To Be This Particular Animal

Normally I sit here and simply vomit words onto the keyboard and ultimately the screen, but I have started this multiple times. My initial intention was to write something lighter, about being a middle aged man who's never been able to make sense of the mixed message that have come at me from society and from women in general. But the truth is no one really cares about that, including me. We're all bombarded by things that make no sense. What a man deals with is nothing compared to the horse shit that comes at women like it's shot from a bazooka. Yet I see some people who are able to simply... be.

Whether it's being told we're not enough, not conforming to some idea of what we're supposed to be (that damn conditional tense again) or just being made fun of for being different, we're besieged by this stupidity. As a man, the messages are confusing and conflicting. As a woman, they're insane and somewhere beyond the far side of debilitating. 

So how are some able to push past all of it and even thrive?

In some cases it's the result of being raised to believe in oneself and having that belief reinforced. This is more than having confidence. It's a synergy of elements and conditions that can put an individual on a positive trajectory.

In some cases it's finding the right partner, be it personally or in one's field of endeavor. That collaboration and support is rare.

But some individuals have none of these things and manage to succeed. How?

The answer, as far as I can tell, is to believe in oneself and in one's goals to the point of simply knowing they're right. This means not getting caught up in the messages of individuals or society to the contrary. 

In some ways this lines up with the earlier post about answers being out there, but I think this is deeper than that which was really about hard work and tenacity. This is more ineffable. Doing all the hard work in the world means nothing if you're not working toward something. 

And this is obviously a lot harder than what we teach children. This requires more than depth of conviction, more than the confidence that comes from training. I'm talking about knowing in one's blood and bones that something is what one's meant to do, that it must be done. In a way this is rising to one's calling. 

No, I'm not on about something so grandiose as starting a religion or saving a culture. This is more about developing into the person one wants to be or creating something, be it in the arts, sciences or manufacturing fields. This is knowing one's truth before ever setting foot on the road of life. This is what we marvel at without ever really stopping to think about what this kind of individual faces in terms of resistance constantly. 

We can all learn from people like this, but in this day and age what I see is much more often a chorus of those trying to bring him or her down. Being different and 'other' should be embraced because it throws light onto what we are not. It shows us that there is another way to be and another way to approach things. 

Yes, I'm aware that I've employed the conditional tense, but this is also the sort of context where that works. 

Maybe next time will be the lighter piece and I can blather about the woes of being a clueless guy who's wanted love and romance and found himself a hermit. Or maybe I'll finally pen something cohesive. This time you got neither. 

Fifteen Minutes Later (Having Once Been a Part)

Even given my proclivity for blather and palaver, this is unlikely to be full of insight. If you're undecided whether you want to sit through another meander, well, it's time to make up your mind. This one is going nowhere quickly. Or rather it's going to sashay leisurely with no destination in mind.

I was never really a fan of Andy Warhol. This is not a popular admission among bipeds my age but it's never been true. I appreciated what I saw as humor and social observation, but his creations were just never my thing. At the same time that famous phrase stuck with me: 'In the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.'

Then of course it happened to me.

Life has a funny way of giving us the things we ask for. When we're lucky enough we can learn a bit about ourselves in the process, but most often it's a chance to realize that we didn't want what we thought we did. I also love this.

But I digress.

Fame. Mine was not big celebrity or wide social appeal. Instead I was a part of a small movement in a small community, which meant for a while there were people who knew my name. This brought attention and things my way. It gave me opportunities I would never have enjoyed otherwise. This made possible my having a career in the music industry and writing for a bass magazine. I've signed autographs and been recognized in unexpected places. When I was still playing for a living, I got to walk some big stages and make the acquaintance of some remarkable people. I am grateful for all of this.

And I'm even more grateful that it's passed.

I never wanted fame. Attention, yes. Validation, absolutely. Respect, of course. But with fame comes the loss of privacy and the invitation of others to interpret one's life and art through their filters, neither of which ever appealed to me. As my moment in the sun was a little one and fleeting, I got to experience just enough to know with certainty that I was happy to have enjoyed it and equally to let it go.

