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FEATURED

Quarter to Life

August 3, 2000. 2:22 PM. Twenty-five years later. Something about the quarter-life sentiment struck the fear of God in me. Am I really at my quarter-life point? My father — three strokes and two heart attacks before fifty. Still hanging in there, somehow. My father’s father died of a stroke before fifty. My father’s mother died before forty, of cancer. I’ve already had open-heart surgery. Sure, they had their vices: smoking, chewing, sitting around. I don’t remember my grandfather. I never met my grandmother. The only biological grandparent I have left is sitting in memory care. I want veins on my arms and legs. I want clear piss. No acne. A jawline.  When friends ask me to hike Mount Timpanogos, I don’t want to debate myself. I don’t want limits anymore. Being active has always been the solution to everything, so why the hell have I avoided it? I want to feel better. Look better. Live better. I want sex to be better. I just want to be better. The uncertainty of what’s ahead flippe...
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Moving Sideways

What brings two people together?

Similarities. Differences. Sexual appeal. Mental pull. Goals. Motivations. Inspiration. Convenience. 

The list goes on. But what can bring them together can ultimately tear them apart, no matter how strong or deep the underlying bond.

I understand now.

Two people. Neither has a grasp of what comes next. What they want. What they need.

Neither tethered to a goal worth chasing. Apathetic to the daily wake-up reminder to find purpose. Both conditioned themselves to keep their distance from people, from hope, out of instinct more than a choice. 

They met with recognition as opposed to passion. An understanding. Comfort in being with someone who gets you for you.

The days became the same. 

As one steps back and recognizes their potential for more, the other's nature overgrew and eventually balanced out. Not because they meant to. These things tend to happen when sedentary meets momentum. 

It's not "right place, wrong time." They were in the right place. They were at the right time. It just wasn't for reasons they understood at the time.

They didn't move forward or backward. 

Together, they moved sideways. 

This connection needed to happen. For both of them. 

It showed them what was real and what never was. It left them with something — perspective, maybe. Something to carry into whatever comes next.

They may still love each other. But it's different now. 

They may still find their way back to one another. But it's harder now.

One can only wish the other well. 

That is understanding. 

That is love.

"I no longer love her, that is certain, but maybe I love the pain of having loved her." - Franz Kafka