going to see the promised land. He’ll never actually be home. But, he smiles at that thought, because the “journey’s brought joys that outweigh the pain.”

Like the old riddle…what weighs more, a ton of happiness or a ton of lonely? Or bricks or feathers or whatever. Joy. And pain. Sunshine. And rain. (like 3 people will get that joke…psssh…as if 3 people even read the blog). Now, I’m off track, but that’s the point I’m trying to make, I think. I write for my sanity. I write to get back on track. And if some people relate, it feels great. It becomes a group project, taking on the lonely.

And rewinding a bit…I get so stuck on the pain. God damn, why does my childhood still knock me to my knees? Fuck me, how could she lie to me when I was telling her I’d walk with her through anything? Etc. my mind…over and over…rewinds to the scenes from my past that created this mess of a heart.

The pain was kicking my ass last night and really most of the day yesterday. There’s just this negativity, I think, that is inherent to growing up the way I did. Why would it ever work out for me? Like, the moses line above…why would I ever make it “home”.

But, I think what brought the tears today was a simple flip in perspective. Yes, I have zero reason to believe, based on my relationship experience, that I would ever luck into something great. Like, that person who actually makes me better instead the people I’ve chosen to do life with, who seem to end up re-igniting the dumpster fire that is my insides.

I guess the point is…fuck home. Not to say it’ll never happen. or that I don’t have it with the kids. but, I forced the shit out of that last relationship. I called it home, when it should have been either a friendship or a brief relationship. For four fucking years.

Relationship equals pain for me. I make bad decisions. Timing is wrong. They can’t give. I can’t give. Somewhere in there it always gets fucked up. And I end up worse off than I was when I started. And I can’t imagine the girls end up in good shape either.

Shit. but, wait a sec. maybe they do. I just thought back to a conversation I had recently with an ex-girlfriend. She told me how much I meant to her in terms of getting her life on track. Like, I inspired her to go do the stuff she’s doing now. She was the one of the bunch who I think actually cared about me. And she showed me that by breaking up with me. She knew she couldn’t give me what I deserved. And she ran.

And god damn am I thankful for that. The tears I cried were nowhere near the tears I cried last summer because of the systematic piece by piece shitting on my deepest wounds that the most recent ex did. But, what’s fucked up is, I hope we have a similar convo one day. That she takes on her past. That she appreciates what I tried to do for her. last summer I wanted an apology and I wanted her to face the absolutely devastating shit she put me through, but that was the wrong time to want that. I have to just forgive her for my own sake and stay the fuck away.

Oh and then to wrap up the pain side of this…there was the life saving stripper. She wrecked me too in the end. I was so fucking naïve. But, I just talked to her the other day, and it’s the same thing…this kind of mutual appreciation for the importance of bumping into each other when we did. I was dying when she bailed on me, but that’s when my therapist took over and did the heavy lifting that really brought me back to life.

And then of course, I put myself through more shitty relationships and need to be resuscitated once again. Those were my bad decisions that caused pain to me and the kids, but when I look at the big picture, it’s not that bad…to see the former stripper and the other one doing well these days. And knowing that I was a positive part to their story. It feels great.

I should come up with a code name for “the stripper” because she’s far from that. It’s the character she played at the time. But, she was just talking to me about how much it meant that I forgave her. yeah she fucked me over/played me whatever. But, I got what I needed out of it. I’m fucking alive. And I was headed down a dark path before she smiled my way.

So, yeah…all I know about “home” is pain. And yet somehow the kids and I have this beautiful place where we can be real and like hanging out with each other. And it’s whenever I bring a female into our space that my head gets fucked and home gets less homey.

So, what I need to get back to is enjoying the journey. Weigh it. The pain feels devastating and overwhelming, but maybe, collectively, the joy is heavier. Those fucking moments. Even in the failed relationships. Appreciate the good times. The real heart to hearts. Maybe we were both too fucked up at the time to have the answers to the problems, but it felt fantastic to share the pain with someone else. And maybe because the people I gravitate towards come from a lot of pain, it’s close to impossible to have a healthy relationships. Two fucked up pasts come together and at first form a bond, but the past can also wreak havoc and destroy the good.

