Lat/Lon of Life

“Changes in latitude…” Jimmy Buffet

Before I left the beach in Fort Myers, I didn’t plan for the cold. I’d spent the last 21 months mostly in shorts, t-shirt and flops. I was moving to another tropical climate in SoCal…then I got here.

A simple search of the Lat/Lon of both locales shows the degrees of difference. FMB is exactly three degrees north of the tropics, as in the Tropic of Cancer. It’s a very moderate climate where lows to 40 mark the winteriest chill of the season. In SoCal, especially at the beaches, 40’s have been the low since I arrived in mid-January.

I never considered these factors:

SoCal/LA is NOT in or near the tropics.

The Pacific Ocean temp at the coast is low 50’s.

It does actually rain here.

On that last one, it’s been the wettest late Jan/early Feb in a really long time, I believe. In the month since my arrival, there have been consecutive days of rain in THREE of the four weeks. Now they needed the rain, SORELY, I just wasn’t prepared. I thought CA was sunnier than FLA.

The cool sea breezes fueled by a much cooler and larger body of water add to the wintry feel. The Gulf OF MEXICO is considerably warmer, even in the winter. And it’s ALWAYS breezy at the coast in SoCal.

Not only is SoCal not in the tropics, it’s 11 degrees north. It’s nearly four degrees further north than Tallahassee. And we use to get hard freezes in TLH! I’m not whining and complaining. I’m simply pointing out that I did not do my homework. I wasn’t prepared.

In fact, I wasn’t prepared for my train ride up the coast and across the cold Midwest. I’d originally thought my Amtrak train was the old Sunset Limited that basically follows I-10 cross country. I had forgotten that train has been cancelled for more than a decade, cancelled when I lived in TLH and it used to pass through there. I brought one hoodie, a few pairs of long pants, no sweats, and no jacket.

It’s sort of a metaphor for life. I don’t always plan well. It’s not always as sunny as I expect it to be. And I pay the price for my laissez faire attitude. But it DOES keep life interesting!

The main thing was getting as far away from Florida and my ex as possible. And putting 37 degrees of longitude between us fits the bill. The most important part is my mental health. And as the saying goes changes in latitude (i.e. your mental outlook) effects your attitude, and this move has done me worlds of good. Besides, if it stays too cold here for my liking, I can always move two degrees south to San Diego.

The adventure continues…stay tuned!

BLM Movement

BLACK HISTORY MONTH

Why Black Lives Matter

My daughter and I marched in 2020's Black Lives Matter/George Floyd protest in Tallahassee. We were proud to support her African American heritage, on her mother's side, her right to speak out on her own behalf and to let the world know that we've had enough of racism, hate and bigotry in this country.

I just learned of the BLM movement that year, but it started with three women in 2013, one of whom had simply made the comment on social media that black lives matter. And, C'MON, this is a bare minimum requirement, for a human life to matter. Black folks are human beings and so, of course, their lives are sacred, have meaning and value. The fact that this has to be stated for the record is the truly sad part.

These women--Garza, Tometi and Cullors--met at a black leadership conference that year, bonded and created a website for their grassroots organization. As Tometti reminds us, "Black people aren't a monolith." The black community is just as diverse as every other ethnic or racial group. The media just likes to perpetuate stereotypes, but you shouldn't buy into them. They only serve to fuel the hate and bigotry we still see today. The BLM co-founders were horrified and largely motivated by the killing of Trayvon Martin the year before they met. But it was the George Floyd murder by police in 2020 that saw the movement explode internationally.

I am convinced that so many people being home bound and isolated by COVID that Spring gave them a reason to get outside and to congregate. I know that I was paying so much more attention to the MSM and social media at that time and I couldn't get enough of the George Floyd/BLM coverage. I was outraged, as were my daughters. It took no convincing to get my youngest to march that day in downtown Tallahassee with me. It's a memory I'll always cherish.

She and every black member of my family matters significantly. In society, it's a bare minimum to say that one's life matters. Of course, all lives matter, but because of systemic racism and bigotry, we sadly have to single out black lives because they haven't always mattered in this country.

And since it's Black History Month, we should honor the legacy of Black Americans because THEIR HISTORY IS OUR HISTORY! And we should continue to demand better of this country and its government. That's why I'll be joining the continuing protests across all 50 states on February 17th. Please join me and take to the streets.

#BlackLivesMatter

(Editor’s note, the book “Call and Response: The Story of Black Lives Matter,” by Veronica Chambers, 2021, help to inspire and inform this post. It has lots of great photos plus a timeline of the civil rights movement.)

STOPPING THE MADNESS, The Series

I started a series on my YouTube channel documenting my mental health journey the last two and one half months. I titled it Stopping The Madness, parts one through three. Part three is the video above which I recorded in mid-December but just rediscovered on my phone. I hope you’ll take the time to watch it and the two that came before. There is a final part to the series, recorded earlier this week, titled Stopped The Madness. As you may have read in my last post, I finally escaped my narcissist abuser and left Florida for good! As I write this, I’m somewhere in the plains of Southern Colorado aboard an LA-bound train.

