Mine Are Red and Raw

“tried to lose myself in the primitive in Yosemite like John Muir did. But his eyes were blue and mine are red and raw.” Conor oberst “barbary coast”

This was the perfect day for conor’s new album to first get streamed on NPR’s website. The record is so emo and dark. And that fits how my whole day has felt. But, especially that red and raw line. That’s how my eyes feel.

And yeah, I’ve cried more than my share of tears the last few days, but the contrast to that has been beautiful. My daughter’s eyes are john muir blue. There’s this pain that I live with daily. This hurt that goes back to little me. This failure at everything in life, especially relationships, that is so fucking depressing.

And honestly, I may never turn this shit around. But, my god…the most powerful tears I cried these last few days have been the tears of happiness that my daughter is not going to be me. That I’m helping raise a kid…two kids…who are more confident and sure of themselves than I’ll ever be.

Riley had an audition today for the chance to be on a reality show for kids. her “specialty” is interior design. She was so cute, messaging me right after she got off of skype, saying “I finished the audition” followed by a 13 year old’s amount of exclamation marks. She was so proud of herself. And it sounds like she answered all of the questions thrown at her way better than I have in any audition/interview I’ve ever had.

Shit. That made me think of the time I tried out for last comic standing. I drove to Minneapolis, armed with absolutely zero stand-up experience. And got in front of judges with shit material. And they shredded me. I left there so defeated. But, motherfucker I tried.

But, while I tried with red and raw eyes that said “someone please validate me” and was rejected. Riley has these bright, beautiful eyes that radiate from the validation that her mom and I have been giving her for years.

I messaged her today before her interview, telling her that no matter what happened, the fact that this company found her via her youtube channel was such a compliment to how great she’s doing. I told her to just be herself and they’d be crazy not to like the real her, because she’s the best.

And now I’m back to the raw/red eyes because…well, two reasons…one is just knowing that my love for her gets through to her. she knows she’s loveable. She knows she’s one of a kind. She knows I adore her. and it’s too fucking much to take that I’ve actually been able to communicate that to her through words and actions, in large part, I think, because it’s the kind of thing I’ve been starving for my whole life.

I don’t get loved. I get left behind. I don’t get listened to, I get ignored or misunderstood. And the damage done to me in those regards completely fuck with my ability to believe people appreciate or like me. I’m a fucking muppet. I do my little song and dance with my sense of humor, begging people to make me feel something other than pain.

And it’s so fucked up, because I know there are tons of people who appreciate the shit out of who I am. But, I’m back to the version of me who can’t feel that. I could accept compliments when I was going to therapy. But, since my therapist stopped practicing, it’s like I’m back to questioning myself…too focused on the friends to whom I’m disposable and not focused enough on all the people who adore me.

And that’s the thing that was great about my therapist and probably why I couldn’t stop crying at the thought of riley succeeding in a spot where I would have flopped. My therapist clued me in to this concept called re-parenting. The idea is that we get healing for the things that we missed out on as kids when we parent our own kids well.

And I’ve got to do everything I possibly can to make sure the kids have the best dad possible for these last few years of childhood. So, I’m headed back to therapy. Ahh. I can’t fucking wait. Sometimes it takes getting a microscope put on my issues via a relationship to get me to see just how fucked up I am. And man…I am not well.

I want home. I want safe. And I rush into it. And try to force it. And end up hurting the other person unintentionally. And it feels like fucking hell. I fucking hate hurting other people. I fucking hate adding to pain that they already have. And I don’t want to be that guy. So, I have to make changes and figure out how I can get better.

Cue frank turner. “we can get better, because we’re not dead yet.” I have had a few times in my life when I was a walking dead man. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, I think I’m there now. I’m just not myself. I do my dad role. And I work my job. But, I’m not really living. I’m not functioning at a high level.

And I went to frank’s show in st louis last night and I woke the fuck up. I got goose bumps during his song peggy sings the blues, which says “no one gets remembered for the things they didn’t do.” I’ve got to take a cue from my daughter’s optimistic life and get back to writing. And trying. And believing in something more than status quo and mainstream.

I have so much to give. And so much going for me. And it’s getting fucking wasted. Frank puts on this show that is just magic. It’s so full of hope. And the real. over and over in his songs he cries out that he just doesn’t get it. He wants to be better, but he keeps fucking up. His whole life is looking for love and it slipping through his hands, but enjoying the shit out of the journey.

I was walking down the sidewalk before the show and all the sudden he appeared. No one else around. I awkwardly shook his hand. I stuttered and couldn’t look him in the eye. But, I told him I couldn’t fucking wait for the show. And he said “it’ll be fun”.

And it was. He started with one of my favorite songs. It has a beautiful line that goes, “Life is about love, last minutes and lost evenings, About fire in our bellies and furtive little feelings And the aching amplitudes that set our needles all a-flickering And help us with remembering that the only thing that's left to do is live.”

That’s the hope that frank’s whole set delivers…fucking live man. What are you doing? Live! Quit being a fraction of what you’re capable of becoming. And for me, I’m alive when I’m going to therapy and writing a shit ton. So that’s where I’m headed.

“cast of the crutches. Cut of the cast. Rejoice. Rebuild. The storm has passed.” Yeah. I’ve been through shit. So has fucking everybody. So I need to find my healing. I need to find my bliss. And get back to loving the shit out of life. My kid time is great. But, my adult time could use some work. I don’t have balance. I need to be social. I need to get out and talk stories.

I had a great chat after the show last night with my uber driver. She was a really sweet lady. Same thing with the front desk clerk when I got back to the hotel. Oh and the quik trip cashier too. ha! I just remembered she told me that my snacks and lottery tickets totaled $11.11 and I was so excited, because that was good luck. I then handed her a $20 and drunkenly told her that I would have no idea if she gave me back the wrong change.

She did. I didn’t figure it out until this morning when I realized I had 89 cents in change and two five dollar bills in my pocket. What the fuck? She took advantage of a tipsy me by giving me too much change?

Oh and that reminded me of my other favorite moment of the night. At the show, a dude walked past me and somehow completely karate chopped one of the drinks out of my hand, spilling it all over the floor. He was super apologetic and I assured him that we were all friends here, it was fine. He asked what I was drinking and I told him that he actually spilled my water cup and that must have been a sign that I needed to man up and drink more whiskey. Done.

The whole night just worked out great. From meeting frank. To having good chats with strangers. To somehow just going straight back to the hotel after the show instead of staying out drinking, which gave me the chance to message my daughter before her interview and talk to her after it. All right. There it is. I sometimes need to just write shit out to remind myself that life is pretty great.

Yes, I was in tears in public last night during at least 3 different frank turner songs, mostly lamenting the losses I’ve experienced in relationships, but it can get better. And to get there, I need to put in the work, because as frank says, “broken people can get better if they really want to. or at least that’s what I have to tell myself if I am hoping to survive.” Let’s take another shot at the game of life tomorrow and hope to fuck that eventually I’ll get to see the world through blue eyes instead of these fucking worn out and tear stained lenses I’ve been using these last few days.