Weird Dream

I don't usually put too much stock in dreams, but when the point is as obvious as it was in the other night's dream, it's kind of hard to miss.

First, a little background. I realized pretty quickly after 9/11 that I had lost faith in the American Dream, the idea that if you have some ability, and you work hard, and you get a break or two, and you're a good person, you'll succeed. Everything in my life seemed to support that. I did well in high school and got into a good college. I did well in college and got into a good law & business school. I did fairly well in law school and business school and moved to New York and started working my way toward becoming a partner. I was a very good lawyer.

Then, I lost my sense of safety and security, I lost my sense of self, I lost my wife, I lost my job, I lost my apartment, I lost my belief that if you work hard you would succeed, etc.. Instead, I came to believe "Why try if it can all be ripped away from you so easily?"

But, after the other night's dream I think there was a piece missing in my belief. The intermediate step.

In the dream, I was back in college. As usual in dreams, it wasn't the college I went to or the dorm I lived in, but a facsimile of them. The person I have a conversation with in the dream was an associate at a law firm in New York where I worked on 9/11. In the dream, there were about 10 people living in the dorm room. Everyone got up in the morning and went to class, but I was just hanging out, not doing anything. The guy asked me "Aren't you going to get dressed and go to class?" I responded "No, what's the point?" He said something about that's what we were supposed to do. We're here in college to learn and prepare for life.

I exploded in a rage and started punching the lockers. (Yes, in my dream, there were high school metal book lockers in our dorm room.) I was screaming "It doesn't matter what I do! I'm going to lose everything anyway! Why try? What does it matter? What's the point of doing anything if it's all going to end up being taken away from you. If I'm going to lose everything in the end, I'd rather not push myself now. I'd rather not go to class. I'd rather lie in bed and watch TV. I'd rather be lazy and not do anything if it's all going to be for nothing in the end!"

My friend patiently explained that we do things not for the end goal, but for themselves. My friend, who is a fitness buff, said he runs and exercises not because it'll help him get the girl or because he'll life longer, but because exercise and eating well is a benefit in and of itself. It makes him happier today. In other words, it may all get taken away from him in the future, but in the interim, he's happier and feels better because he exercises and eats healthy. He works, not because he wants to be president or a CEO someday, but because it improves his life today.

That's all I remember of the dream.

I'm adding that as #3 on my list of big realizations this year.

SPH

It turns out it's not easy to indulge your SPH fetish when people keep telling you your penis isn't small enough. :-/

What's In A Name?

"Hallelujah! Come Join The Jubilee!" is the name of an album by The Black Crowes. I like the sense of happiness and celebration it suggests.

And, why did I choose the screen name "The Lusty Texan"?

Well, the "Texan" is obvious. I'm a Texan.

"Lusty" probably isn't quite as obvious. It has two meanings:

1. Full of vigor or vitality, robust, merry, joyous; and
2. Excited or driven by lust.

I aspire to live a robust life, full of vigor and vitality, and merriment and joy.

On the other hand, when posting on an adult message board or writing in a sex blog, having the word "Lust" in part of your name just seems to make sense. ;-)

Who Am I? Why Am I Here?

When I read blogs, I often find myself wondering about the blogger's background. So, I figured that's where I'd start.

I'm a Texan- born and raised. I was born in Dallas, but I got out of there after just a month. I spent a couple years in Austin and Little Rock, but I don't remember anything about them, seeing as I was still crawling and barely talking when I lived there. Houston became home when I was a little older than three (hence, the anti-Dallas bias).

I had a middle class upbringing in the suburbs. Dad went to work every day. Mom stayed home and took care of the kids. I'm the oldest of three, two boys and a girl.

In middle school I was a pretty typical kid: I had friends, but was a little socially awkward; I wasn't terribly athletic; I had a some musical talent, but no real talent for art; I got average grades; Girls confused me. I was encouraged to apply myself harder in school, and once I did I found myself at the top of the class. Soon, I was getting a lot of attention for being "smart" and getting good grades. I quickly learned that the way for me to get attention and be liked was to be smart and intellectual, and for years I focused most of my energy and efforts on academic pursuits. Unfortunately, that meant the other aspects of me didn't develop as quickly or fully (social skills, athletic pursuits, artistic interests, etc.)

I did very well in high school. I went to Vanderbilt for college (I majored in Russian and Sino-Soviet studies and got good grades) and Emory for law school and business school (mediocre to good grades). Then I moved to New York City and pretended I was a big time corporate attorney, working on mergers and acquisitions and securities transactions.

I spent quite a bit of time in Moscow and St. Petersburg back in the late 80’s and early 90’s. I met an American woman in Moscow in 1994. We fell in love and got married. By the beginning of 2001, I thought I had it all: a good marriage, a good job, a nice apartment in lower Manhattan, and plans of kids a few years later.

Then
it
all
fell
apart.

In early 2001, my wife told me she wanted a divorce, and in a matter of days she was gone. A few months later I was in my apartment getting ready to go to work when a plane flew into the north tower of the World Trade Center, just a couple blocks north of where I lived. I ran out to the street to see what was happening. The second plane flew over my head and slammed into the south tower. I looked up and saw a giant fireball in the sky and debris falling to the ground and people running in every direction. I went back to my apartment to figure out what to do, and while I was there the towers fell- first the south tower, then the north tower. I couldn't see what was happening, but the noise and the shaking were overwhelming. I thought maybe a nuclear bomb had gone off... or the world was ending... or that I’d be dead in a matter of seconds...

In many respects I was dead. I began drinking like a fish and self-destructing. By the end of 2001, I had lost my marriage, I had lost my apartment, and my behavior would soon lead to the loss of my job. I was severely depressed and suffering from PTSD.

I drifted through the next few years, suicidal, hopeless, unable to function, and completely isolated. Finally, in 2006, I spent 10 weeks in in-patient treatment, and it saved my life. They picked me up, dusted me off, gave me a little confidence, and told me I could get on the horse and try to ride again. I've spent the past few years rebuilding my life, getting comfortable with myself again, and making new friends. These days I'm happy and grateful to be alive.

It isn't my goal to write in this blog about my recovery from depression and PTSD. I do that other places. However, September 11th and my recovery from it, had a major role in shaping who I am today, and I would be leaving out a large part of my story if I didn't mention it.

I expect this blog to focus mostly on adult topics, with a smattering of entries about what's going on in my daily life.

Well, that's who I am. I hope I've piqued your interest and you'll stick around as the blog gets off the ground.

Tex