Art has been at the center of my life since before I can remember, both the enjoying of it and the creating of it. I don't make any lofty claims in terms of my ability or talent, nor do I state that I know a damn thing other than I can recognize what resonates with me emotionally, intellectually or spiritually. I understand a bit of my aesthetic. That's about it. I know geniuses and savants. More often I witness those with facility who can impress but not make a particularly profound statement, at least by the standards I hold. This isn't judgment so much as finally grasping what's real and good for me. There are things which get acclaim I can't understand, but that's just fine. There's a hell of a lot I don't understand. Actually, that may be one of the hallmarks of my life.

A rant for another time.

But it does dovetail into something that's happened recently.

I got the sudden and unexpected news of a young actress' death this week. This is not someone I knew personally, only someone whose work I enjoyed. As I didn't know her, I had no way to know that she was -- like so many of us in the arts and otherwise -- battling depression. When the online backlash of a statement she made was massive, vitriolic and ongoing, she stood up for her position, attempted to clarify it and ultimately gave up fighting. If one is to believe the news, she hanged herself. And of course the lack of empathy rains down still.

As someone who's fought depression for decades and has survived every suicidal impulse, episode and spell, I will tell those who have never been touched by it that they are supremely lucky. This is a darkness they can't imagine. The fact that so many who have never felt it and refuse to acknowledge it is horrifying to me in a way I can't express, and expression is what I do. If I were to spend all my posts trying to articulate what it's like dealing with this or convey what it's like when it hits, I could never do it justice. This is horror on a level that no book or film will ever capture. Maybe that's why so many of us who have this in our makeup turn to horror to distract and entertain us.

If you've never dealt with depression first hand, I'm glad for you. This also means you can't understand what someone depressed feels. It isn't being sad and there's nothing worse than saying, "Can't you just be happy?"

No. We can't.

It's a cyclical thing but not in a predictable way. It may or may not have triggers as it may or may not be tied up in trauma. If trauma has never touched your life, be glad. Be overjoyed. If it has, you will never be the same and you will often be blindsided.

All of this, as I stated initially, is not building to anything in particular. Maybe I'll write about having mental health issues at some point. Maybe I shouldn't as it all but inevitably invites attacks from those same people I'd like to enlighten.

I dunno.

It's funny to me -- not so much the 'ha ha' variety -- that none of us chooses to be born but so many of us are judged for how we do or don't cope with that, as if we're all given the same tools at the start. If you're one of those lucky enough to be confident and content, I am genuinely happy for you. If you're someone who can't understand the rest of us, I hope you choose something better than belittling or seeking to hurt those bereft or your benefits.

Wow, that really did go somewhere I didn't expect.

As the Vulcans Say, 'Only Nixon Could Go to China.'

I can't really apologize for the scattershot nature of my posting or the inconsistency of the tone in what makes it into the blog. I'm still amazed at the number of things that I use or do daily which didn't exist when I was a kid. Touchscreen technology was science fiction and now it's all but disposable. As something of an anachronism I can't apologize when I'm running to keep up with a world that I don't particularly like. Not the planet. I love the planet. It's this weird construct we call society, built from double standards and where most of us are on double secret probation. After months of cynical, sarcastic carping and a protracted absence, I write from another place along the emotional spectrum, perspective skewed once more. That means I remain a satellite to social media and -- wait for it -- this may be cheerful.

Yes. Really.

Since getting back into the anonymous quasi-reality/para-reality that is social media and staying below the radar long enough to become sort of invisible, a few things have become clear. But don't worry because the change is in a good way.

Trolls are no less numerous nor less rabid than they were. But since they don't seek me out I'm not so often blindsided by the hostility when it inevitably crops up. And after a couple of years out of the line of fire it's much easier to read the vitriol and laugh. It still makes me sad that this behavior is as prevalent as it is and that it's how so many choose to interact, but even when someone is trying to make it personal I can usually see that it's got nothing to do with me. Like everyone else in the world, I'm just a target.

