I Hate Today,

Friday, January 22, 2016 – Santa Barbara, CA

I hate today.

I hate that I woke up this morning with a chest throbbing from anxiety for the second day in a row – at exactly 3:57 am.

I hate consistency when it comes to insomnia.

Tomorrow I turn forty years old.

I hate getting older.

On Monday, I leave my home of the last seven years.

I hate that I feel so compelled to leave, and more so that it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

Today I gave our dog Lucas to my ex-wife to look after for the rest of the year. I hated doing it.

I hate that she’s going to watch his full blooded yet completely misguided attempts at catching squirrels and wake up to his kisses for the next twelve months and I am not.

I hate that I can’t look past that pettiness and simply be thankful he will be doted on and cared for to no end. Even if she’ll make him lose the six extra pounds of bacon weight we put on together over Christmas.

I hate that Lucas isn’t at my feet right now either furiously slurping his junk or beginning the cold desperate stare that signifies his dinner time is exactly sixty-one minutes away.

I hate how beautiful she looked today and how she can make our divorce seem like a good idea as she explains it to me devoid of any apparent hurt.

I hate that I can’t find it in me to hate her. Not even a little bit.

I hate that it took her leaving me to wake me up and get me where I am today.

I hate all the death that happened last year, even though no one died. Death is awful. And scary. And unfair. Or is it?

I hate things that are awful, scary, and unfair.

I hate saying goodbyes. Even if they’re supposedly temporary.

I hate the word hate. It’s so crass and unsophisticated. I’m sophisticated as fuck, even on the days that I hate.

I hate that my leaving on Monday is hurting someone else I love.

I hate hurting people.

I hate the fear I have about this upcoming year, and even more about what may come after.

I hate this feeling of being out of control as much as I hate being hateful.

I hate letting fear get one up on me. Stupid fear, I hate you.

But.

I love knowing, at some point today, after one of these breaths, that being hateful will turn back to being grateful.

Breathtakingly grateful for all of it. The pain. The loss. The age. The challenge. The fear. The hurt. The hurting. The loneliness. The excitement. The potential. The holy fuck it’s all real and it’s happening. All of it.

Grateful for every last second of it. The ridiculousness. The absurdity. Every micro-ounce of awesomeness and awfulness all mixed together. The insanity. The growth. The presence. The possibility. The gifts wrapped in barbed wire. The barbed wire wrapped in bows. The whole gamut.

The whole “being human” thing. The choice to look past what’s not there and see what is. What may still be. The faith. The trust. And most of all, the love. The love that’s everywhere despite the inane feelings to the contrary. It’s always there. Everywhere.

So much love. Gobs of it. So, so, so much love.

That kind of grateful.

And when my feeling turns from hateful to grateful, I will have made it. I will put my head down on that damn pillow, blow a kiss skyward to my pup, make a silent prayer beckoning him to always believe in himself, to run riot after those squirrels, and to shit in her living room with reckless abandon.

And I’ll know. I’ll know I am one hard-earned day stronger.

Crap away, amigo, I love you.