Curious Affairs Of Atherton Bartelby

Yesterday morning, early, just as the Pacific sun was beginning to gently lick the horizon with its colors, I embarked on my first “Around The Ala Wai Run” in many years.

It felt…really good.

Afterward, I returned to my condo, proceded to watch the entirety of “The Lord of the Rings” trilogy, and became hopelessly and unapologetically emo for the duration of the morning.

(I suspect this had at least a little to do with being reminded, again, of the close friendship shared by the two characters of Frodo and Sam, something I no longer enjoy with someone who used to be in my life.)

And then something very odd occurred.

I resisted, rather vociferously, the very strong urge I had to stay inside for the rest of the day, ensconced on one of our sofas, drinking heavily, crying, and feeling sorry for myself, and instead, pulled myself up, showered, spent the afternoon shopping and picking up coffees and chow fun with my fabulous roommate, and laughing.

I have a lot to catch up on in here.

I have a lot of stories to tell; stories that I am finally able to tell.

Stories of endings: of the conclusion of my previous living arrangement with an anything but fabulous roommate; of the termination of a friendship I never thought that I would gather the courage required to terminate; and of the dissolution of a ten-year relationship with a certain Fortune 500 firm.

Eventually, I will catch up.

But right now, here, I am finding it more enjoyable to engage in potentially cryptic and vague blog articles; to spend time with those who care about me, and who make me laugh; and to reflect on, and learn from, before writing about, how life is for me now, here at the end of all things.

A once beloved close yet ex-friend of mine once told me that she was waiting, just waiting, for the day when I would hit The Wall.

Yet another dear friend of mine at the time, upon reading those words, wrote to me, “You WILL NEVER hit The Wall.”

Here is to those moments, those hours, those weeks, and those days, like today, when we find ourselves running, seemingly blind, into those walls, yet stopping abruptly, without hitting them, looking at them, seeing them for what they are…and deciding, instead of hitting them, to climb over them.

Here is to the courage, to the self-reflection, to the motivation, and to the strength, that are required for each of us to face those walls, squarely, and fearless, and resolve within ourselves to scale their heights, climb over them, and jump down on the reverse of their obstacles, unharmed and stronger, on the other side.

And to continue on as if nothing had ever phased us.

These are the moments that make life worth living.

I sit here.

I manipulate pixels and vectors.

I correct the egregious grammatical errors in the copy I receive.

And I think about you.

How you were so vociferous about not asking me to help you move. And yet I did. Because I love you, and care about you, and did not want to see you do that all by yourself. I took two half vacation days off to help you move. And yet you could not give me two hours to do the same for me.

How you denigrate, now, me, my profession, and my friends, when I have always only praised the same in your own life.

How you called me at four in the morning, requesting my companionship, after a break-up…and you know how difficult that had to have been for me…but I did it anyway. I held you while you cried. Because I care for you.

(I even lost my 30 Seconds to Mars t-shirt and iPod nano that morning, in the face of a broken window, but I still do not regret it. Because I was helping you.)

How you squeezed my hand, that night when we became friends again, while listening to the strains of “I will follow you into the dark.”

I thought you were my friend.

My best friend.

But you turned out to be the most selfish man I have ever met in my entire life.

And so I sit here.

And manipulate pixels and vectors.

And correct grammatical errors.

And wish that I had never given you as much of myself as I gave you.

The Kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you, not in mansions of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood…and I am there; lift a stone…and you will find me.

And if thy hand offend thee, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life maimed, than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall be quenched.

I randomly remembered, this weekend, an episode of “Little House On The Prairie” that I watched when I was, like, five.

As I remember the episode, it involved the Ingalls’ mother, all alone in her house, in the middle of the night, forced to deal with an epic gangrene infection in her leg. With no one else to turn to but her Faith (um, and HerSelf), she remembered the quote I referenced above from the King James version of the Bible, and continued to repeat it to herself, until she felt that she had built up enough courage to pick up a huge knife and attempt to cut off her own leg.

(Because it offended her.)

She did not succeed, of course, in cutting off her own leg. But the cut that she managed to deliver to her leg before she passed out from the pain allowed enough of the infection to escape her body so that, by the time she was found at some point during the next day, and after many days of medical treatment after that, she, and her leg, were fine.

I have thought a lot about that kind of courage over the past several weeks, that kind of courage that teaches us to (whether from the Bible or not; after all, I am borderline atheist / agnostic), and that gives us the strength to, evaluate our lives, isolate that which offends us, and empowers us to cut it off…or out.

Of course I am writing figuratively, here.

But the message is still the same.

And I am so happy that I have finally been able to hear that message.