The trip that I dreaded and avoided for about 8 years is about to end. I jumped on a grenade – so to speak – for my daughter Sara. This trip gave her a chance to see her Uncle Phil and Aunt Vickie, a chance to experience the magic of Disneyland, and a chance to see where I grew up and spend time with her grandparents, despite all the recent documented tension that has transpired involving them.
I somehow imagined that the place I once referred to as a “dungeon” – as it was an emotional dungeon for me – would bring up feelings of melancholy and gloom when I was here. My Dad made mocking reference to my term when I was here. My daughter later thought it was a very apt term to describe this house. Inevitably those sad feelings did arise, but when I had my guitar in the backyard I was able to experience the peaceful spirit I have gotten to know in Nevada – so the gloom has not been the only thing I felt here. This place – to be blunt – still feels like a dungeon. It feels neglected, abandoned – smells like mold, there are cracks everywhere, the drapes look outdated and appear to be their accurate age of possibly 30 to 40 years old. The folks put all their funds and efforts into travel the way I once did with my Grateful Dead excursions – maybe that is the way I can relate to it a little. But it still feels like a gloomy spiritual void, and to be honest all of Palos Verdes feels like that to me. The massive million dollar houses remind me of Viagra – they produce these trophy like massive extended hard-ons so that their occupants can say – wow – look how big mine is – but underneath it all that same gloomy emptiness seems to be apparent. “Suffering in the midst of plenty” as Ram Daas puts it in his book. I grew up in a spiritual void, and more than the emotional assaults I endured from my parents (my intuition tells me I was injured here – this I believe to be true) – I think that this void was what really brought me to the edges of my despair. If I had something – ANYTHING – to believe in, it would have been a huge help. The authors of the aforementioned song – Led Zeppelin – among other childhood idols, were the closest thing I had to any depth of experience. My first concert during my 8th grade year – to see my beloved Cheap Trick – will always stand out in my memory. As a kid I lived for the Dodgers, and these live experiences I have my brother to thank for, regardless of whether or not they were funded by my absent Cats in The Cradle father. So maybe there were some glimmers of hope in my childhood – and I must not forget my dog either. But overall – what an overwhelming void of spiritual emptiness I am reminded of every time I walk into this house.
I look back in my high school year book and I see a picture of a beautiful girl named Tracy Bergin – and she is my biggest regret of my life. My first love, a girl named Cathy – at least I found a way after 1,000 times before trying to pick up the phone and in a shaking pathetic voice ask her to a dance, only to hear her tell me no. Maybe I was too shattered to try again. But Tracy who was in my PE class clearly liked me. She asked me to help her with her football flag belt and I was a stuttering idiot in response. I was able to dance with her a few times at the high school dances, but I could not bring myself to go further. Looking at her picture, I suspect our personality differences might have been an obstacle. But even so – I needed so much to experience some affection and even if it had all gone south it would have possibly steered me in the right direction with women. And yet – one thing I realize – is no matter how much I may want something in the past to be different, the past is what it is – there is what is, and then what can never be as the song says – and part of accepting yourself is accepting your past along with yourself. I never did ask her out. I never did find out where there was to go with her. She seemed very disappointed at my failure to do this, but hell – if I couldn’t save myself, how could I save her either? I was a fucking mess with not even an ounce of confidence in myself. It is what it is – it was what it was. Swallow it and move on. I see these pictures in my yearbook and I have only stayed remotely in touch with one of my classmates. I have never gone to any reunions and have no desire or interest to find out what happened to any of them. It is a part of my life I would like to forget, but coming here it is hard to forget it. Maybe that is why I had to ultimately make the pilgrimage back here – those years I spent here are a part of me – even if they are a part of me I would like to distance myself from. It is the part of me that hated myself for my inability to ask Tracy out, hated myself for coming back home from college due to my depression – I hated myself for so many reasons. Now I am spending the rest of my life trying to love myself. I try and succeed at times, fail at others, but I am winning the battle a lot more now than I used to.
