Tag Archives: Love

February 12, 2013

The view from her window is just like Vietnam

By Drew Jacob

I’ve never been to Vietnam. But I see from her window. Layers of tropic plants bright as noon with a cloud-stained sky. Past the trees, the white porch of a French mansion. The French were here, once; the French were there, once.

She has no curtains. Any French colonel could see us nude. But the colonel is away. He has not been home in some time.

This street is forgotten. It’s the last road to the Zone, the place where the sidewalk ends. Only memories live here, and ghouls, santurists and painters.

Mine is a painter.

Strange noises break the hum. A squeak, the clash of a shutter. Once this was a swamp. Then came the wealthy. We feast on their leavings, like the rats who never left.

I look at her in that sunlight. It’s a cold white light, a half-spring half-rain light. Her den smells like linseed. She has 80 grand of furniture, made by her own hands. She’s not selling.

She looks at me and smiles. I know you, I think. I’ve dreamt of you.

I can’t say the words. What if they’re a lie? I would never lie to a woman but I do lie to myself. What if the words, the dreams are wrong?

I lean back on the bed. In June she goes north; in June I go south. As with all great romance, we are under the threat of destruction. But one doesn’t promise the other.

She mumbles. Maybe “I know you.” I didn’t hear. I hold her hand and I breathe, sweetly drumming, sweetly drumming. One day we’ll be too old for ghost mansions. She’ll have kids and a more reliable man. I’ll have stories and an empty bed. Her great-grandkids will forget her name. Stories get forgotten, too.

Every wave recedes to the ocean, even the Flood, even the Flood.

It all goes to the ocean in the end.

—

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1 comment   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Adventure, New Orleans, The Great Adventure, The Heroic Life

January 16, 2013

I was afraid and I kissed her

By Drew Jacob

She looked out the window and I was scared. We had flirted good and well but she doesn’t date co-workers. Here we were in her apartment, the pot smoke thick, the small talk thin.

She was stoned but she knew what she was doing. Come see the view on the porch. Winter in Minneapolis. Balconies aren’t for winter, they’re for summer and trapping boys.

So the question: do I kiss her and how? Every man knows this moment. She did her part and led you somewhere you can make a move, because she’s into you. Or maybe she’s not into you, so why are you on her porch? Because she actually shows guests the view in winter.

What if you kiss her and you weren’t supposed to? Then are you a rapist? Rapists are the worst! Or will it be like a sitcom and you’ll both make an excuse to get out of there and then you’re friends for two seasons and then you elope.

There is no one to tell you what to do and the clues are a joke. You just have to move.

So I moved.

We ran out of conversation and I pushed her against the wall and looked her in the eyes and our lips were together. It probably seemed very romantic and confident because I moved slow. But I moved slow because I was afraid.

She moved with me. She kissed back. Then we were kissing, we worked together on that kiss.

“Fulfilment,” Gustav Klimt

Balconies aren’t for winter and I was already caught, so we moved inside. There was a couch, the floor, some other furniture. I told her in advance that I didn’t want a relationship, because I’m a gentleman and that’s what gentlemen do in the age of liberation. She might have stopped, but I was no longer afraid. The chemistry was proven, she was in it just like I was.

(Fun fact: There are three types of women who don’t date coworkers, and all three of them will date a coworker.)

That time it worked out. Other times I failed. I went for the kiss once in Mexico and she jumped away like I had teeth mites. It’s not the rejection, it’s the uncertainty—the sense that you should know.

Most men hate this moment. I used to hate it. Because no one is going to tell you what to do, and it’s safer just to be be lonely and sad. Lonely is free. No one fails at lonely.

I don’t know if women have this same moment. Actually that’s not true—I know lesbians sometimes do, because I sort of lived with one and he had game. (He later transitioned to being male.) He had way better game than me. People don’t exactly go to bed at night wishing they’ll wake up as a trans boy—most trans boys don’t wish that—but if it came with game like that I would consider the offer.

But woman, man, trans, any human being has these moments. It might not be the kiss. It might be demanding a promotion or some respect. It might be anything.

You want to make a move and you’re scared as hell. You don’t know which choice will rip your heart out and eat it faster. No one can tell you what to do because they’re scared too.

Everybody wants to know how they can adventure without leaving their home town. There are a million ways to adventure and it starts with moments like this. Adventure doesn’t come knocking, the wizard doesn’t put a mark on your door, I’m sorry. It starts when you say it starts.

Here is the good news.

Every single time you move it gets easier.

That’s what I’ve learned. Any given time you make a move you might fail. But every time you make a move, the next move is easier.

Ask for a promotion and it’s easier to be the only one dancing. Whisper “Do you want to fuck?” and it’s easier to ask for a promotion. Sometimes you’ll fail but soon you’ll fail with grace. People dig grace. They come back to the graceful.

(What happened with the Mexican woman? We became friends. She wrote me a really nice note during the holidays last month. I tried to respond in Spanish. She once apologized for being “so rude” that night, which is very Mexicana of her. You don’t have to apologize for not kissing people.)

