I run from them as best I can, the demons. Today, after flying 5,000 miles, driving all through Chile, skiing the Andes, I was supposed to rent a motorcycle and head back into some mountain dirt roads today but after an hour drive to the rental agency it didn’t exist. Well at least the address on their goggle page was wrong. I took it as a sign that the ride just wasn’t meant to be. An hour drive back into Santiago, wondered around on the streets a bit, and back into my hotel room. That’s where the demons jumped me.
Almost every night while on this trip I’ve had the most pleasant, hopeful, happy dreams about my x-wife. I know I’m still grieving. I plan these trips to keep busy, to outrun the demons, but today they caught me.
I cried. Alone. Lost. No amount of meditation, study of self, meta-awareness and metacognition seem to ease my suffering. Now I’m sitting at a restaurant, Flama on Merced, drinking a nice amber beer and waiting for my pizza and the World Cup, Argentina v England, match to start. I have to be around people, yet I am as alone as possible, lost.
I am so deeply grateful for all that my life has given me. I am grateful for the loves I’ve lost. I am grateful for my children, proud, loving, brilliant, smart, talented, healthy, kind kids. They are likely all I’m living for.
“Oh if my lover were in my arms, and in my bed again”. Would that make me happy?
I think not. But what then?
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