In like a lion, indeed.

It's been a hell of a ride these past twelve months. It was a year ago this month that I finally manned-up and asked someone to marry me. At the time, it was the most wonderful thing I could think of. Imagine the most "in love" you've ever been and multiply it by 100. I mean, I asked someone if they wanted to spend the rest of their life with me, have children and raise them with me, be with me through the good and bad, and to sit by my bedside with my children and hold my hand when I eventually shuffle off this mortal coil.

I mean, that's really what it's all about: finding someone who will live with you and all your faults and be happy to do it because to them, you are as much their world as they are yours.

But it's not always like that and the world isn't always fair. If you'd just said no I could have gotten on with my life but you said yes and THEN no, and you tore my heart out. I just want to hurl insults and curse words at you but it would really do nothing but rile me up and I'd just be throwing those words at the equivilant of a brick wall.

So now my life is filled with not-so-childlike wonder; what do I do now, where do I go from here, am I ever going to find someone like you again, etc. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be looking for someone like you...you know, since you were pretty much the lousiest significant other EVER toward the end.

It's so funny; I sit here every night, checking out Facebook, reading my email, clicking on box scores...and staring at the red box on my desk. The red box that has settled quietly as a fixture next to my monitor in a Ziploc bag with the GIA booklet included, collecting dust and waiting for someone to buy you off of Craigslist. It's not that I haven't tried to sell it but it seems to be happy just sitting there, reminding me of the daughters we won't raise, the house we won't buy, the life we won't have together. It's your last scornful hurrah, I guess.

That's what I miss most you know, the promise of raising children together. Someday, I hope to be able to measure the success of my life someday by looking at my kids and bursting with pride. But they won't be the same kids you and I would have raised.

I still get angry and argue with you in my head. I always win. I'm pretty sure the real arguments would have gone the same way.

Am I better off now than I was a year ago? What's a good measuring stick for that? I'm single, my hair's a little thinner, children are a long way away, and I'm not sure that anyone else is ever going to fall in love with this huddled mass typing away in his room. On the other hand, I'm not living a lie, rushing into marriage with someone who doesn't want to be married to me. I've made new friends and reconnected with old ones, and I'm learning more about myself than I ever could have under the dark cloud that is you.

I go on dates, although I seem to find big faults with all of them. Maybe I'm being too picky. I don't believe it's too much to ask for a non-smoker with a decent grasp of good grammar and a healthy dose of humor. Women who are easily offended aren't for me either; anyone who knows me knows at least that. I guess I haven't hit the Desperation Zone yet, which is also why I won't join a dating site. For me, the best way to meet someone is to, well, meet them. In person. The day I join one of those sites is the day I give up on a lot of who I am.

I also want to be sure that the people I date are people I'd easily be friends with if I weren't dating them. My wife will have to be someone I share common interests with, someone I can laugh with and share stories with who gets me; not just because she's trying to make me feel good but because doing those things makes her feel good, too.

Someday I'm going to find someone who will help me raise little Lorelai, Rosalin, and the others who are unnamed but will be just as cherished. It hurts a little knowing that it won't be you; it makes me sad in the places I don't want to admit exist anymore.

I just hope that someday, they don't.

Words of advice.

For the life of me I couldn't tell you why, but I read this and cried. Maybe I'm just overtired; I don't know. It made me so happy and so sad at the same time. Where you go, I go. Anyway, here it is.


So there's this guy who's walking down the street when he falls into a hole. The walls are so steep he can't escape. A doctor walks by and the guy asks him for help. The doctor writes a prescription, throws it down the hole, and leaves. A priest passes by and the guy asks him for help. The priest scribbles out a prayer, tosses it down the hole, and walks away. Then one of the guy's friends walks by and the guy asks him for help. Without hesitation, the friend jumps down into the hole with the first guy. The first guy asks, "Are you stupid? Now we're both down here!" The friend says, "Yeah, but I've been down here before and I know the way out."

Our issues this sad Sunday morning...

I am a man who loves to think, to read, to understand the minds of people.

I love politics and literature.

I value common sense, integrity, logic, and compassion above all else.

On Friday, one of my heroes passed away.

For me, Tim Russert was a god. He was smart, informative, and he just looked like he was having fun every Sunday at that table. He would ask all these brilliant questions, every one of them fair yet exact. Each week he led the interviewee through a straight path to the heart of each matter. If you didn't bring it, you'd end up crawling out the door. The man thrived on the logic and common sense behind the decisions and words of others. He held people accountable while at the same time managing to keep his child-like sense of awe and wonder about the whole process.

You've probably already read or seen (or will read or see at some point) statements from the people who knew him best: politicians, political strategists, journalists, authors, etc. You'll get the sense that the man was and continues to be bigger than life.

It's easy enough to hear that from people who knew him personally and think to yourself, "I assume that the people who know me would say the same things about me when I die". It strikes home when the passing of a man I'd never met can hit me like it does right now.

Tim Russert is the kind of man I want to be. He's a family man, a brilliant man, a no-nonsense man. He was guided by his mind and his heart; it was as plain as day just watching him once a week on television. There's almost a sense that something is amiss with the world; we need more people like Tim Russert and instead he was taken away from us.

In a small way, I almost feel as if politics will never be accountable in the same way it's been for the 17 years Tim sat in that chair. Who else uses common sense so brilliantly in his or her queries to keep politicians honest? In a world where political journalism and discourse have become shouting and pissing matches between the loudest and most extreme political parrots among us, who will take the torch and ask the questions that the average American needs to have answered but doesn't have the means to do so? Who will take these people to task and force them to answer the tough questions with straightforward, thoughtful, and character-defining answers that shape the weekly news cycle and the political landscape as a whole?

It's painful to think about it now. I'm not sure I'll be able to fill the little piece of me that Tim Russert and Meet the Press occupied. It feels like the fire that had always been fueled by my intellectual curiosity and for the world of politics has been dimmed just a little by his passing.

Tim Russert was a giant among men. I will miss him very much.

"To whom much is given, much is expected." - Luke 12:48

RIP Mr. Russert