Author: Matthew Groff

Me and the wife went out to dinner with another couple last night. They are very good and close friends to us, and it had been over three years since the four of us were able to have a dinner together without children.

Maybe I haven’t been sleeping well, maybe I was just off from the day I had … but I wasn’t present like everyone else.

Not that I didn’t want to be there. I did, and had been looking forward to this dinner since it was booked over a week ago.

…But I had nothing to talk about.

My wife had things to talk about, and the other couple had stories, and plans, and observations, and items of interest about our mutual friends.

I sat there with my bourbon, listening, but feeling that I had nothing to add; nothing that was going on with me that was of value. I had nothing to share.

I felt rather blank.

Maybe it was an off night.

“What’s going on with you?” was the question that was posed to me.

“You know, staying busy and out of trouble,” was my answer, followed with, “And you?”

A deflection. A parry. A dodge. A hustle.

I nursed a drink. I picked at roasted brussel sprouts. I talked about SNL.

Has it come to this? Will I speak about the weather, and say, “Wait a minute and it will change, am I right?”

Am I becoming boring?

A free day from work, and I have spent it doing laundry. Thus, the life of the family man; extra time means that I need to do something like a chore.

I’m not complaining, as I do get a deep satisfaction from, such as today, washing the sheets for my kid’s bed and her favorite dress so she can ware it at school tomorrow. Making her happy makes me happy.

It’s the change that has happened to me, which is a clear delineation from the old me.

A day off pre-child, let alone, pre-marriage, meant staying up late and sleeping in. I might treat myself to a lunch, and a couple of afternoon beers. Maybe a nap… watch a movie. Knowing me, even though I would have work then next day, I would stay up late again.

Now, I have a window to get things done, and no farting around.

But I do fart around.

I just spent 20 minutes looking at blazers at J Crew. Do I need a blazer? I don’t think so, but I like the idea of shopping for one.

I still have this to finish, and a few essay ideas that I want to sketch out, but there are dishes in the sink.

And then there is the book of Faulkner short stories that I bought the other day that I would like to read.

It’s as if I have too many options, but I want to be able to accomplish something now. That is the measure of the day; what did I get done? Not how I relaxed it away.

There are things in my life that I can check off as having accomplished a dream, which is a great feeling. And, as true for everyone, there are things I am still working at. Then there is the category of the things I thought I wanted, but now don’t. That is the one that has been funny to deal with.

I think this is the thing, the addendum that needs to be added for the, “Going After Your Dreams” speech… mainly that your dreams may change, and that’s okay.

My senior year in college, I was all hell bent on being a professional theatre director. I directed in school, and some limited success in community theatres. I moved to New York, and directed readings, and one acts, and read up on directing theory, joined a directing lab… and one day, I had to admit to myself that I didn’t want to do it anymore. I had felt the passion leaving me over the final two years before I admitted it, and I had acted like I was still all about it with friends. That’s why I had to admit it to myself, I was living a sham. I would still like to direct one day, but I no longer have a burning passion for it.

Then it took me awhile to come to terms with the fact that I had changed. There is a fine line from giving up, and just not wanting it anymore, and I wrestled with that. Maybe I was never that good, and I received too much rejection? Maybe. Maybe things change and life evolves?

I belong to a message board that claims to be for the residents of the neighborhood that I live in. There was a heated back and forth about a shooting that happened in NYC, where the police shot a mental disturbed black man who had a silver shower head in his hand. The police claim that they thought it was a gun, and the person had made threating gestures towards people and the police. The next level that complicates this is that the person who was shot, was known in the neighborhood as a harmless individual, though he did have mental issues. Residents of that neighborhood claim that if the police had listened to the residents, then the shooting could have been avoided.

On my neighborhood message board, a person asked whether the people who called the police where white, as the neighborhood where the shooting happened is a gentrify one. (The neighborhood I live in, and which the message board is for, is also a neighborhood that has recently started to gentrify.) It got heated very quickly as everyone started accusing everyone if being racist, and reverse racist…

There was one comment that I found insightful. The person was pointing out how angry all involved were getting, and they pointed out that at least the difficult conversation of race, economics and over policing was happening. We have to engage, and try to listen if we are going to make any progress together.

With having a kid, I am amazed at home much sleep I don’t need to keep functioning.

Functioning well, that is another story.

We have started the overnight potty training, and it is slow going. We have been getting up three to four times a night, to either deal with a wet bed, or taking the kid to the potty. It’s like when she was a new born, and we never got into a deep sleep. We only hovered around sleep, straddling conscious and unconscious.

The wife and I handle lack of sleep differently. She just slows down, but still stays sharp. I keep running at full steam, but become stupid. Might be why we work well as a couple.

Also, lack of sleep has started my mind wandering all over the place. Thinking of old events that are meaningless now, but like a flashback, I get the rush regret/remorse/or guilt from these memories. What I truly find frustrating is that if I have a flashback, then why can’t I ever have a pleasant memory? I keep going backs to the most awful experiences of my life. Not my first real kiss, but my first real breakup. I don’t get the rush of the first time I danced with a girl at my 8^th grade school dance… I get the awkwardness of being rejected at 9^th grade dance by the girl I had a crush on.

As I get older, I find life interesting in the way one event will randomly bring up another event.