As far as my parents go, there is that awkward cold silence that comes up at times, like when Sara brought up the cruise or Victoria called us eating at the restaurant. They still seem to treat me like the lunatic fresh out of the asylum. Maybe it is easier to see me that way rather than to see themselves that way. The way I see it, we are all in the same institution. Even so – you can talk so much about the weather, physical events, school – but at the same time you can’t really talk about anything with them. It is very limited and almost makes you wish you were alone with your thoughts. I always wonder how to answer the question do I love them. Sometimes I think I love them on principle just because they are my parents and I am supposed to. I do not love their actions or ways of dealing with other people – especially my wife. I do not think either one of them has the slightest amount of spiritual depth. They are both very intelligent and can zero in on the slightest detail, but the big picture seems to elude them. I do not envy either on of them, and though I realize they will both be a part of my personality, like it or not, I am proud to say I believe through some miracle I am more than either of them will ever be in terms of my depth and creativity. It is not something you can physically measure, but I know it is there in me and absent in them. I wish it were not the case – I wish I could share it with them, but I can’t. They are who they are and in some ways I believe their own passing may be the best they can hope for. I just don’t see how they can live the way they do. Yet they do – and it is not my place to judge them. They will meet their karma as I will meet mine. It is not my place to say what, when, and where awaits them. I just thank God I have gone a little further in my psychological growth, even if their neurotic finger prints are all over my personality.
Over all – I survived the test, I can’t wait to get the hell away from superficial materialistic Southern California, and I think getting out was the best thing that ever happened to me. It is not perfection where I live necessarily, but I feel like I can breathe there, both literally and metaphorically. I am grateful to Phil, Vickie and Youndy who made this trip somewhat bearable (not just saying that to kiss your asses since I know you all have a link here.) Even grateful for my folks for forking out the funds to bring us here and take us to Disneyland. I hope to leave some of my sadness here and bury it here where I experienced so much of it growing up and in my adolescence. I cannot change the emptiness, hurt, and sadness I felt growing up – but I can try to find some spirituality and peace in my remaining time I have here in this dimension. I believe something beautiful awaits in this life, possibly even in whatever else may follow in the next one. Leaving this place is like rising from the grave, and moving from death to life. It is nice to be alive, and to really experience life in a place of being alive. I know it can happen. 30 years ago I did not even believe any type of happiness at all was something I could experience. The fact that I can now is a miracle I will never fully understand, but I am grateful anyways.
I somehow imagined that the place I once referred to as a “dungeon” – as it was an emotional dungeon for me – would bring up feelings of melancholy and gloom when I was here. My Dad made mocking reference to my term when I was here. My daughter later thought it was a very apt term to describe this house. Inevitably those sad feelings did arise, but when I had my guitar in the backyard I was able to experience the peaceful spirit I have gotten to know in Nevada – so the gloom has not been the only thing I felt here. This place – to be blunt – still feels like a dungeon. It feels neglected, abandoned – smells like mold, there are cracks everywhere, the drapes look outdated and appear to be their accurate age of possibly 30 to 40 years old. The folks put all their funds and efforts into travel the way I once did with my Grateful Dead excursions – maybe that is the way I can relate to it a little. But it still feels like a gloomy spiritual void, and to be honest all of Palos Verdes feels like that to me. The massive million dollar houses remind me of Viagra – they produce these trophy like massive extended hard-ons so that their occupants can say – wow – look how big mine is – but underneath it all that same gloomy emptiness seems to be apparent. “Suffering in the midst of plenty” as Ram Daas puts it in his book. I grew up in a spiritual void, and more than the emotional assaults I endured from my parents (my intuition tells me I was injured here – this I believe to be true) – I think that this void was what really brought me to the edges of my despair. If I had something – ANYTHING – to believe in, it would have been a huge help. The authors of the aforementioned song – Led Zeppelin – among other childhood idols, were the closest thing I had to any depth of experience. My first concert during my 8th grade year – to see my beloved Cheap Trick – will always stand out in my memory. As a kid I lived for the Dodgers, and these live experiences I have my brother to thank for, regardless of whether or not they were funded by my absent Cats in The Cradle father. So maybe there were some glimmers of hope in my childhood – and I must not forget my dog either. But overall – what an overwhelming void of spiritual emptiness I am reminded of every time I walk into this house.
