The Bostonian Abroad

I first learned about Dr. Martens in 1992, when my friend Matt, who was cool as all get-out, was wearing a pair on campus at the small college I was attending in New Hampshire. The shoes were Docs, the 1460s, kind of shiny, and not the boots. When I got the chance, I had a pair of my own. Wearing Docs fit in with my developing darker persona in the early-to-mid '90s. I wore mostly black, listened to the Sisters of Mercy, wore an old Army-Surplus field coat, and was pissed off at the world. Living in Boston, and living without a car, I walked everywhere. The city streets are rough on footwear, and my jobs always required a lot of time on my feet, so the Docs were great! --Once I had them broken in. As a teacher, I liked that they were tough and comfortable and fit well with my lifestyle as a young ESL teacher on the make (if an ESL teacher can ever be said to be "on the make"). Then I moved to Fiji, and Docs did not work in that environment at all. They quickly molde...

As I lie here in bed with my dogs, I write this to maintain my active statusand not lose this page. Life has been great! Bike running great! Dogs cute! House tended to. Happiness in new friends. I am 45, chubby, limping, in pain, working, growing, and eager to continue living life to the best extent possible.

I recently discovered my father's brothers and sisters, and this discovery has brought into sharp relief the difficult fact that of my split Catholic/Protestant heritage. My Dad grew up the son of a Catholic woman, but he hated the Catholic Church. He married my mother, who was a Catholic, and I was baptized a Catholic as a baby. I grew up as a Jehovah's Witness, but I have always identified with the Catholic Irish cause for self-governance. Ironic, since JW is a form of Protestantism. Now I find out that my biological grandfather was English, very Protestant, and went on to marry a Protestant lady in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. So let us recap: I grew up JW/Protestant, though I was baptised Catholic, and I am an Agnostic, but I am in favor of a free Ireland and ambivalent about Northern Ireland. My Mom was a Catholic, her dad was one, and her mom was one. As a matter of fact, my Grandfather came from a background of French Heugenots! Anyway, my Dad's mom was a cat...

Now begins the true middle age, the time period when I thicken and huff and puff climbing stairs and feel the creep of time on my very bones, the time when I rail against the loss of virility, and the time when I come to accept my own inevitable exit from existence. And so I seek to find my comfort, my purpose, and my motivation in this new period where the old attitudes no longer fit, kind of like my clothes. Shall I proceed to purchase a fast car or find a fetus girlfriend to "prove" my continued relevance in a youthful frame of mind, a kind of existential masturbation beneath people of my age but all too often fallen into. Time was when I thought of my job as not self-defining; I'd be aghast at the mere thought of my going corporate, middle class, GENERIC. I wanted to be the unique one, the one who bucked all trends and led the world to new heights -- a legend in my own time, a Hemingway wrapped in a Roosevelt, wrapped in a Ghandi. Ahhh, the dreams of youth. . . ...

I learned a few things owning a 2005 Road King. Here is a list of those things that I have learned in no particular order and with a great deal of divergence along the way because I just don't care to be all organized and shit. First and foremost, I learned not to have two separate brands of tires on my bike. That was a bad idea. Everyone says it is fine, but I think not. Right after I bought that Metzler, I crashed. I will not make that mistake again if I can help it! The tires were not very scuffed in. They were cold from sitting a long time outside as I taught inside. The lot was unfamiliar to me and I didn't think of the sand and gravel on the pavement. It was dark. I leaned too aggressively and Blammo! Broken leg, broken life. Another thing I learned is that I don't like being uncomfortable. I used to not mind it so much. It made me tougher, I thought. Pussies want comfort. Well then call me a pussy. I want comfort. My old back rest was not very restful. It had a h...

Sometimes I rummage through the past. I pick out the old pieces and think about what hasn't been in . . . Who I was. Who I became. Who I have become. What I lost. And I realize I rode for more than the reason I had placed before me. And I went down. From my hubris. My abdication. Some things that I have felt. That I have been Never could change. And the road that came after was always harder than I imagined it could be. So now "the springtime of my life's time" has turned the other way. And then some. And I have gone on and lost and lost and gained as well. And I see my journey was more a drifting towards an uncertain future. Pleasure, pain, anger, and the lot, I have endured, carried, and laid down. Because I simply decided to let it go. But ever so less often, things come back to haunt me, in that old familiar way. And I realize My old addiction is still here. Here to stay.