The strange phenomenon of so many taking so much seriously on the 'web remains baffling, but I can't understand why most everyone is tethered all but continually to their phones. I get that they're convenient and that they offer so much, but I can't grasp why that makes them as prevalent a choice over reality. People in groups in cars or in restaurants choosing to text or post online in lieu or talking with their companions are commonplace. I'm now seeing people trying to run and lift weights while using their phones. I can't get it and I'm done trying.

But my choice is to enjoy what's around me rather than let it pass me by. I harbor no animosity toward the world of pixels and memes. That would be powerfully hypocritical of me. I still visit for distraction and to enjoy the good in my friends' lives. I am occasionally mentioned here or there. But I've become a tourist. I live in a mountain cabin and know how lucky I am for that. The existence I know is largely one of my own terms and I don't ever want to forget that. Those who know me do not judge my choosing the path I have, even when my solitude may sadden them.

'Oh, yes,' you think as you read these words. 'He is so much more light and pleasant this go 'round. So very much.'

Wait for it.

The flip side of all the above is that since I've been able to be a virtual ghost, a near invisible man, I've also returned to those things about interwebbery that I enjoyed when I first engaged it. There are some connections that are remarkable. Ideas that I've held as truths since I was a boy are sometimes echoed or even validated. As someone who's lived so much in his own imagination, it isn't lost on me that so many go online to find what their lives may not give them. Romance and eroticism are abundant. One can be a superhero or villain and not get physically battered. Intellectual discussion is actually probably more easily enjoyed through a screen and more commonly than it is in most of our day to day otherwise. While some choose to project an image in keeping only with how they wish to be seen, others are communicating as their best selves.

If we are entering a new age and are gradually opting for a kind of symbiosis with our tech, with a sort of electronic hive mind, that is an inevitability and my inability to assimilate should have no bearing on anything. My view of or feelings about this trend are meaningless as I'm from the previous era. As a friend puts it, I'm pre-analog in a digital world. And I think this is true. But being out of synch also means there are things I can enjoy that are no longer real in this day. I write letters, go to libraries, discuss philosophy and take time to breathe and to bask in silence. Am I free from stress and strife? Not by any stretch. Have I achieved some kind of enlightenment? Not hardly, as John Wayne might have put it. But I am doing what I can to improve the quality of my life rather than get lost in the mad run to acquire more. If there's a choice between having what's meaningful or what's current and cool, it should be pretty obvious where I stand.

So yes, I'm more hopeful than I've been in the last several posts. I have made my way back into what gave me sorrow and found good there. There are millions screaming from soapboxes or choosing to wallow in what makes them unhappy, but there are more than a few simply trying to put good in the world and giving others reason to feel good. There's humor that isn't mean spirited. I've even 'liked' cute animal videos and pictures of food. But as a tourist I'm also happy to have things stay this way. I'll be peripheral to this world, meandering through every now and again, but if you want to actually find me you'll need to release the tether that binds you here. It's a beautiful morning on the mountain and I've already spent too much time sitting in front of a screen. Time to be outside for some of that breathing and ogling.

Answers. Yes, They Exist.

I'm not a fan of facile or of spoon feeding when it comes to knowledge, wisdom and experience. I don't think they have meaning if they aren't earned. Yet people cry out for these things, like they're items on a fast food menu. I understand that but I don't think anything good comes easily. So what am I on about this time? I'm telling you how you can have anything you want. It's actually simple.

There is a price for everything. It's sacrifice. It's time. It's energy. It's belief. It's perseverance.

That's it. Really.

When I was making a living on stage, in the studio and teaching, the one thing I heard most often was, "How do I get good?" You play. You practice when you can, you take gigs, you make a metric ton of mistakes na you don't quit. It's not about getting paid for everything you do or being perfect, it's about working, learning and doing it. That's all. Honest.

You can be rich, famous, popular or just about anything you want but you have to pay a price. You will give up something to get what you want.