I look back in my high school year book and I see a picture of a beautiful girl named Tracy Bergin – and she is my biggest regret of my life. My first love, a girl named Cathy – at least I found a way after 1,000 times before trying to pick up the phone and in a shaking pathetic voice ask her to a dance, only to hear her tell me no. Maybe I was too shattered to try again. But Tracy who was in my PE class clearly liked me. She asked me to help her with her football flag belt and I was a stuttering idiot in response. I was able to dance with her a few times at the high school dances, but I could not bring myself to go further. Looking at her picture, I suspect our personality differences might have been an obstacle. But even so – I needed so much to experience some affection and even if it had all gone south it would have possibly steered me in the right direction with women. And yet – one thing I realize – is no matter how much I may want something in the past to be different, the past is what it is – there is what is, and then what can never be as the song says – and part of accepting yourself is accepting your past along with yourself. I never did ask her out. I never did find out where there was to go with her. She seemed very disappointed at my failure to do this, but hell – if I couldn’t save myself, how could I save her either? I was a fucking mess with not even an ounce of confidence in myself. It is what it is – it was what it was. Swallow it and move on. I see these pictures in my yearbook and I have only stayed remotely in touch with one of my classmates. I have never gone to any reunions and have no desire or interest to find out what happened to any of them. It is a part of my life I would like to forget, but coming here it is hard to forget it. Maybe that is why I had to ultimately make the pilgrimage back here – those years I spent here are a part of me – even if they are a part of me I would like to distance myself from. It is the part of me that hated myself for my inability to ask Tracy out, hated myself for coming back home from college due to my depression – I hated myself for so many reasons. Now I am spending the rest of my life trying to love myself. I try and succeed at times, fail at others, but I am winning the battle a lot more now than I used to.
As far as my parents go, there is that awkward cold silence that comes up at times, like when Sara brought up the cruise or Victoria called us eating at the restaurant. They still seem to treat me like the lunatic fresh out of the asylum. Maybe it is easier to see me that way rather than to see themselves that way. The way I see it, we are all in the same institution. Even so – you can talk so much about the weather, physical events, school – but at the same time you can’t really talk about anything with them. It is very limited and almost makes you wish you were alone with your thoughts. I always wonder how to answer the question do I love them. Sometimes I think I love them on principle just because they are my parents and I am supposed to. I do not love their actions or ways of dealing with other people – especially my wife. I do not think either one of them has the slightest amount of spiritual depth. They are both very intelligent and can zero in on the slightest detail, but the big picture seems to elude them. I do not envy either on of them, and though I realize they will both be a part of my personality, like it or not, I am proud to say I believe through some miracle I am more than either of them will ever be in terms of my depth and creativity. It is not something you can physically measure, but I know it is there in me and absent in them. I wish it were not the case – I wish I could share it with them, but I can’t. They are who they are and in some ways I believe their own passing may be the best they can hope for. I just don’t see how they can live the way they do. Yet they do – and it is not my place to judge them. They will meet their karma as I will meet mine. It is not my place to say what, when, and where awaits them. I just thank God I have gone a little further in my psychological growth, even if their neurotic finger prints are all over my personality.
Over all – I survived the test, I can’t wait to get the hell away from superficial materialistic Southern California, and I think getting out was the best thing that ever happened to me. It is not perfection where I live necessarily, but I feel like I can breathe there, both literally and metaphorically. I am grateful to Phil, Vickie and Youndy who made this trip somewhat bearable (not just saying that to kiss your asses since I know you all have a link here.) Even grateful for my folks for forking out the funds to bring us here and take us to Disneyland. I hope to leave some of my sadness here and bury it here where I experienced so much of it growing up and in my adolescence. I cannot change the emptiness, hurt, and sadness I felt growing up – but I can try to find some spirituality and peace in my remaining time I have here in this dimension. I believe something beautiful awaits in this life, possibly even in whatever else may follow in the next one. Leaving this place is like rising from the grave, and moving from death to life. It is nice to be alive, and to really experience life in a place of being alive. I know it can happen. 30 years ago I did not even believe any type of happiness at all was something I could experience. The fact that I can now is a miracle I will never fully understand, but I am grateful anyways.
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