It’s been quite some time since posting anything of any consequence, so it seems like a good opportunity to correct that with a bullet-pointed post about what’s been happening of late:

• 2024 started with a return to being highly motivated to properly take care of myself and to working back down to my ideal weight. Lots of factors contributed to this: my blood pressure, cholesterol numbers, sciatica issues, too many clothes didn’t fit or were too snug, and, frankly, the fact that I was less than 10 pounds under my all-time peak weight. Given that he severity of the all the factors were driven by being obesely overweight, it was an ideal time for another downhill run on the weight rollercoaster. Thus far, I’m off to my usual great start, having lost nine pounds in a little over two weeks. I’m getting too old to continue taking off dozens of pounds and then turnaround and allow them to return yet again. Figuring out how to maintain once back at my ideal weight (once I get there) is a puzzle that I really need to permanently solve this time around.
• Sally and I recently started watching The Gilded Age and are absolutely enjoying it. Given my sociopolitical bent, many of the characters are people that I’d want nothing to do with in real life. However, this is fiction, so I’m absolutely happy to watch people in possession of stupid money treat their standings in society and the business world as blood sport. The show also does a wonderful job of reminding us that the robber barons of that time at least knew how to show off their stupid money in the details of the buildings they built and the charities they funded, rather than simply hoard it Smaug-like.
• On a related note, we have decided that when we make our next trip to NYC – which will be at the end of April – the J.P. Morgan library is absolutely should be on the itinerary. I visited it when I lived up there 25 years ago but don’t recall much about it. It feels like a trip there is absolutely in order after finishing up The Gilded Age.
• Finally, when the day started, I was entertaining some ideas about getting out of the house after work today. Other than shoveling snow yesterday morning, I actually haven’t left the house since late afternoon Saturday. However, it’s just too damn cold out there. I just can’t bring myself to leave the house when it’s 25° outside. Instead, it’s going to be a few hours of reading and watching TV until Sally gets home from work this evening.

Earlier today, I was reminded in roundabout fashion that almost exactly 25 years ago to this day I quite spectacularly and recklessly ripped apart both my professional and personal lives with almost no planning or forethought. It would take a few months before the chaos subsided and the immediate repercussions fully worked themselves out. That period was by turns – and sometimes a combination of – scary, exciting, worrying, dizzying, disconcerting, and awe-inspiring. The suddenness with which I did it also inspired quite a bit of introspection and self-reassessment.

Flashing forward to the summer of 2003, it felt like the decision pull it apart and put it back together had been the right one. Oh, there was lingering regret over the carelessness with which I carried out some of my actions. As a result of them, I hurt someone in the process and lost a couple friends before the aftermath properly began to settle. However, I was happy with the life I had, and I was eagerly anticipating the Brandon’s birth, which was just a few months away.

Less than five years after his arrival – in under four, actually – the woman for whom I brutally ripped my own world apart proceeded to do same with her life and in the process upended mine. By the summer of 2008, it felt in some ways like the only lasting good thing that resulted from the summer of “One Week” was my son. Of course, I wouldn’t have changed anything about the summer of ’98, even if it were possible. I wouldn’t have been the person I was, and Brandon wouldn’t have been there without it.

Now, 25 years later, there’s almost nothing but thankfulness for the decisions that 26-year-old me made during that summer. This isn’t merely a case of how our past experiences made us who are as people. It’s also a case of how old decisions and actions alter our lives in ways we never could have anticipated at the time they were made. Without the momentous summer of ’98, it seems unlikely that I’m hired by Major Defense Contractor in early 2007, when I desperately needed a total career change that made use of the skills I possessed. There’s also no way I meet Sally in the summer of 2009, because I’m certainly not living in Loudoun County, VA. Without leaving New York City to return to the DC Metro area, there’s no way I meet some of the people I now count as good friends.

More importantly, thanks to that eventful summer I’m living my best life right now. A life where I’m happier with myself than I’ve ever been. A life shared with an amazing woman whom I simply cannot imagine a life without. A life that by just about every measure that matters to me is pretty damn awesome. A life that in many ways is strikingly different than the one I hoped I was making for myself when I decided to blow apart the one I had 25 summers ago.

It’s ended up so much better than I imagined.

Last weekend, seeing this Facebook Memories post from five years ago floored me a little bit. What started as a simple nostalgic attempt to recreated a beloved piece of clothing from my post has now become a vital component to my self-identity. But, first, a little necessary background…

Back in the ‘80s, I was one of those high schoolers who placed pins and patches all over their denim jacket. For this particular teen, it wasn’t just a means of self-expression. It was also a weird form of defiance. Despite getting reasonably along with my peers, I felt very much like a social outcast. Figuring that there was little that could be done to change that, the pins, patches, and the peace symbol bleached into the back of the jacket became a way to proudly proclaim my independence from the high school social order and make the feelings of ostracism my own.

