Badger's Den

Measuring Up
9:21 a.m. - 2003-10-08

Monday evening I had dinner at my folks’ which is always an apologetic affair. Mom is always apologizing for the type of food, or quality of preparation and I saw in her my feelings of never being able to measure up, especially to my own standards. And no visit with them is complete without the generous helping of guilt which this night took on the form of “if you’d called us earlier, I’d have had time to fix something nicer.” Now I don’t give a rip whether we have steak or baloney sandwiches. But I noticed how her failings had turned into someone else’s fault. And this is a trait I don’t think I have. I am all too willing to accept and wallow in the blame.

And as I drove away, full in more ways than one, I thought about my never being able to measure up – to them, as a husband, as a father, as a professional, physically, spiritually… I realize this failing is of my own making. Nancy tells me I am a great father. My customers and my managers think I am one of the best at what I do.

Yet, there is this unsatisfaction that gnaws, this envy of everybody else’s life that haunts me. I began reading a book called “He’s the One.” And the first chapter is nearly my life. The main character is a computer professional in a small Midwestern city who dines with his folks, lives in the country, is tired of the limited gay life available through bars and activist groups. He even sleeps with a cute guy who can’t remember his name, works at Subway and lives with his mom who graciously offers to make him breakfast the morning after. Just way too close to home.

And I think about my writing and all the squandered time that I have wasted when I could have been creating. There was another line in the book from a woman who said artists will do anything to avoid creating art.

I’m driving up out of the river valley where the conglomeration of cities and towns are and begin crossing the half dozen miles of flat prairie toward the next valley where my house sits and I admire the beauty of harvest season in the Midwest. And as I top a rise, a panorama of tan corn and soybean fields lay for miles before me splashed with clusters of green trees and grassy meadows.

Plumes of dust lay close to the ground in a half dozen places looking like smoke from hidden fires but really just clouds of dust stirred up by combines that crawled through the dried fields chewing up corn and soy bean plants, plucking out the precious grains and spewing the detritus of stalks, leaves and dust out the back.

I arrived home to watch the sun set in brilliant red spectacle and enjoy a bit of the cool crisp air of an Autumn evening and again failed at being able to make a decent fire in my patio fireplace, though the smoke was pleasant enough.

And then yesterday evening, I went to one of the large forest preserves near here and hiked at sunset. I was deep in the woods as the sun faded leaving only a darkening clear sky above the trees that kept me in shadow. I could still make out the trail, though made sure I crossed the creek before it got too dark so I could find my footing.

But the last half hour of my hike was through grassy meadows as a nearly full moon rose and illuminated my surroundings. I was very much alone in the world, enjoying the scents of recently mown dried grass and watching for some deer to emerge from the shadowy tree line that surrounded me.

As I near the spot where I left my car, invisible in the gloom, I took a moment to just sit on a picnic table in the moonlight and let my mind wonder. I wondered what my future will bring. I wondered how my life had gotten to this point seemingly without me at the helm, a passenger on my own ship.

And I wondered who he was, that special man out there in the world waiting for me. I wondered if I was doing enough to find him. Should I go to Chicago more? Should I pursue him through the Internet? Or would our paths inevitable cross someday when God’s plan came together?

And I hoped I would be ready for him when he did come along. I hoped I would have the helm of my ship confidently in my grasp.

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