I grabbed my large back, strapped my guitar on my back and stepped off the curb and fell flat on my ass. Bruised knee and an entire audience of people worried about the old guy falling down. Fuck.
I grabbed myself, took a pseudo bow, and continued on into the Port Authority Bus Terminal. As I rounded the bus a voice shouted out, “Johnny Mac! How was New York?”
It was the first responder and bus driver from the trip up to the Catskills.
“So good, man. So good! Thanks for saying hello. I hope you have a great week.”
I had an hour or two before my room at the Night Hotel would be ready. I went uptown and down in rent to a hotel I’d stayed in with my now ex-girlfriend and her son. I forgot the wifi sucked. Oh well, I wouldn’t know this *again* for a few hours. I went back to the bagel place for some food and wifi. “An everything with cream cheese and a large drip,” I said to the woman.
Back to civilization. Back to Bumble checking in New York. Happy to be heading toward a comfy bed and some rest. I logged in and affirmed some of the Facebook connections from the music retreat. Still, no photos of my two performances, that would probably be up to me. Unimportant. I affirmed the address of the hotel and enjoyed my bagel. The coffee on the other hand was awful. I bought a bottled Coke and checked some email.
“Please let me know how you’re progressing on the project,” I emailed the young entrepreneur from Austin. She was supposed to be working on our project (pre-paid) while I was away. No need to update my ex-girlfriend or ex-wife at the moment. I sent “HI” texts to my daughter and my son. I was back from the mountain. I was ready to be back from the mountain and have a few days in New York City before heading home.
I’m going to turn this narrative around.
As we learn in Al Anon, the issue is not your partner/son/girlfriend’s drinking. The only part you can work on is your own response to their unhealthy habits. What you CAN control: your own behavior and words. What you CANNOT control: other’s behaviors.
As I asked to let go of my son’s recovery journey on the mountain, I’m not about to make this book about him too. This one is about me. My journey. My release. My… whatever. I am going to let the days flow by. I’m going to explore different endings for myself. This is not about him. Not about my ex-wife. Maybe a bit about my ex-girlfriend, but not really. This then is what? A new ending? Hmm.
There is no ending. Well, at least, not until someone dies or leaves. I guess I am forcing an ending with my girlfriend. And I am refusing to negotiate and rely on my unreliable ex-wife and her husband. I’m done with relationships for a minute. Let me seek myself. Let me explore my trajectories over the next few days in NYC before heading home. And let me dry out all my wet gear in the hotel AC. I was tired and tired of the bullshit of dealing with a bunch of different people. I was interested in my son’s progress. I would not hear from him, for sure, but I would be renavigating the “treatment options team” with my 12-Step coach and my son’s other two parents.
I wrapped up the second half of the bagel and made my way to the taxi stand. It was a short ride to the hotel. The city looked hot and busy for a mid-Friday afternoon.
the new ending: > next | index
