Off The Beaten

I had this image as I was doing my park walk today of what it’s like to do life off the beaten path. The path at the park is all mapped out, mileage provided. I grew up following the path that was marked out for me by my parents, Christianity.

And for years I did the same thing I did on my walk today, I followed the path. I was really good at wearing khaki pants. And singing along to all the hymns. And seeking credit for being a good boy. I learned the importance of being judgmental. And having little tolerance for people who had other beliefs. It was really great.

Because we were better than everyone else. How did we get so lucky? We had this great God and he blessed us with our daily bread and everything was cool. Except for reality. Our home was chaos. And the pain of my parents rough childhoods were safely kept secret in the Christian Protection Program.

The fuck does real matter when you play the organ at church (mom) and are a youth pastor (dad). They mapped out a path for me and my sister to ensure that we escaped eternal hell. Problem is, by letting family abuse continue and not being real about it, they instead insured that she and I have to battle an internal hell, inside our damaged hearts and minds.

The thoughts. The memories. The self-doubt. I get fucked with daily. I was thinking what kind of sick mother fucker lives inside my brain that when I was having a rough week last week and wrote my way through my shit, my subconscious sent me a nightmare about my ex-girlfriend just to get me back off track.

The voices are more manageable these days. When I get stuck on a memory of failure or a current situation that is embarrassing, my mind sometimes will not let up. Fucking beating me down. Like the goal of my mind is to get me back to the completely fucked over, helpless little kid feeling.

And it’s cool to have found my voice in these last few years. on the days when my demons are nasty, I’m sure I look pretty ridiculous, but I will, sometimes out loud, just say “fuck off you fucking cunt.” Fighting back with the strongest words I could come up with. If I don’t tell the voices to shut the fuck up, they run the show.

and i've learned not to fuck around, because otherwise they take me down a path that points out my shame and my shortcomings and my lonely and all the negative things. But, I can tell those voices to fuck off. And write. And exercise. And talk to good people about the real.

And where the fuck was Christianity to help me with any of that? I know everyone fucking thinks their church is different. Or their religion. Or their God. And that’s fine. Believe what you want. Find your people. Do it the way that works for you. But, I’m talking about the Christianity that I grew up with that doesn’t fucking deserve to have Christ’s name in its title.

Because, I found God when I left the church. And before I left, I was fucking dying. But, I got shit on for struggling instead of being listened to and cared for. and the fucking judgment I got after I left…I didn’t care about that shit at all. Let the Christians think what they want. Let my ex tell the story her way and get sympathy.

I didn’t need any of that shit, because I’d found a therapist who made me weep. It was okay to be real with her. Christianity left me gasping for breath and my therapist was the purest most beautiful asthma inhaler. Actually, I don’t know what an inhaler does. Oxygen. She was like oxygen to a kid who had lived his whole life out of breath.

She was super Christian. And went to church. And it just dawned on me that she tried to get me to go to church, recommending the church run by one of her patients. And I met with the dude. And he was a bad ass. One of the first things he said was “I’m in sex anonymous, narcotics anonymous…” and I was like “fuck yes.” I can do church if the pastor is real.

So, I went to bible study. And there were a total of 3 or maybe 4 of us and I was so excited to talk stories and talk about the real. and instead they fucking got out a concordance and tried to make it an intellectual discussion. What the fuck happened to the real?

But, that’s always been my experience. It’s so hard to fit real chats about broken hearts and fucked up pasts into church. It’s much easier to look the part. And not get personal. And repeat words that some dude tells you to say.

But, what I’ve loved about getting off the Christian hamster wheel, is that there is space for so much more real. I don’t have to have my shit together. I fuck up. I’ve been fucked over. I struggle all the time. And when I was aspiring to perfection in my old Christian world there was no way I was going to be able to heal while pretending.

But, that therapist reshaped my entire way of thinking. It was okay to be completely honest. It was not okay the shit that was done to me. It was okay to follow my own path. It was okay to stop talking to my dad.

And what’s come of that is years of crazy cool conversations with random people. I remember one old college friend messaged me after reading one of my blogs and just said “ahhhhhhh”. Those are the moments man.

When I was a Christian it was called “being vulnerable”. And to that I say “fuck off you fucking cunt.” That shouldn’t be a thing. It’s how life should be all the time. It shouldn’t be so rare when someone is honest about pain and struggles that they had to come up with the word vulnerable.

It was a great moment when I realized I don’t give a shit about what people think about my writing or the language I use. I talk out here like I talk at the bar, because I don’t have any interest filtering myself like I had to do in the Christian world.

So, I’ve somehow decided to get off the beaten path and make my own way through this life. And I rebuilt myself after the divorce. I lost my job. My church. And almost all of my friends. It was fucking hard to get back up from that, but I knew I had to do it my own way and I knew I had the sweetest co-pilot of a therapist.

