Much easier than expected

Given the frequency with which I was inclined to post blogs having to do with me (rather than news) on Myspace, I suspected that I’d have some difficulty in finding a daily subject here. It seems that I was mistaken, and I’m rather glad of that. It’s not that I need an outlet for anything. I have enough people willing to listen to my drivel in a non-static form, and there’s nothing compelling in expounding upon my thoughts on the page (such as it is), but it’s here, and it’s oddly satisfying. I’m able to eschew the normal social mores which constrain my tongue. It’s not like I typically abide by these anyway, but I do, on some level, know that some things are just patently offensive. I can’t very well tell my friends in plain language that I think their actions are sometimes childish, nor give them advice as flatly as I would like to. This mental filtering very rarely takes any precedence in my day to day conversations.

I’m a deft manipulator of other people. It’s never the intention to coerce them into doing as I wish or acquiescing to my point of view, but it’s often the outcome. I have a certain knack for elaborating my ideas or observations in such as way that it’s natural to agree with me. I tend to be correct, so this it’s not necessarily a bad thing. What it does mean is that I’m frequently the confidante of those I interact with regularly. Should there be problems or concerns, it falls upon me to express them to the offending party, should that be desired. I’m fine with this. For whatever reason, advice I give to others is valued, and I get a bit more insight into the situation than I had before.

It’s a calculated and delicate dance at times. When it comes to my own conundrums, however, most everybody is kept at a distance. It’s exceedingly rare that I deem something so insurmountable or enigmatic that it’s worthwhile to enlist the aid of others. I’m not certain that they’d bother, but it’s apparent that it would be an exercise in futility given the blighted landscape of their own lives. Regardless, I’m not a man easily knowable. Perhaps that’s fallacious. The people who I’ve known the longest appear to willfully ignore changes since I moved away. I may have been capricious and unpredictable before I left, it’s true. That hasn’t been true for a long time. Some of the decisions in my life are a tad spontaneous. Nobody, including me, expected what happened when I helped Dan move. Sometimes we can astound even ourselves. I find it disheartening that they cannot anticipate my behavior. I’m direct with them at this point. No reason to be otherwise.

Still, there remains a sole person who knows my mind. It’s not because he hears everything (although that’s not far off), and it’s not because I’ve known him the longest. We are remarkably similar. Yes, we’ve lived apart for four of the last six years. It has not made a noticeable impact on our development. Disparate as we most assuredly are in some ways, we happen to read the same books at around the same time, frequent the same websites (even if they’ve not been mentioned), hold the same political and social views (though neither of us adhered to the current modus operandi at the time of our separation), and pursue many of the same ambitions. There’s only one person to whom I could be referring here, and it should be obvious.

I almost feel like we are one person in two places. Sure, genetics is proving to be an enlightening field when it comes to coincidences between twins. Upbringing may have had something to do with it, as could have the amount of time we spent with each other until adulthood. A lot of things have changed since May 16th, 2001 in both our lives, yet we seem tied to the same path. There is a bond which words cannot describe, and cannot be sundered. Though I had a lapse in trust not so long ago, I know without asking that he will always defend my cause, and he can expect the same from me. I need never preach my case, nor detail my reasoning. He understands, and he already knows what I what I’m thinking. What may seem opaque to others is but a veil which he has always seen through. It’s something which I cannot explain.

It’s been months since I’ve seen him, unfortunately. True, there have been longer stretches of time (mostly when he was in training), but there are no extenuating circumstances here. He has a wonderful wife who I don’t speak to nearly as often as I should (given the level of social activity I’ve been partaking in lately), the type that I would love to find one day (probability of this is near zero). Two children who I love dearly. I saw every major event in Anya’s first 19 months. Walking, first words, all the rest. I’m 1500 miles away from those now. I’m utterly absent from Alex’s development. I never saw myself becoming the doting uncle. I seem to have been wrong. Perhaps that’s because I do not, for the most part, find babies to hold my interest until they start exhibiting a definitive personality and the ability to communicate their thoughts and desires. They’re both old enough to do that now.

As to when I’ll be going down to visit again, I have no idea. On the upside, there’s a possibility that they’ll be coming here for Anya’s birthday (early June) for a weekend. That would elicit a great deal of happiness. There was some debate as to whether or not they would be moving here last summer, and I appreciate the reasons why they did not, but it was a disappointment nonetheless. Ideally, there will be a resuscitation of that topic of conversation when he finishes school (for a multitude of reasons). If not, life goes on. We’ve managed for years as it is, and it’s not the end of the world to wait longer or anticipate a few visits a year (either me there or them here). I’ll dare to hold out hope.