Ha! The stripper worried, years ago, that she was a home wrecker. The home had been wrecked a long time before her. but see, the past…and more specifically not facing it…is what wrecked my longest relationships. And oddly, that gives me hope. Because I know how fucking hard I work to overcome my shit. And I know how much that will mean to the next girl I hitch up my trailer to. I told the last one that the last thing I want is perfect. I want “fucked up but working on it.” Like me. 

I’m sure down the road I’ll look back on this time period and think I didn’t have a fucking clue. But, it’s a process. Like when my head is fucked and I write and write like a mad man and end up unfucked. I fucking hate it that I’m forced to do that, because of shit done to me. But, I love it that I have that tool so that I can actually take this shit on.

The pain is constant. I wrote about another frank turner line a few blogs ago “and on the worst days, when it seems like life weighs 10,000 tons”. And I said “isn’t that every day?” it’s too fucking heavy. We can’t shoulder this load solo.

So, we find some people to help. Fuck getting into another relationship and having it all go to hell in a few minutes. I just need pals going through the same shit. Did you get divorced? Okay, let’s be best friends. I get too excited when I meet new people and talk too much, but I think I do it because I get how important it is to talk to other people who are in the same boat. All of my best friends are married with kids.

So, I go to the bar by myself, looking for people to talk to. and I get too drunk. I was just thinking yesterday that I was having great story time the other night and there are chunks of the conversation that I just don’t remember. I’ve got to be better than that. If it’s a fun drunken night, cool. But, if someone is sweet enough to have a heart to heart with me, I’ve got to be there instead of filling myself with all the jack daniels available.

I guess part of what got me down yesterday is realizing that there are still five months left in my rebuilding year. I want to be all healed up now. I want to function again all the time. I want to be happy. I want to talk to someone lovely. But, maybe I have to put those wants to the side and just keep battling.

And recognize what frank said to open this blog. The pain comes in waves. And I can’t breathe. But, I think maybe I need to go back and reread my old blogs and old journals, because there’s also so much joy in my story. There’s this crazy journey that I’ve lived. And if I only call it painful, I’m leaving out the best parts. The funny stories. The healing stories. The little moments that meant something to me.

My life is fucking great. And now I feel like an ass hole, because I’m about to quote garth fucking brooks, but that’s the sentiment “I could have missed the pain, but I’d have had to miss the dance.” I wouldn’t miss this shit for the world. I’m lucky to be alive. The pain feels so heavy in the moment, but if I actually put the tons of pain on the scale and measure it against the joy the journey has brought me. It's the opposite of how it feels most of the time. No one ever calls joy "heavy", but if i look back at my life, i've been weighed down by plenty of moments of sheer joy.

Come on. My life is a fucking dream come true. Story after story. Shit doesn’t work out for me in the fairy tale sense, but holy crap have I had some amazing experiences. And I keep track of those experiences out here on the blog and last night one of my old blogs got my head back to good. I need this shit. And I need conversation.

I was talking to a girl the other night about how overwhelming life is. We need other people to lighten the load. To flip the scale. To give each other moments of joy. To outweigh the burden of pain and responsibility. And this is the way frank words it at the end of that magi song…

Paupers and kings, princes and thieves,
Singers of songs, righters of wrongs, be what you believe.
So saddle your horse and shoulder your load,
Burst at the seams, be what you dream, and take to the road.

Fucking beautiful. I’ve got to keep talking and writing my pain away to the point where instead of the pain being what bursts me at the seams, it’s the overflow of joy/stories/good times that runneth over. what if I’m just meant to be this single guy who travels from story to story and stops by people’s lives for a minute to tell them they’re fucking beautiful?

Yeah. You are. Go ahead. Take a look at yourself. Not the you that your ex tried to tell you that you are. Or that your back story says you are. but the real you. i find so much fucking beauty in every single story i hear. and pain can go fuck itself when you're busy having moments with so many great people. how the fuck did you make it all the way to the end of this blog? you deserve a medal. or a drink. it's probably my turn to buy you one. all three of you.

and see. i can smile now. lonely. every fucking day. waves of sadness. waves of depression. can't function days. thinking i'm cursed days. but, man...there's a beauty to my life. and a beauty to me as a human that i found once i chose to be what i believe. i believe in the real. i believe in looking like a fucking idiot out here on the blog for the sake of the other people who feel like idiots. because talking this shit out brings a joy that the pain can't fucking compete with.