Lessons Learned

I hate writing about me. In a way, of course, all writers write about their personal lives in that every single word they write comes from them, ergo, it’s all personal, but good ones disguise that with allegory, allowing the reader to see into them without a blow by blow description of what’s actually happening. It’s much more interesting that way. So, when I say I hate writing about me, I mean I hate writing about my personal life; no one wants to read that. But on this, the last day of 2010, as I sit alone in yet another hotel room, I am reflecting on the events of the past year as they relate specifically to me, and because I’m feeling selfish and bored, I thought I’d share with you some of the things I’ve learned this year.


Casinos

I love casinos. I love the way they look, I love the way they sound, I love the way they smell. They are vibrant and exciting, warm and inviting. The joyous cacophony of electronic music and sound effects are as intoxicating as the (for the most part) positively beautiful women that proffer free drinks upon request. Every single time I walk into one I expect to see a tuxedo clad James Bond playing baccarat, casually betting huge sums of money with gorgeous trollops draped on his arm. Of course, it’s always regular people betting money they probably shouldn’t, but I like to think they share the same feeling as me: A casino is a place to shed one’s normal skin and pretend, if only for a little while, that things are different inside than they are in the regular world. In a casino, one doesn’t worry about the mundane life usually adhered to. Like an adult fairy tale, the possibility of having a “happily ever after” doesn’t seem so farfetched. They are the ultimate escape from the run of the mill.

In this year alone, I’ve been to Atlantic City, Reno, and Vegas. I wish I could say I won a bunch of money, but I can’t. In fact, I spent more than I wanted to, but not more than I should have. The important thing is that I had a good time. The lure of easy money, i.e., a big hit on a slot machine, is very difficult to resist, and although it didn’t happen for me, I did see it happen for others. The odds of winning are remote, and as I plug money into casinos, I am reminded of a bumper sticker I saw that read “the lottery is for people who suck at math”. The casinos take from me, and the entire time they’re doing it, I enjoy it. I know it’s happening, and I still do it. I do it because it’s fun. That’s what I tell myself, and I’m OK with that.

Travel

Everyone who reads these rants knows I travel for my job. I complain endlessly about it, but it’s a necessary evil. I like being able to pay my bills (and hit the casino once in a while), and I particularly like being self sufficient. My father taught me, a long time ago, that it is only through hard work that one can live the life they want to live. I took that to mean that the only way I can have the things that I want is to work for them. Everyone who knows me knows that material things mean little to me. At the risk of tooting my own horn, I make enough money to buy just about anything I want, but it’s been my experience that things owned, in and of themselves, do not happiness make. I thought I found happiness once, not long ago, but I was wrong, and so I have no choice but to continue to work (travel) and hopefully, one of these days, find the life I want, and more importantly, find someone to share it with. So for all my lamenting about travel, I have to keep in mind that it pays my bills, and, as much as I hate to admit it, being alone on the road affords me the often agonizing opportunity to pause and reflect upon what it is that I want. Maybe, someday, I’ll know what that is, and if I’m really lucky, I’ll be able to recognize it when I find it.

Broken Hearts

Everyone has a broken heart story, don’t they? If you don’t then your life isn’t complete yet. I have one, and I’m a bit embarrassed to say that it took almost 50 years for it to happen. The details aren’t really important. Suffice to say that I gave everything I had, both material and ethereal, only to find that it wasn’t reciprocated, in spite of being assured that it was. She left me in August.

I was never one to believe in a soul mate, but when I met this woman, I was converted. Like the dreamer I am, I knew, knew that this one, out of every woman I’d ever met, was the one I wanted most. I had never in my life met a woman who so totally consumed my thoughts. She was by no means perfect, but she was perfect for me. We shared a love of casinos, but I suspect (among other things), that my traveling proved to be the final straw for a camel whose back was never strong enough to support us both.

I think of her often, probably more often than I should. I tell myself that one of these days her memory will fade, and take the constant lump in my throat with it. I don’t know why I torture myself by thinking of her, and I don’t know why she pops into my mind when I don’t want her there. I can’t blame her for her presence in my mind; the problem obviously lies with me. Maybe one of these days I’ll look back and laugh at my foolishness. My biggest fear is that I’ve become jaded, that I will judge every other woman I meet by her, and forever find reasons that the latter doesn’t measure up to the former. I hope that doesn’t happen.

I hope this entry wasn’t too dark. I did have a good time in casinos, and I did have a good time traveling. I hate to love casinos, and I love to hate traveling. I didn’t have a good time when the love of my life left, so I suppose I should take a different tack and apply the same lessons I learned from casinos and traveling: Perspective goes a long way toward rationalizing the things we do. I need to find the proper vantage point from which to view my broken heart. Travel and slot machines may prove to be the key to helping me to help myself. Have a good new year.