But what about people who were born rich? Someone made that money. Or stole it. And if you think people who are rich have it easy, think again. They may not have to worry about their bills, but they are paying for things you can't imagine. I took a ride in the vehicle of someone with more money thanI could imagine. It was explained to me that the vehicle was bullet proof and could withstand a landmine going off beneath it. When I asked why I was told that the number of death threats that came to the family in a year was dizzying and that attempts had been made to kidnap the children. Repeatedly.

I've met people who are famous and I have listened to people talk about the famous. I've heard all kinds of things. Seen them, too. What kind of price is there for fame? Privacy, for one. Can you imagine what it must be like to have people trying to photograph or interrupt your most private moments, the most special and precious ones? Being followed to the supermarket or seeing your photo as you walk into the doctor's office on the cover of a tabloid? How about the photos you took for your partner? Imagine how many times in a day you would have to overhear the people around you talking and whispering about you.

This is not me preaching. I've made my choices and just like anyone else, they've cost me. Do I regret them? Hell, no. Do I envy others their talent or their wealth? Probably in fleeting moments, but at the end of the day it's not important. I count among my friends some incredible artists, some of the best in the world. I am lucky to be inspired by them but even more lucky that I get to know them as people. Why? Because they people who have worked hard and earned what they have, who touch others' lives with what they do, are remarkable humans. It doesn't mean they aren't tormented. It doesn't mean their lives are easy. It means they made choices and followed through on them.

I was with someone once who rarely got angry. In one of our rare arguments she spat out, "Your job is playing. How hard can it be?"

Ignoring the decades of practicing music for 8 hours or more a day, the unpaid or underpaid gigs and dedication to the craft had costing most every meaningful relationship in a musician's life, there are things a musician deals with daily that people on the outside don't see. Ever imagined a day on tour? Sleeping a few hours on a floor after a sweaty gig, to climb into a van with a a bunch of zombies, driving hours to get to somewhere only to be seen as a freak, loading gear, dealing with the politics of the venue and the area, waiting for hours and hours to play a few hours, then loading the gear again and hoping there's a bed waiting before those few hours of sleep.

This is not griping. It's a reality. And it's worth it. Traveling, meeting new people and doing what one loves is absolutely worth it. It's not easy and it's not something for everyone, but that's also probably why everyone doesn't do it.

Next time you want to slam a film either for the performance or anything else, check out what a day of shooting actually means. It's waking before dawn and being ready to go for 14 or more hours. Have you ever had to be 'on' for that long, every day for weeks or months? Do you know exactly how much is determined in the process of editing a film or what impact the score and lighting have on it? How about the sound design? Did you realize that the funding can be pulled from a film at any time and the shooting may have to stop several times before principle photography is done and the editing can even start?

I'm not trying to garner sympathy for artists. I think everyone who rises to a certain level makes a decision to get there. And of course it's not all about the work. Luck and any number of random factors play into it. But if you want something, you have to go for it. That's all there is to it. People will give you some. Life will place some at your feet. For the most part, you have to go out and get whatever it is you want. Drive will take you so far, but it's continuing to push when drive fails you that makes the difference.

One of my favorite quotes is from Rachel Rosenthal. As part of a discussion about funding for the arts she stated, "Artists don't have a job, they have a calling." I think that's true but I think art can be expanded to any number of things not traditionally viewed that way. I think there is art in engineering, in commerce, in manufacturing and in love. Most who have achieved did it because they had to. Olympians recognized their gifts and those were fostered by others who could see their potential. It is the same with all kinds of people in all fields. But no matter who one is talking about there was a point -- or there were several points -- where it was about having to push when there was no one there to encourage or support. Great things come with success but the road getting there is not easy.

None of this is easy. And it isn't anything anyone has to do. But it's there if you want it. What are you willing to give up to get what you want?

Revising the Revisions

It was an experiment. It was morbid curiosity. It was that perverse, bizarre need to know. And now I do.

