Life of No Regret (At Least Not for Me)

Some years back, when my father was still married to my step-mother, my dad called me and commented on the fact that my mother had married her long-time boyfriend and recently moved to Florida. "She's in Florida and retired, huh? Boy, I sure messed that up, that could have been me!" Part of my father's kicking himself also stemmed from the fact that he had 2 younger children with my stepmother and feared going through the child support monster again, while my mother's children were all fully grown and out of the house. I will say, knowing what I now know about money and all parties involved, I understand that had my father stayed with my mother, neither of them would have been retired, even without extra young kids, as my father let money slip through his fingers like water. They would both still be working, well into their 70's, not a single dime having been put away. My father is actually still actively working, while both women, are now divorced from my father, and are also retired.

I'm now at a precarious space of trying to curate a life of peace and happiness, as I glide into my own retirement in some years. I still plan to return to Los Angeles, only this time, I'll be returning on my own terms. My car will be paid off (or far closer to it), and I plan to live in the Long Beach area. The only thing that I see possibly deviating my plans is if the rain in Los Angeles stays this frequent. Yeah, I'm not moving somewhere rainy. But again, those are my terms. I fully intend to live in L.A. when the Olympics hit in the summer of 2028.

The little bit of dating I've been doing has been frustrating as of late, because while I am focused heavily on moving my life in a certain direction, I'm finding that men my age are still waiting tables, and barely putting money to the side (if at all) or they're looking for a mommy/bangmaid, who will care for them like tiny infants. I have zero interest in either.

Anyway, I chatted up with an old friend last night. While I tend to fall on the feminist side of the spectrum, he's far more masculine centered. It creates some pretty interesting debates for the two of us. I still occasionally tip my toe into the dating pool, but I find myself recognizing that as I get older and closer to many of my personal goals, the men just aren't up to snuff. Hearing my friend's thoughts on dating only makes my dating experiences that much more interesting. I confessed to my friend that as I get older and focus more on the relationship that I want for myself, I'm seeing more and more how men just aren't cutting the mustard anymore.

I told my homeboy how I feel like so many of these guys really just aren't where I am, and I fear that many of these guys will look up and realize that I'm securely on the West Coast, living my best life, and all of sudden, the "hey stranger" text messages will begin.

While I'm being careful about all of my life choices moving forward (financial, sexual, friendships, career, etc.), my fear is that the same guys that played me to the left will realize that their options are running low and they will suddenly look up and find me as far more of a viable option than they did when they were just sticking their dicks in any hole they could find. And those same guys will suddenly recognize that as their bodies slow down, and their dicks stop working, and the rent gets more expensive, and as they realize that they're thisclose to dying alone, they will suddenly remember what an amazing woman I am.

My guy friend referred to those guys as "hospice husbands." Men who spent their whole lives running the streets, but suddenly want to get married in their golden years, in order to be taken care of. Being that I worked in hospice roughly 6 months ago, and saw closely how lack of proper planning could land someone in the most horrible position, the term hit home. They may experience blindness, back problems, Alzheimer's, cancer, diabetes complications, all kinds of other fun stuff... and suddenly they want me to step on in and save them from their bad decisions. Or at least significantly soften the blow of dying of sickness. Reminds me of a person I know who's dad had been running the streets and when he finally got sick and ready to take his final dirt nap, he up and married the side piece he'd had for 30 years. Yeah, he was ripping and running for 30 years, babies and all, and only once he got old and about to die, did he decide to marry her. What the fuck kinda consolation prize is that?!

Watching people grow old and sickly is sad. It can be a long, painful process that requires changing diapers, losing sleep, navigating the bureaucratic red tape of insurance companies and benefits. It's long, complicated, and arduous. I know how the process goes, because it's basically been my job for the last decade and a half. And I'll be damned if I'll put forth that sort of effort over someone who couldn't even be bothered to work with me and hold me down, while I planned for our perfect life in our 60s.

