A local reader has been emailing about his ‘situation’, classic , married guy rides off the rails, thinks he has it all under control, doesn’t, tells his wife, now what, no idea, but he has it all under control, got the picture. Guys and particularly older guys, business type, responsible one, they’re in charge and the mere thought they’re not raises their dander pretty quickly. I should know, I was in that camp (I’m fully reformed now, naturally).
My strongest recommendation was for my new friend to go see a therapist. He went quiet on me. Obviously didn’t like that answer. But came back and with some urgency (obviously he’d screwed himself into the dirt a bit further) and wanted me to recommend a therapist and so I gave him Brian’s name (the guy I saw). Now whether all these facts are 100% true, doesn’t matter, did you enjoy reading about it? That’s what matter.
My local reader comes back from his first session and was quite pleased and remarked on something I had felt as well. He made me think about things I hadn’t thought about. When you have your back against the wall, the gators snapping at your toes, you don’t need pat advice, sympathy or someone playing armchair quarterback with your life. You need help and the best person to help you is sadly you. You useless fuck.
A good therapist is gonna help YOU figure out what YOU wanna do. The real good ones plant these little mind trick bombs that go off hours later. I had written a similar message now on 3 years ago, but this message is worth repeating. We all need a coach. If you don’t, OK, but everyone of us benefits from a little guidance.
Another reader (ok ex-reader, he doesn’t need my dribble anymore), was much more pragmatic, he felt some urge, acted on it a little, read my blog, told his wife and kids, moved out, set-up shop, found him a some boi toy and just got on with his life. I am in awe about this. Just bing, bang, boom. But he seems to be more an exception, discipline, a backbone, principled. The Internet is full of whiny bloggers (I can fall into that camp on bad days) writing about they want to, but can’t, wish they would, but wouldn’t. What kind of life is that?
If you don’t like the path your own, it’s up to you to change it.
TC UPDATE: Least I forgot about the growling brown tiger, he’s in full bitch mode, he has more things to bitch about than words Eskimos have for snow. Of course, he takes it all out of me. Why? Because he can. So there in the middle of the night, I gentle settle him back up into his tree, soothing tones and he promptly falls asleep on the phone with me.