I loved the hell out of that jacket.

However, I retired it upon becoming a college freshman. Stepping foot onto the campus of Drexel University was my big chance to find social acceptance for what felt like the first time ever. I wasn’t going to blow it by flying my weirdo freak flag (the decision was enabled by the fact that the bleached-in peace symbol was starting to fray apart and threatening to put a giant hole in the back of the jacket.) In retrospect, it wasn’t the best decision. In fact, I was doing things backwards – college is the perfect time to fly your freak flag and find the weirdos who get your own eccentricities. I still found a way to express my individuality, but it was certainly a restrained, genteel version of it.

(In retrospect, that wasn’t the only thing I did wrong during college – especially after I transferred to Rutgers-Camden – but since my past experiences and decisions put me where I am today, the lesson of Guster’s “One Man Wrecking Machine” absolutely applies here.)

Growing up in a world dominated by Baby Boomers meant that graduating from college signaled it was time to play by the rules. Student loans needed to be paid, and although the ladders for career advancement held no interest for me, having a stable profession was essential for the kind of middle-class lifestyle that I strived towards. So, dressing my age and cultivating/maintaining a certain kind of appearance were essential components to achieving that particular goal.

After 15+ years of muddling along that path, I started taking advantage of the opportunities presented by a transition to working from home full-time. Rarely needing to appear in the traditional office setting made it easier to unfurl my personal freak flag. It helped immensely that Sally encouraged me to embrace my inner weirdo. Initially, this meant more regularly wearing the kind of geeky t-shirts I loved and building a larger collection of them. Then, in the spring of 2018, I decided that I no longer wanted to continue wearing the kind of boring light spring jackets that were age-appropriate for the middle-aged crowd.

I needed to once again own and regularly wear a denim jacket covered in patches and pins.

After finding an unadorned thrift store jacket that was the same shade of blue as my high school jacket, it was remarkably easy to acquire a combination of patches for it – far easier than it was to do so in my teen years. In fact, it was far too easy to find the kinds of geeky, sociopolitical, and just plain weird that appealed to me. As a result, I quickly accumulated more pins than needed. Didn’t seem like much of an issue, however, as pins could easily be swapped out, replaced, and moved around as the mood struck. The 2018 version of my high school jacket brought large amounts of joy.

The only issue was that I kept finding and acquiring additional pins that just spoke to me. It didn’t take long before I also found myself wanting to purchase additional patches despite the fact that there really wasn’t enough room left on the jacket for them – at least, not without feeling like I had overdecorated the jacket. Yet, I basically resisted and was essentially happy to wear it whenever the mood struck.

Then sometime after the pandemic hit, I simply felt the need to create another one, this time with a different color of denim. Once again, it was far too easy to find sufficient patches and pins to adorn it with. After that, the notion of acquiring multiple jackets in such a manner just felt right. Within relatively short order, I found myself with a large collection of them.

Along the way, the realization hit that the jackets were serving multiple functions for me. As well as providing a means of self-expression, they allowed me to channel my creativity in way not possible with the creations I made using my Lego collection. In addition, the patches and pins themselves became a kind of temporary tattoos, and as the number of jackets grew, I found myself reaching for particular jackets that seemed appropriate for the mood I was experiencing at that time.

Most importantly, though, the jackets had become my armor for navigating a world that seems to be increasingly hostile to my sensibilities. Being a woke, middle-aged, cis, hetero, white male, I am aware of just how much my subset of species collectively has done regards to fostering racism, misogyny, tribalism, homophobia, and a host of other reprehensible sociopathic behaviors. I’m also aware of how much my subset of the species is clearly acting out against and clearly feels threatened by a world that is more open, pluralistic, queer, and not willing to put up with toxic forms of traditional masculinity.

Each of my jackets contains patches and pins that absolutely engage in virtue signaling. However, the intended audience is not minorities, women, or members of the LGTBQ+ community; the target is other middle-aged, cis, hetero, white males who are trying to stand in the way of what I believe is a better world. I want them to know that while I may look like them, I absolutely want to part of the type of society they are trying to defend and reassert. Wearing these jackets makes me feel more at ease, more secure. Hence, armor.

I am now in the process of decorating my ninth jacket. Amazingly, no two are the same color, and there is very little in the way of using the same patch or pin on multiple jackets. They are significant reason why I feel like I am now living my best life. I also believe that teenage me would be thrilled if could somehow see what I’ve done during my middle-aged years. At that age, even though felt wrong, adopting certain tenants of traditional masculinity seemed essential in order to be socially accepted and draw attention away from my natural non-normative behaviors. These jackets are a part of my openly embracing my weird true self.

And, I couldn’t be happier.