It's so cliched, but true. My life is good and it looks like it can only get better. My home is peaceful. I recall a few months back when my cousin came over and she commented how she could tell that I'd been meditating in my bedroom because it was so tranquil. My friends are doing well. It's been a slow stretch, but I'm finally starting to pay down bills and save some money. My skin looks good. Can't front, I look damned good for my 40s, almost 15 years younger. I can run a mile without getting winded and I'm buzzing my way through writing book number 2, so I can start the self-publishing part for both books.

When you feel this amazing, and your life is this breezy, it only makes sense to continue doing what you've been doing to create that space. Buddhism, mindfulness, and meditation certainly ushered in this feeling of peace and happiness and I'm fiercely protective of it all. It someone so much as sneezes too loudly, I politely step away. I no longer feel like I owe anyone an explanation for why I refuse to entertain them. I have finally accepted that it is on me and me alone to protect my peace and move into a space of further growth and light. I'm noticing a lot of difficulty around me. Welp. Not my monkey, not my circus.

2023 and Beyond!

When the weather started to turn cooler, I started looking for my favorite sweatshirt. It's kind of a faded black shirt, and a bit thin, made from a thin cotton blend. I mean, thick enough for a cool, breezy day, but thin enough to not have you be a sweating mess on a warmer day. It was my favorite sweatshirt. On top of it being just cozy enough, it also had the outline of the continent of Africa on it and I got it on clearance for like $6 from Target. So not only was it warm/cool enough, it was also a great price and fashion staple for my Blackity Black Black ass.

As soon as I noticed it missing, I figured he took it. Ugh. To contact Theo about my favorite sweatshirt or not? As I read the words of Lama Surya Das, I was amazed at the timing and decided that it wasn't worth the headache involved to get back my precious shirt. I would let detachment win this round, and decide that sometimes it is simply best to let go and accept that nothing really belongs to any of us anyway.

I was really excited about the New Year. Perhaps it was the viral prison known as COVID, and just all of the shit of the last 3 years, but this year felt like the first time in forever that there appears to be a collective sigh of relief. People seem genuinely happy and excited about the future. People are ready and anxious to move forward and leave the trauma of the recent past behind.

Personally, I can honestly say that after the mess that was 2021, followed by the first half of 2022, I'm seeing so much to be happy about. Things are falling into place. I'm excited about my professional and creative prospects. I'm ready to start planning my next epic birthday trip. Although, I decided that based on some upcoming goals, the 2023 birthday extravaganza will have to be my last one. At least for now. Fact is, I still want to focus on saving some money for my child to go away to college, in addition to saving for me to move back to Cali, in addition to my desire to pay off my second biggest expense, my car note. There will plenty of time to play in the future, but those 3 items are at the top of my immediate savings goals.

My son is 15. My baby is 15. I've been experiencing some extreme cognitive dissonance lately, as I watch "The Boy" turn into "The Man." I really miss that fat baby that I brought home from the hospital. That gorgeous toothless smile and still melts my heart when I view old pictures of him. And now that baby is no more. I knew this day would come, but he's taller than me. Like way taller than me. His voice is noticeably deeper. I looked down the other day and observed hair growing out of his legs. I'm not nearly as weird as I thought I'd be about it. I guess it's because the Universe kind of slowly prepares you for it. But does it really?

My fear was that I'd become one of those moms who is unable to let her baby go, especially since he's my only one. But I've always been baffled by those people whose whole identity is tied up in their relationship to someone else. Sure, I love feeling needed and wanted by my child. But I have so much respect for the young man my son is growing into. He's kind, thoughtful, intelligent, funny. Every now and again, he and I will share a moment, where he tells me that I'm more like a friend to him. That warms me. I don't have to force him to tell me anything. He feels comfortable in that space. He and I support one another, although I am obviously mindful to keep proper boundaries. I love watching him grow into the man that he is becoming.

My other fear was that if he didn't shape up, I'd be dragging my middle aged son along with me for the rest of my life. Not that I wouldn't gladly support him in any way that I can. But I think that ultimately, as parents, we hope and pray that our children are independent enough to make intelligent decisions, so when the day comes that they are no longer under our wing, we can trust them to be able to care for themselves. And that's what's beautiful to me. That at the rate things are going, one day, we'll be on opposite sides of the country, or even the world, and I will know and trust in my spirit that my child is okay and able to navigate life on his own.

