“To me faith is not worrying.” ~John Dewey
4.1.03 beverly hills adjacent, ca
TECHNICALLY IT’S APRIL 2ND. But April Fool’s doesn’t end for me until my head hits the pillow. I’m sitting amid the half-packed rubble of CDs, tapes, magazines, files and more personal flotsam, trying to squeeze in the one hour of writing I’ve committed to doing on a daily basis for the rest of the year – personal observations during my upcoming nine-month nomadic sojourn around America that I will post on this website.
I chose this particular photo because it pretty much sums up why P. and I are splitting up after 7 1/2 years. Here it is April 1 — the day I pretty much promised her I’d be moved out by — and I’ve still got an office full of CRAP. One final broken promise, one final flawed time-related prediction. (She claims that when I tell her I can write my magazine article in a day, it really means 3 days.)
But this being the Greatest Year of My Life, I’m gonna focus on what I DID get accomplished today: I finally got a storage unit, I finally moved some things in (a heavy file cabinet, my albums, old magazines, etc.), I contacted a guy in Florida who’s very interested in my Scout. And he’s willing to pay $6K right now. (Not the $8K I was hoping to get.)
I also began yet one more Day 1 of the great Power 90 Experiment.
Plus, I also returned a few pressing e-mails. (I’m forever behind on that.) I even had a semi-euphoric moment playing my off-key, yet spirited, rendition of “Summer of ’69.”
Yes, I am a freak.
* * *
It seems slightly ludicrous — not to mention self-indulgent and a tad arrogant — embark on a 9-month road trip around the U.S. while American soldiers are dying every day in Iraq. (Not to mention the innocent Iraqui civilians.)
So who wants to hear THIS story?
Someone in my family recently remarked: “You really think people are gonna check this out every day? I mean, I love you and all, but I’m telling you right now I won’t check it out more than 2, 3 times a week. If that.”
And that’s the thing. I’m not going into this thinking anyone will check this out. No expectations. The truth is, I’m doing this for me. And to share with certain people in my life. But mostly it’s just me creating a living document of what is most assuredly destined to be one the most — if not THE most — memorable years of my life.
How do I know this?
I just do.
* * *
So this morning starts with tears. Before P. leaves the house to go to her high-powered TV job, she goes through about a dozen costume changes. Each time she asks what I think. As if my half-asleep fashion judgment is to be trusted.
As I watch her go through the familiar routine — the pursed lips in front of the mirror, hips out, brows furrowed in deep study, the half-turn to check out the arse — I see her vulnerabilities all over again. And I realize I will miss these morning fashion shows. The same fashion shows I’ve groaned about getting sucked into all these years.
I get up to give her a hug. To let her know she was still beautiful. Before you know it, we’re both crying.
And that’s how my day started.