I have posted plenty about my feelings regarding mainstream social media so I won't rehash, but after nearly 2 years away from Facebook, I reopened the pages just to post two photos. No fanfare, no preamble, just the images.

What's surprising is that I wasn't surprised. Within a couple of minutes there were well over a hundred 'likes' with dozens of comments congratulating me on coming to my senses and welcoming me 'home.'

Yes, surreal.

The best part for me was that several of those posting were the same ones who had made sure to get my contact info before I closed down the pages initially, so they could stay in touch. The same ones I reached out to first. The same ones who never contacted me during the time away.

I don't want this to read as hypocritically as it likely is. I am terrible about communications. Part of that comes from having a job doing it, but on social media there is just no way I can keep pace with it. None.

And I don't want to present the image that I haven't enjoyed or benefitted from social media. I have. A lot. All I'm stating is that I'm not the same person I was when I subscribed to those sites and began interacting in those communities.

At present the pages are staying open but there is not a whole lot of interaction. In the last couple of years I have reclaimed so much of my life. I am thrilled to live where I do and to have the time to invest in my creative whims. Perhaps I'll even try returning to music performance or publishing something. But more than anything I'll be redefining my boundaries. Probably a lot. If anything, the last two years have shown me that there is quiet to be had and distraction to be avoided, that I am the one who can make the choices.

I don't mean all this to come across as me judging. I have no issue with anyone choosing to use and enjoy social media or the latest, greatest technology. If these things work for you, great! For me neither is worth the investment of time, energy or much else. I am happy to become a satellite to the world, peripheral to the mainstream. The more peripheral the better, actually.

Where I once craved attention and validation, I now seek something much different. Attention is the last thing I want. Validation is something I can serve up. All I want is authenticity. Likely this will pull me further from a society that becomes less palatable and more baffling daily. And this is no slam against society, it's just my way of saying I don't understand where things are going and I want to cultivate what I can understand and what feels good. For me this is best done away from people.

Regardless of what I want, maybe I am judgmental and a hypocrite. I do know that I'm damaged and that much of what I embraced no longer has a place in my life. At the same time most of the values I have clung to resonate more strongly. I believe in love, honesty and the connectedness of all life. That does not mean I will force my love, my truth or my presence upon anyone. The people in my life know where I am and how to reach me. And now those that don't and want to can find me online.

If I am lucky -- and I mean very lucky -- I will become more articulate and communicate better. Or maybe I'll stop to organize my thoughts before sitting down to write. But I will tell you that the urge to simply leave all this behind and retreat to anonymity and invisibility is overpowering sometimes.

A Debt, One of Many

Faith is a curious thing. People generally associate the word with religious belief but it's got much broader applications. We can't live without it. We need it in ourselves, in our loved ones, in our professional relations and in whatever belief systems we choose. And there comes a time when it's questioned. As an artist, it's faith in myself I most often question. Do I actually have any talent? Am I purely self-serving by doing what I do? How do I know it's not just self-aggrandizement?

Sometimes this is a significantly more powerful doubt. Several times I have nearly quit what I do and there was a solid year when I gave up making or listening to any kind of music with the exception of incidental music in movies. Conversely, those times I could not play due to things like injury, there was no thought in me but getting back to it.

Almost 20 years ago I hit a point in my life that was, if I'm kind, ugly. My engagement had ended in a way that puts movies and novels to shame, I was drifting geographically and metaphysically, so of course my self-doubt was crushing. For more than a dozen years builders had been shooting down my ideas as ridiculous and even though I'd stumbled into a good paying day job at the warehouse of a music store where I was teaching, my only real thought was quitting. Everything.

Then one day I noticed a book in the store about instrument builders. I'd been playing intensely for a long time and had sort of lost touch with what was out there and who was doing anything new or interesting. I was on the roster of one of the biggest names in the industry but my discontentment was an unpleasant thing. Leafing through the book, I found something that really jumped out at me. A real maverick design that appealed to my aesthetic, and something in the spirit of what I read in the description of the company and the builder really -- pardon the pun -- struck a chord. I decided, as the melodramatic do, that this would be it: I'd contact this luthier and if he responded the way all the others had over the years, then I was just done. I scribbled down the company's website and that night sent a message to them with all the ideas I'd sent to so many builders.

