I’ve seen the ocean a few times this summer.

It had been two years since I’d seen the Atlantic; finally, I came home for a few perfect days.

I don’t know that I’ll ever find a place where my soul feels quite as rested as that narrow strip of sand where the earth meets the sea.

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I realize it’s been a while since I’ve written on the regular.

As I mentioned a post or two ago, I’m trying to recapture the fun in blogging by forgetting that anybody is reading at all and just writing whatever random stream-of-consciousness nonsense flows from my hands. But I figured it was only fair to try to catch up on the last six or ten months or so of my life first. So here we are.

(If you’ve been following the highlights, you’ll remember I was super sad, and then I got divorced, and then I did a bunch of yoga and cooking, and then I stopped blogging. Probably the reason I stopped blogging is because I was busy kissing strangers and having existential crises. Fortunately that phase lasted only a few months for me this time around.)

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I’ve been reading David Sedaris.

I have a bit of a shopping problem, in that when I feel sad or sleepy or hungry or bored or empty inside I like to purchase something and then I’ll feel better about myself, briefly, until I remember that I am philosophically a minimalist and that I reject the consumerist notion that the acquisition of material goods can effectively address the chaotic meaninglessness of our human experience.

Fortunately, I’m smart enough to go on these shopping binges at the thrift store just down the street from my house. Every time you donate a bag of crap, they give you a coupon for 15% off. So you can take the crap from your previous retail therapy sessions, donate it to the thrift store, and perpetuate another lap on this cycle. I call it self-care; my therapist would probably call it self-enabling. The net result, though, is that you can effectively get a fix of that shopping dopamine for about fifteen bucks, and half the time also wind up with a decent pair of cut-off shorts while you’re at it.

This is how I came upon David Sedaris. At the thrift store. And man, it’s some funny stuff. Rarely have I ever read someone who leaves me curled up in the bed crying from laughter, grateful that I’m alone because otherwise I’d look like I’d lost my last loose screw just then. So that’s what I’ve been doing.

Also, reading his shit inspired me to not try to stay on topic, so blame him for this.

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I’ve taken up painting. Now that two different kind souls have actually bought my paintings, and I’ve got acrylic left under my fingernails half the time, I feel like it’s A REAL THING.

Isn’t it funny how we decide that something is A REAL THING because people pay us for it?

There’s this thing called “imposter syndrome” where we all feel like we’re faking our way through life and we think everybody is smarter and more skilled than we are. Writers especially have to fight through it, I think. I know I do.

Now, I feel like an imposter every time I paint.

Some people say that my paintings are awesome and amazing, even good, but I know that I have no idea what I’m doing. I know that I’m just crouched naked in my basement smearing craft store paint around with my bare hands until it looks mildly interesting.

(That sentence is literally true of how I make my paintings, but also is metaphorically true about my life.)

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I did a wedding this summer. My little brother who’s taller than me got married his kick-ass girlfriend in a park near Orlando and let me do the man and wife pronouncements. I even got to say a few swears in the middle of the ceremony, which you know I love.

Afterwards we ate some delicious cheeseburgers and then went downtown to dance. There were a lot of lasers downtown. It was a good night.

I still believe in love.

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I finally bought Hamilton and started listening to it.

I can see what y’all were going on about six months ago. It’s pretty fascinating and feelsy.

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Jill Harms took this picture of me and my boys at Wild Goose this year. It’s maybe one of my favorite pictures ever.

Mostly because it encapsulates so much of what I love about summer and about being a dad to these two wild little boys. Some days I look at the Legos all over the living room, and the juice all over the kitchen floor, and the toilet paper and dirty laundry all over the bathroom, and I wonder how much longer I can keep the house together.

But then most days — in between the bowling and the camping and the library and the park — I realize that we have a pretty damn beautiful life.

And these are some of the best days.

These are the days we’ll remember.

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I don’t really have an ending for this blog post.

I’m watching Mean Girls now, for probably the tenth time. It’s the movie I put on in the background when I’m working, just for the pleasant background noise.

The best blog posts are written with Regina George’s motivational quotes as the soundtrack. True story.

 

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