Anyway, all of this looking forward stuff has been awesome. New Year's Eve was a decent day. Busy as hell at work. I opted not to work that night, nor did I go out. Ever since my car accident around Christmas time last year, and the subsequent brain injuries that came from it, I'm terrified of being out around reckless drivers. I got an invite from a cousin of mine to attend his major NYE party, but I opted out. My last two car accidents may have seemed minor on the surface. But they left me with brain injuries that resulted in loss of proper mobility, plus a pronounced stutter. After both accidents, I remained terrified that I'd be stuck permanently with the brain injuries. I try not to focus on it too hard, but I remain terrified that one day, yet another careless asshole will slam into my car. But rather than stuttering for just 2 weeks, it'll be "the big one" and I will be unable to easily bounce back from another brain injury. At 42, you unfortunately don't bounce back like you once did. So I stayed home.

As the clock struck closer to midnight, I couldn't help but to think a bit about NYE last year. I was here with Theo, observing the fireworks going off in my complex. To their credit, my neighbors do amazing fireworks displays, comparable to that of professionals. I was also thinking about the fact that my ex, Steve, bought me the most adorable smudging set and I needed to use it. Time to clear negative energy from my home.

I peeked out my bedroom window, just after midnight, when I got a call from a number I didn't recognize. "Happy New Year" I hear a voice say. "Happy New Year, who is this?" I responded. 

"It's Theo," he said.

"Oh, hey," I uttered.

I wasn't angry. I wasn't even really excited. I was just shocked. Like what the hell did he want? 

"Well, I'm moving back home," he offered. "Where is home"? I countered. "Detroit," he said. 

"Oh, okay" was the only response I could give. I mean, just all around confusion at this point.

"Well, that was all I wanted, just telling you happy New Year," he said. "Thanks, you too" was the only thing I could think to offer. 

I got off the phone far more confused than when I answered it. Why the hell did he call? What did it mean? It certainly wasn't the kind of conversation I thought we'd have if we ever spoke again. And I didn't really think we'd speak again.

The thing that sucks about having news at midnight on NYE is that people are either out or knocked out, cuz #old. No one picked up. I had to sit with what just happened. 

Then it occurred to me. He called me because he'd been thinking about me! You sure as shit don't just happen to call someone at midnight on NYE unless there is some kind of planned something there. And just like that, I went into 2023 that much better. I felt lighter. I truly felt weightless. I mean, I wasn't planning on going into the new year thinking about him. He was genuinely in no way part of anything good or bad that I was feeling going into the new year. 

But the way he left when shit got bad was just wrong. And I felt so cheated, because at the end of the day, I was always there for him, and he knew it. He single-handedly fucked up our relationship, and he knows it. And what always stung me the most was how he walked away, as if I never mattered.

But then he called me. On New Years Eve. At midnight. I don't particularly care what it was for. He contacted me, letting me know that despite all of the bravado, he thought about me. Once I sorted through my thoughts, I realized his intention was to tell me that he was moving back (not that I really cared). The fact is that as soon as he moved out of my home, he moved back to Detroit. I knew that. He couldn't make it here on his own. And I wasn't going to continue to let him be my problem.

Only minutes after we got off the phone, it occurred to me- this would be the perfect time to ask about my shirt. I didn't give a damn about anything else. But seriously, I miss my shirt. I texted him to ask if he'd seen it. No response.

I woke the next day, still slightly confused. And again, concerned about the location of my missing hoodie. Since he didn't respond to my text, I took him off my block list on Facebook and inboxed him to ask if he'd seen it and asked if he'd accidentally taken it, would it be possible to mail it back. He quickly responded that he hadn't seen my shirt.

So there we have it. The end of an era. I can't explain how good it felt to get such a stupid phone call. No matter what his ridiculous reasoning was for calling me, it gave me what I needed. To know that as much as he showed his ass on the way out the door, at the end of the day, he still cares what I think (which is why he lied about moving to begin with). 

I'm able to go into this year with my head held high. My goals are in sight. My loved ones are healthy and nearby. Everyone who is supposed to be in my life is here. I couldn't ask for anything better than that.

But I still don't have my shirt.