The next morning when I opened my email I was stunned by what I read. The builder had written me himself and was not only open to my ideas, he was enthusiastic and encouraging! I couldn't believe it! I called the shop and we must have talked for 20 or 30 minutes. We went over the design point by point, worked out a price and just like that my faith was restored.

The builder was Bill Conklin of Conklin guitars (www.conklinguitars.com) and over the last two decades he has built me 4 instruments. Today I take delivery of my fifth. I even owned one of the import models to play in rough bar gigs. I would call our relationship both a friendship and a collaboration. He has patiently listened to and considered every harebrained idea I've sent his way and he was the first to invite me to perform for him at NAMM. When I lost everything in Hurricane Katrina (and Rita), he was the first to call and tell me, "Don't worry. We'll get a bass into your hands again."

Writing those words after hearing them nearly a dozen years ago now, I'm tearing up.

The first bass he made me was the culmination of several ideas that had been playing in my head for a long time: extended range, a particular combination of woods, a different approach to wiring pickups and a specific aesthetic. I was so nervous when I first opened the case, looked at it and eagerly picked it up. All coming from a builder whose instruments I'd never played.

It surpassed all my hopes. It became my primary gigging and recording bass for years.

When I formed the duet Depth with 9-string bassist Greg Campbell, Mike Apperson of the Conklin shop joked, "You know no one's going to take you seriously unless you start playing a 10 string!" While we cracked up, the seed had been planted and it wasn't long before Bill and I were talking again. With the gracious gift of my then-wife, this beauty came to life and found its way on stage, onto tour, into the studio and joined me for several appearances on the radio...

Sadly, both were taken along with most everything else in my life by Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. But then Bill contacted me with the aforementioned call and this lovely came into existence...

This instrument was central in helping me rebuild my life and rediscover my identity. It remains one of the most cherished things in my world. But of course me being me, the more I played it the more I craved 10 strings. I called the Conklin shop and sheepishly began the conversation, "I know I promised I wouldn't do this to you again, but-"

"We had a feeling you might want one so we made a 10 string neck for you. Want to talk specs?"

After the laughing stopped, the dialogue began. In short order Bill and Mike made what has become the main bass I've played for just about 10 years...

This purple and yellow monster has treated me so well and is rarely far from my side.

But for the last several years I've been plagued with both more crazy ideas and hostility within the bass community. Whether those attacks represent the majority voice among bass players is irrelevant. It's been tough. So once again I made one of those decisions: I'd bug Bill with everything rolling around in my brain pan and see where he stands. The thought was that if he was willing to build me this latest design, I'd have no excuse not to play as the instrument in question was not designed in any way for ensemble playing but exclusively to be used in solo performance and recording. Not surprisingly, he was excited about the project (and possibly just indulging my wackiness) and work started on the new instrument.

And today is the day. FedEx informs me it's out for delivery but in the meantime all I can do is look at the photos Bill sent before it shipped...

Yes, this means I'll post more shots once it's here and I get a moment to snap some.

But if it wasn't for people like Bill and Mike at Conklin, Mark Wright of AccuGroove Speakers, Eddie Speedy of S.I.T. Strings and Carey Nordstrand of Nordstrand Pickups, I would have given up and walked away from all this years ago. Art is about possibility as much as it is about creativity and communication. While I may never know if I'm a decent artist or even someone who has a right to call myself an artist, I am grateful to have the encouragement and support to peer into this universe of possibility. I hope I can pay them all back in some small way. I will keep trying.

Lies I Was Told... and Believed.

This is not a happy post. Or at least it's not starting as one. It could metamorphose as some of these do, but I'm not starting from a point of positivity or encouragement. Sorry. But this is your chance to look elsewhere if that's what you seek.