So, fuck…just had a moment. I thought that rebuilding process was difficult. But, it was nothing compared to what I went through last fall. I lost my church (the clarette club closed). And I didn’t just lose my girlfriend, I was put through just unimaginable pain, to the point where I had to question action after action of hers over the previous 4 years.

I believed words. But there were so many lies. So, when I looked back on the actions, it’s like waking up from the most awful nightmare. So much of us was more plastic than Christianity. And I really fucking believed it was home. I shared everything with her. and she shared the parts she needed to.

And when the lies came in buckets and I ended up in the fetal position day after day it was just so fucking hard to want to go on. You might meet a girl at a bar and not be wise to the fact that she’s playing you for a short period of time. I met a girl and she played me for four fucking years. I was made to look like a god-damn fool.

And again, there was a hamster wheel I needed to jump off. And it took way too long for me to do it. I kept wanting the whole story, thinking I’d get healing from her words. Her words were the problem. They weren’t the truth. So, it was this never ending circle that always ended in her getting mad at me. Holy fuck do I not miss those days.

When we were together, I kind of lost touch with my friends, because her work schedule was mostly late night hours. So, socially we hung out with almost exclusively her friends. So, when the break up happened...And my bar closed. And my home turned out to be a lie. And I was fairly friendless...It was back to rebuilding.

But, this time I didn’t have a stripper/angel. This time I don’t have a therapist (yet). Again, I was put in a spot where I would need to create my own path. I could have stuck it out with that girl. And the kids and I would have had it really rough. So, I chose health. And real. and to get back to home being a three person operation.

And I had a moment today where I really can’t fucking believe the strength I have to have gotten through the shittiest of that shit. I looked back on all my facebook posts for the last 6 weeks and my life is fucking amazing. The fun times with the kids. all the laughs. All the stories. Meeting new people. Finding a new spot to hang out at night. All the fucking blogs and battling I’m doing. I’m incredibly proud of how far I’ve come.

I was so, so, so fucked a year ago. My mind exploded seemingly every time Sarita opened her mouth. But, I found the mute button. And slowly I’m making my way on this new path. There are days that I can’t fucking see straight because I’m surrounded by weeds.

But, mother fuckers this is my life, my way. After reading all the shit I wrote and the people that I’ve bumped into and laughs I induced over these last few weeks, I had this “holy shit I like myself again" moment.

And seriously how does shit happen to me like it does? Last night I had the coolest conversation with an uber driver who remembered me from the last time I was in his car. I think he drove slow on purpose so that we could talk more. And then at the end of the night I had a healing conversation about the real with a fellow broken-hearted human.

And this is why I write. To get my perspective back on track. Last week, I battled fucking hard just to get through the shit that came at me. And this week, I’m thinking “how in the world is my life so great.” Contentment in the single life. Building of confidence. Writing every day. Reminding myself of all the people who are on my side.

I got a great inbox from an old friend that was a link to a guy who preaches the real. and says fuck a lot. And she said he reminded her of me. “put yourself out there” was one of his things. Fuck yes. I want to be known. I want to be liked or hated based on the real me, not based on how dressed up I get at church and how many hoops I jump through.

Jesus? Sure. Grace? Hell yeah. But, organized religion? It’s a no from me. My life is chaos and random and hard and fucking awesome. And it just feels like it’s just starting to get good. Another rebuilding project. But, I’ve done it before and I’m stronger now.

Fuck the path that everyone takes. Fuck the mainstream. The ahhh moments when two broken souls connect over conversation is what i chase. I was telling a friend today that I’m really fucking weird in that I don’t go to the bar looking to make friends with a girl for the night so much as I look for a chance to talk to anyone who’s willing to chat for real.

And I hope that sinks in with my kids. the thing I want to instill in them the most is the ability to think for themselves. We were at the sporting game the other day and a huge line of pedestrians were stopped at a red light. We were many people from the front, but I watched the light turn green. It was time to walk, but because the white walk sign didn’t flash up, no one would walk.

The people in the front were bad leaders and no one else spoke up. Just because everyone is doing things one way, doesn't make it right. We waited for an entire light cycle unnecessarily. So, I tried to make that a lesson for the kids and...umm...well, i don't think they fucking got what i was saying. ha! But, the point is that’s what I’m doing out here...speaking up. and mostly it's just me saying "i'm not all right". But, also there’s stuff that I grew up with that’s just so fucking wrong. and i'm not going to force religion down my kids throat. i'm going to hopefully teach them the value of story time.

and what my story says is…Listen to people. Don’t preach at them. Trade stories. And go first with a story that screams "i am so fucked up." and in no time you'll find the common pain. Dare to feel human by making “vulnerable” your norm. what the fuck could go wrong? Oh shit…you might lose some fake friends. That’s awful. C’mon. get busy living or get busy dying.

This fucking life man. i've had so many random, meant to be moments with such a wide variety of people lately. Something is going on. And it feels great to actually be living again, instead of going through the motions of church, or my marriage, or my last relationship. I’ll put up with the weeds. I’ll put up with the lonely. “off the beaten” is my favorite path.