Good things don’t come to those who wait, good things come to those who tear through stacks of bad things like it’s a box of Cap’n Crunch looking for the prize at the bottom.

Push someone against the wall and kiss them.

—

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18 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Personal Development, Rogue Priest Confessions

June 28, 2012

Is Your Spouse an Asset?

By Drew Jacob

Everybody’s horrified of aging. I worry I won’t be as sexy or I’ll lose my edge physically. It will be many years before I’m at risk of losing my edge mentally yet somehow, I worry about that too.

A lot of these worries are in our heads. I don’t think it’s very often that we actually spend time with people over the age of 50, at least not for those of us in our 20s and 30s. Lately I’ve had a chance to spend a lot of time with older couples and older friends. It struck me that the biggest difficulty they face is the one we almost never think about.

Being Alone

I’m no big fan of marriage. That’s not just because I’m divorced, it’s because I’ve had a chance to counsel all kinds of couples before they go on to get married. People like asking a priest or minister for some kind of spiritual advice on getting married. The advice I give is, do what makes economic sense. Marriage is generally about property and finances. It’s not about love—you don’t need marriage to have love. It’s about making this stable foundation or business partnership on the hope that it will be a stronger future for your family.

Some of the couples I’ve counseled are still together, others are divorced. Even the divorced ones are a little better off because if they took my advice they all had prenups and saved thousands of dollars on the divorce.

(Here’s how un-pro-marriage I am. I think the gay marriage “crisis” in the US would be best solved by taking marriage away from everyone. It’s not a legal matter, it’s a religious sacrament. If marriage is a sacred heterosexual institution in your church, some kind of X-rated morality play, that’s fine. We don’t need to debate your sacraments in Congress. For legal purposes, let’s say everyone can designate one individual as their health insurance partner and be done with it.)

So it surprised me to realize this:

Your spouse is your biggest asset when you age.

I regularly get to see older couples who hate each other. They fell out of love decades ago, stayed together for the kids or appearances or whatever, and now it just doesn’t make sense to leave. Maybe they don’t think they can date or maybe finances are an issue. When you’re 65 it’s hard to play the field.

But that’s an excuse. The real reason is: you need someone who can double check your memory. Someone who will see you if you fall. Someone who can help you keep your house running when both of you move at the speed of arthritis.

Most of society ignores the elderly, and your kids will only make limited time for you. That means that your spouse will eventually become your single most important asset: the bulk of your safety net, your advocate and your caregiver. This won’t be true for everyone, but it’s a good bet.

Being Trapped

I’m not saying marriage is the only solution. I know many older individuals who are happy and successful on their own. The key for all of them is that they laid a groundwork earlier in their life. They’re single because they decided they’re happiest that way. And they spend their resources accordingly. The ones I know have a paid-off residence, a strong network of friends and they remain active in their professional sphere.

To have those three things at 60, you have to start when you’re 45. Earlier is better.

So if the idea of marriage makes your skin crawl, fine, but make some other plans. Being old and alone sucks. And it’s commonplace. Aloneness is the number one cause of sadness among adults over the age of 57 (says I).

At the same time, I’ve met very happy older couples. Couples who still have that playful attitude with each other, and make a point of socializing together. Sometimes they bicker just as much as anyone else but you can tell it’s just amusing to them. They might not be sexually active anymore but they still touch each other.

That’s called love.

I promote this free lifestyle and for me it’s solo travel to find the gods. But I don’t recommend that for everyone. You need personal freedom too, but yours will be different from mine. Here’s what’s not different: love. We all need love, and we all need someone to tell us where we put the ice cream scooper when we’re 60.

Don’t confuse aloneness with freedom. Either find your soul mate or learn how to do alone right.

Do you ever confuse aloneness with freedom?

16 comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Uncategorized

June 7, 2012

Who Once We Were

By Drew Jacob

Duty

I believe we have a duty to the children:

Not just the children we raise,

The children we meet,

The orphaned children around the world;

But to the children who once we were

Who Dreamed so many great things for Who They Would Become.

When you rise,

Do your job,

Greet the world,

Do you make that Dreaming child proud?

Or have you neglected

the first child

you ever loved?

18 comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , , | posted in Poetry

January 21, 2012

Lessons from my Ex Girlfriend

By Drew Jacob

I used to have a tendency of making not-so-great dating choices.

In high school I was a reject. I had a lesser junta of close friends, each from their own counter-culture niche. There were very few dating opportunities. It’s funny how that stuff stays with you.

Photo by camera guru + close friend Beth Varro.

A Bad Pattern

If you feel like no one likes you, you will make bad dating decisions. At the end of high school I got into a long distance relationship with someone I had never met in person. After that ended badly, I had a series of relationships which may have been fine as casual dating situations. Instead, I latched onto each one, expecting them to be the love of my life.

I don’t know which was a bigger influence on me: unrealistic ideas from movies (the only source of dating knowledge I had), or my own past loneliness. I wasn’t actually lonely anymore: by college I had a pretty good social life. But in my head I was still the outsider.

Even my marriage was built on that foundation.