Over the last week I've heard from some of the people I hold most dear. Women, to be specific. These are individuals I love but am not involved with. If you've read any of the older entries here or know me in real life it will not come as a surprise that this is the case or that I'm about to ramble on the subject.

I love women. I always have. Many if not most of the bigger decisions in my life have come about in one way or another because of women. That's really only started changing (some) in the last ten or twelve years. Is that good? Does it mean anything? I have no idea.

As a boy I was taught to respect women and in fact was raised to be chivalrous. But I grew up when the world, when society, was changing. I mean, it always is but this was a time of interesting change. As these were my formative years a lot would not become clear until much later in life, but I was brought up to put women on pedestals when women were smashing them.

Now I know and accept that men and women are different. On a purely biological level we have fundamental disparity. But we're taken through childhood largely separately and even when we're integrated at school there is an 'us and them' mentality. Maybe this has changed some since I was little. I hope so. Girls and women together are not the same as boys and men together. I don't think either is particularly good, but I think there are things that we don't understand about one another in very broad strokes.

I think the male as canine/female as feline analogy works pretty well on some levels. Men are linear. We're task oriented. We're kind of about one thing at a time. Our focus is generally upon what's before us. When we're hungry, we eat. When we're tired, we sleep. Pretty uncluttered. Women are a bit more convoluted. The number of things at play in the feminine psyche at any given moment would scare the hell out of men. It does scare the hell out of men. On a purely chemical level, what a woman deals with day in and day out is unreal. Some men are able to grasp this intellectually, but the reality of it is completely beyond us. Men want to simplify, to create a direct path. Women usually find this boring.

Once again, I'll point out that this all comes from my experience. My observations and yours may differ wildly. I'm not trying to draw conclusions or to make any kind of statement under the pretense that I'm expert at anything. I'm not.

Like a lot of men my age, women were to be treasured and protected. Their sensitivity, empathy and self-sacrificing nature was precious. Women represented the finer things where we men were more crude and unformed. It is because of women that so much of our art exists.

However...

Women want to be treasured and protected occasionally. That sensitivity, empathy and self-sacrifice are usually conditional or situational. Representing the finer things can mean looking down on what's crude and unformed.

But women will always be magic. Unknowable. Deeply flawed but without them men like me would never know what it is to be in love. And we are flawed and limited in so many ways, too.

I don't know. I used to joke that I knew what women want: everything, but they don't know in what order. These days I don't joke much. I don't invite women into my life. A romantic who was raised to open doors and walk between a woman and traffic doesn't really have a place in the 21st century. I've been lied to, left without explanation and attacked for no reason too many times to open my heart. I still love and I do it deeply but until or unless a woman unlike any I've known in half a century saunters into my life looking for an itinerant musician with no ambition for material wealth or fame, I'm done with romances. Which sucks because there is nothing like being in love. I write that as someone who has never fallen out of love and has only been with women who don't want to be in love.

Again, I don't know. I don't know a lot of things. I don't know why I believed everything I did or why I still want to believe the things women tell me. I don't know why I can't or won't grow up. I don't know why it's easy to spend days caressing a woman but it destroys me to see the same woman happy with someone else. I don't know why I've never been enough for anyone but I suspect that goes back to the idiotic things I've believed for most of my life.

Most women in my life have at one point or another said, "Love isn't enough." But for someone like me it is. Maybe because I've never known stability and I can be happy without a lot. Of course I understand that a woman wants what I can't give. But then why do they seek me out even when I point out this fact? Why do they come back to me years later to tell me that no one loved them like I did?

I don't get it. I just don't. We all want sex, love, acceptance, affection and those things that reassure us we're good or worthwhile. Is it really so hard to simply be straight with one another about what we want and what we don't? Really?

Want to know the real rub here? I still love romance. I write about it, relish it in books and movies and a part of me that I just can't seem to kill still dreams of it. When women say those things they do, my fucking heart still skips. So maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe we all are.

Okay. That's enough.