I successfully got out of a very toxic situation turned survival quest the last two months. We navigated the holidays together, but my secret mission the entire time was to escape with my sanity. I accomplished that this week.

In the process of escape, I learned that the narcissist’s meddling, low IQ sister messaged MY sister to cast aspersions on my character. WHY??? Just let it go! You were never for the relationship from the get-go. And what was your aim? To harm my reputation with my ride-or-die sister whom you don’t know and have never met. Had this transaction gone down in person you surely would’ve met HER HANDS! My baby sis don’t play that way. She loves her big brother and would go down fighting to protect me! You don’t know what we’ve been through, fought through and suffered together these last ten years. That’s because you are foolish and ignorant just like your siblings. Lynn doesn’t have your back like that, TRUST ME!

Sorry that all of that needed to be said. But the abuse I suffered was real. It’s all documented on my channel, in videos, in a couple of blog posts here, in my private journal (yes, the one the narcissist violated because she thought she owned everything about me, even my thoughts and feelings) AND with the psychiatric staff at Park Royal. Yes there is a record. And I kept receipts. I’ll never be snared by another narcissist disguised as a damsel in distress.

I am literally on the road to healing. Once I get to LA, I will find a good therapist and manage this process, as I did in Boulder in 2021. Keep tabs on me here and on YouTube.

My journey, my story to tell

EDITOR’S NOTE: It is NOT my intent to air Lynn’s dirty laundry. I only felt obliged to begin writing it last weekend when she began lying about me, our situation and assassinating my character, as she is prone to do. I have not cheated on her nor did I leave her for someone else. Period.

My story

It will soon come to light that I left Fort Myers Beach and all it had to offer behind, including a romance that was doomed from the start. I’m talking March 2012 when we were both still married. That should’ve been enough of a red flag to us both. Only one of us heeded it and spent ten years healing, growing and changing.

When I got back to what once was my happy place, I set a course for new adventure but ended up going right back to relearn the lessons I thought I had mastered the first time. Nope, I ran right past all of the red flags. You see, the dreamer in me wanted to rewrite the ending of our saga. Here is how I started that last chapter in 2024.

What I quickly realized is that my partner, the one who I called in the blog post linked above “my person,” was not any different than the psychological mess—the wounded child—I’d left here on Mango Street in February 2014! I’d assumed, and given her the benefit of doubt, that she’d likewise grown, matured and changed over the ten years of separation. I was wrong to assume anything. Turns out, I had to learn the lessons all over again. So that instead of writing a love story, what I was actually finishing is a horror/thriller ride.

It has finally come to an end.

I walk away licking my wounds once again. This is no call for sympathy, just a cautionary tale. Good guys easily become suckers. I fell for the damsel routine once. I didn’t believe I was falling for it again. I thought I had come back to find a strong, empowered woman who had discovered and learned to love herself. Instead, I found the same damsel whose victim game is well worn and tattered, who needs to learn to own up and lose the girl who cried wolf routine.

While no one can undo the damage to the little girl, the adult woman can decide to heal, forgive and move on. That’s what I have decided to do. I need to heal once again from the emotional scars that two trips down this road have left deep inside me.

This isn’t abandonment 2.0 regardless of what some others might believe. She never really wanted me here. She obviously wanted to continue punishing me for the sins of her father and the abusive men who came before me. Added to that she had a personal vendetta for what I “did to her” in 2014. This isn’t me leaving. It’s her pushing me out the door. She’s been doing it since June! I have all of the receipts in my journal.

I fought her on it the first few times in June/July, refusing to leave “her house.” Funny how she called it “Doyle Beach House,” in one breath and her place the next, threatening me with police-enforced eviction more than one time. When she did this again in August, I left. I never felt so liberated.

She used counseling to manipulate me back inside her world. She promised her counselor and I to never kick me out again. She kept her word on that. I was back to being “pawpaw” or her “hubby boy” within weeks. We celebrated my September birthday with a short cruise to Freeport.

Fast forward through two hurricanes and many fights later…

We were at a hotel in town where we chose to evacuate with our pets during Hurricane Milton. I once again made the mistake of pointing out her poor choices/bad behavior. The child lashed out again, leaving me there the night of landfall and telling me she didn’t care if she or our animals survived the night.

So she kept her word of never kicking me out. But giving up and leaving me is no different. Our relationship ended that night. I slept on the hotel room floor once she came to her senses and returned to safety. Once home, I was determined to leave her for good. It took weeks, but my plan eventually materialized.

Fast forward again to this past weekend. She attacked me for being the opposite of everything she typically says that I am, “her perfect man.” This is the game the narcissist plays with their narc supply—you are their hero one minute, Satan the next, there is no in between. I’ve suffered in this no-win situation far too long. I no longer want to be her hero, the villain OR the victim.

So I left.

Monday I packed my things and walked out the door. I’m never looking back. Narcissist abuse is real. My suffering was very real. Therapists will all tell you to cut off their supply and go no contact. That’s what I am doing. 

No regrets and no shame. It was just another misadventure. It was a mistake I MADE TWICE! Never again.

(Edited and posted in Pittsburgh, PA)