Under Construction

I've stayed in for most of the day editing photos. I tried (but failed) to sleep, and I read. I listened to Wilco, Tom Waits and Chuck Berry while I embraced my cat-like lethargy. At some point earlier this morning, Q called me while I was trying (but failing) to sleep. He told me he was passing through San Francisco, that he wanted to grab something to eat which was both healthy and affordable. When he got here I told him to eat my ass and handed him an unwashed spoon. He said it was pretty shitty. Sensing he was unsatisfied, based on that longing look in his eye, I knew I'd need to assuage his hunger with some meat. So we walked down to Divisadero and ordered sandwiches at Mojo Cafe. They had a sign advertising cauliflower soup, and we ordered one and split it; each of us scalding our mouths on it as we ate it. Do you eat soup or drink it?

After lunch we had a lengthy discussion on life, love and loss; strategies for maximizing happiness and treating others well. That's actually the title of our new book. We came to the conclusion that you cannot change anyone else, nor should you - it isn't your responsibility. For it to have significance to someone, for it to be meaningful - they need to want it. Your role should be that of an enabler, giving them your support in the form of love and encouragement in the hopes that they'll become the person they want to be. Constantly drawing attention to another's shortcomings only serves to build resentment and breed contempt. Don't remind someone of their failings; no one needs you to hold up a mirror to the pus-filled carbuncles decorating their heart - if they're looking, they'll see them in your eyes. Instead, seek understanding and trust them to do what's right. The trust part is hard when you're handing someone your heart, but if they care enough, they'll be the change you both need.

When you get close to someone they'll eventually hurt you, as you will them. It is inevitable. Our imperfections become sharpened edges, nails that jut out of splintered floorboards waiting to catch the skin of our bare feet. Try not to take it so bad, try not to take it so hard, try not to punish yourself for your own failings and try not to punish them for theirs. Pursue restitution, not retribution. Resentment is a pernicious type of poison, one that has no place in love's narrative. Though no one is without flaw, we expect perfection from our partners and scorn them for their indiscretions, as if we somehow deserve better; something more. How arrogantly we assert our self worth.

We're under construction, all of us, always. Remember.