Four years ago, there was motorcycle camping. The promise of adventure. Off the beaten path where not even my suburban could go. Yet so much more in touch, in a way a cager could never appreciate. This ended abruptly three years ago. Some time later, I discovered bicycles. Another period has drawn to a close. And so it begins.

I was talking to G the other night about how my last trip to Burning Man seems unbelievably long ago. She said it didn’t to her, if you just counted summers. I can’t count summers though, where do you count? What exactly? It’s long ago because not only has everything changed since then, it has multiple times. The acquisition and now changing jobs. The multitudes of dating, some successful, some heartbreaking. All the volunteering and advocacy I’ve gotten involved in since.

I often think back to talking with M about how I didn’t think I, nor we, could ever really settle down, as I always seemed to want to be up to something. But that was me a year and a half ago. I barely recognize that me now. I trimmed the hair on the back of my head a little this morning, taking some time for grooming as I can enjoy these little things since I’m between jobs. I hadn’t done a great job here and I was starting to grow a bit of a mullet. Sitting outside with a mirror in the sun, I thought about my gray that is solidly beginning to take over. This year… something about it made me move on from so much, grow up even. Who was that man three and a half years ago? five years ago? Christ, so young.

My God! I’d only seen him years later when he was worn down by life. Look at him. He’s got his whole life in front of him and I’m not even a glint in his eye.

C and I had a talk today about what I think about drinking while at Burning Man. I’m three months sober, and I’m really unconvinced I need to stay sober. It seems easy to make an exception for BM, especially since I’m not there to do much else than relax and not die from heatstroke. But that brings into question what happens thereafter. I know I don’t want to ever be a regular at bars again, at least to drink. With my predisposition to alcohol, is it safe to drink at all? Not in a “will I fuck up and ruin everything” addict way, but in a way that is just too difficult to discern because of where and what I come from.

Everything is working out right now. What is that. It’s change. Strange. What I’m afraid of is still strange. the list of what is “just hard” but achievable is so much longer than what is painful and unachievable. Does the latter contain anything other than M?