It wasn’t until my divorce that I really began to value myself. (I’ve had a huge ego about plenty of things—just never relationship potential.) In my marriage I lived for our house, our mortgage, and the hope of keeping peace between us. My own dreams were subsumed.

When we split up I started to live for myself.

Happy Endings?

By the time I left Minneapolis I was a much healthier person. Two years of eating better, exercising more and planning toward your dreams will give you a lot more confidence.

That was when I started dating Beth.

It was my first relationship to be threatened by the looming departure for the Great Adventure. Previously in my life, I put off my plans to travel for the sake of my partner. But Beth knew I would be leaving, and we both agreed it would end when I did.

We continued dating while I was in Milwaukee, because it’s not a terrible drive from the Twin Cities. We had a short, happy relationship. After we broke up, we became friends—actual, close friends who chat routinely and encourage each other’s projects.

Beth is probably reading this right now. Hi Beth!

This relationship was profoundly different than my previous relationships. Going in, I felt like an equal partner, not the one who had to do all the work. And we had an ordained time limit. There was no “forever” begging me to chase it down.

If circumstances were different, I would probably have been with Beth for years. But I learned a great deal from our short relationship:

  • Something can be sweet even if it’s not forever.
  • Confidence makes you sexier. It’s something you hear a lot, but it turns out it’s true.
  • It’s okay to prioritize your dreams above a relationship—if you’re honest about it.
  • The best person to date is someone who believes passionately in your dreams. (Do the same for them, please.)
  • A great girlfriend will also make a great friend, if you end at a high point.

And that’s on top of teaching me how to take pictures.

Beth was my first love “on the road.” In many ways, my few months with her laid the foundation for all of the relationships I’ll have while traveling.

Is there an ex who left you with something special? Are you able to be friends with your exes? What makes it possible?

I’ll go out with you if you share and tweet this post ;)

10 comments   |  tags: , , | posted in Travel

January 9, 2012

The Tragic Joy of the Heroic Life

By Drew Jacob

 

“Love it the first time.”

 

These words have been my credo since Day Zero.

They came to me literally on the eve of my departure, as I biked into Minneapolis for the last time and saw her skyline above me. Spotlights in the mist, rainclouds parting, 3 million lives unfolding. I caught my breath and wondered if I’ll see my city again, or if I’ll die on my walk.

I breathed out loud: “Love it the first time, Drew.”

I committed the scene to my lifelong memory, put my head down, and resumed biking.

Tragic Joy

This credo has come to serve me many times on my quest. Almost daily I recite these words, beholding with joy some happy scene or experience.

In part, this is because the Heroic Life involves travel. I can never see everything. I pick my priorities and live with my choices. Instead of making phantom plans, I cherish the memories I have. And I look forward.

I believe this view is required for the Heroic Life. You must accept that today may be your last experience. And you must love that truth. You must love that there may be nothing more: the moment is enough. It is sacred in itself.

This is the tragic love of the Heroic Life.

In moments of happiness, my heart soars like I’ve leapt from a cliff. Moments are fleeting and mortal, as we are.

Soul Mates

In the story of the Temple on Doi Suthep I mentioned someone important. I didn’t see her, but a few paces away was Saarein. We wouldn’t meet till later. Heaven brought us together.

When I got home I rested and showered. The temptation was strong to go to bed, but I wanted to keep my ankle moving. I went out for Indian food.

At the next table, a Dutch woman in a breathtaking shawl sat down, alone. (A woman on her own is an unusual sight in Thailand.)

I pushed weariness from my mind. Summoning my training I asked if she spoke English. She did. Would she like company?

We talked for hours.

“I follow the gods of nature,” I said.

“Me too,” she said.

The next day she taught me to ride a motorbike. First I clung behind her as she tried to kill us. Then she let me try to kill us. She was a patient teacher, one hand gently on my shoulder to show she wasn’t afraid.

We walked through caves with the Buddha. We offered incense, we prayed, we talked. As the sun set, I drove us through country roads. The sun hit the rice fields and the old walls and rooves. Everything glowed gold; we waved and the people smiled.

It was picturesque, but we didn’t capture it. “I’ll remember without a camera,” she said.

“Me too,” I said.

I knew this was our only day. Tomorrow she was leaving for Laos, then onward on her travels across Asia. In two weeks I’d go on to Mexico. From the moment we met we had 30 hours together. The clock ticked down.

We didn’t speak of this. We understood. She taught me many Dutch words, but never good-bye. Late that night I watched her zoom away on her motorbike, my fellow adventurer and my soul mate. I went to bed, and I slept easily.


It may seem that the Heroic Life brings this upon itself. If you travel to challenge yourself, you will part with many soul friends and lovers along the way.

In truth, every love is fleeting. Every joy is mortal. Most people choose to forget that. They try to build eternal happiness. When things change their hearts break. The Heroic Life allows no illusion. It confronts you from the start.

 

          The tragic joy of the Heroic Life:
                    Love it the first time.
                              Heaven may be a dream…

 

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28 comments   |  tags: , , , , | posted in Thailand, The Heroic Life, Travel

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