Tag: Relationships

The empty longing of a holding pattern. (Apr 12 2026)

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In which Our Hero yearns. 

When a plane doesn’t yet have a safe runway available, the control tower tells the captain to “go around again”. The captain circles and circles, awaiting the change in this external event that will enable the hundreds of passengers to continue on with their lives. No one enjoys a holding pattern. Quite the opposite: it is during these unenjoyable intervals that we find ourselves “killing time”. 

The last few weeks have been versions of this activity. I’ve forwarded key aspects of incredible importance (my eye surgery; Partner’s jaw surgery complications fixing; Partner’s medical malpractice case; apartment renovations; my work). Yet we – Partner and I – are not living the lives we wish. 

We lift weights more days than not. We amble through the most beautiful park in the greatest city in the world. We cook and eat food that we enjoy. We watch Jeopardy over lunch or dinner, shouting out the answers we know (and a roughly equal number that we don’t). 

But still, we wish for more community. 

We moved into this apartment with the intent of living with others. Now, 2.5 months in, renovations have not started. They might not for another month. Then add 4 months for the renovations themselves. And it could be – probably will be – over half a year before we live with roommates we like, hosting weekly dinners and playing board games and shouting out Jeopardy answers with more than just ourselves. 

This period – this holding pattern – weighs on me. 

There’s no point establishing clear patterns and habits and routines when they will all change in a month. No point improving the infrastructure or systems in a home that will literally have different walls. No reason to stabilize on processes of engagement with my roommate (Partner) when we’ll need to live elsewhere for a while and then return to a different home. 

So we set ourselves on a month-long horizon. We establish temporary patterns. We work, and lift weights, and reach out to friends. We enjoy what we can. 

But still, each day, I want more. 

I want what we’re building. I want at least 5 people living here. I want to cook meals with others, to establish a weekly “Come over for dinner on Tuesday!” that invites a half-dozen people. A board game group and a poker group. I miss those activities. I miss them, though I’ve never had them. 

And that weight – the weight of wanting what I don’t have – is a heavy burden

for at least the next month. Or two. Or four. Or six. Or….

Everyone Starts a Stranger (Apr 11 2026)

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In which, new friends.

“And thanks for inviting two strangers into your house,” the six-foot-six south Indian computer scientist/theater double-major said just before leaving. 

Later, Partner and I laughed at this comment. We don’t even think of such an invitation as odd. We didn’t invite strangers into our house. We invited new friends. 

We talk to strangers. It’s a chosen relationship (and future family) policy. We met this pair at a NYC alumni event for my high school on Thursday. The conversation flowed smoothly; they seemed like fun, smart, and pleasant chaps. We exchanged contact information. I input mine with a funny contact photo of myself. Later, he texted me a picture of himself mimicking that photo. 

Today we learned they don’t even know each other very well: they met a few weeks ago and became rock climbing buddies. (How droll: one brought the other to a highschool reunion without even knowing him well!)

We had them over today for lentils and conversation. The night ended with a game of Mario Party. 

The value of talking to strangers cannot be overstated. The humor – to me – of two people meeting two other people and it being *surprising* when one pair invites the other pair over for dinner… prompts a little sadness in me. While I am undoubtedly top few percentile in frequency of meeting strangers and inviting them to events, at least one of those two found the concept foreign. Pleasant, but foreign. Two college grads from last year, have they not socialized in this way? Had I, when I was in college, gone to others’ house for dinner? 

Yes. Or some facsimile. 

I remember my now-fiancée and her then-roommate (and bestfriend) inviting me to their off-campus house for drinks. She texted to ask what my drink of choice was. I replied, “whiskey sour”. I will always remember her stirring the simple syrup on the stove, explaining how it was becoming a super-saturated solution. 

Most of all, I remember the kindness of her acquiring the items to make my favorite drink. That, and her laugh. What a blessing that I may have that laugh with me forever. 

A Small Change’s Gonna Come (Apr 10 2026)

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You can’t always get what you already don’t like having

Steven Jobbers (the famous fruit vendor) once said (or at least I remember hearing of him saying it) that he tracks whether his days are good and if he ever has too many not-good days in a row, he makes a change. 

Yesterday, I made a change. 

This change: 

Walking up 7th avenue, roundabouts 26th street, I saw all the negatives. Everything sucked. So I switched it. I saw that woman’s hat. That’s a good hat. Then the windowpane. That’s some straight-up magic. Then the fact that Partner enjoys hanging out with me, even when I’m a grumptastic grumplestiltskin. That’s nice. 

I did this over and over – saw the positive, the good, the bright thing. 

Often that’s how I get dragged into the doldrums: seeing the problem, the issue, why it wouldn’t work. I avoid that, resist it, run from it. 

That’s how Partner engineers. She sees the problem, the issue, the way it won’t work. I find that demotivating. She finds it comforting. 

Today, Partner worked from a coffeeshop. I worked from home, leaving three hours before I woke up. A good day is one where you sing to yourself in the morning, then only put on pants around noon. I completed around 7 administrative tasks, only one actually for me. Then, at 1pm, Partner came back. How nice it was to see her after a few hours away! 

I like working alone. I like the emptiness. The lack of seen-ness. The feeling and knowledge that no one’s paying attention to whatever-the-hell I’m doing. Writing with a witness is a nightmare. 

She likes coffeeshops.
I can’t stand them.
Two nice

tiny

significant

shifts. 

Ahhh. 😌

Alums, Assembled. (Apr 9 2026)

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If you can’t return to the school, the school will return to you. 

“I was just talking about you. I was telling him about your underground gambling ring in highschool.” 

My reputation left an impression. 

“If the administration found you, they would have expelled you!” 

Oh, come on. Do you know how hard it was to get expelled from that school? Dealing drugs to other students or cheating on an exam, sure. Or, like, punching someone. But gambling? 

–

“Julian Wise! I know that name.” –two women from the grade below me. They recognized my name. I sure didn’t recognize them. 

–

My highschool had an alumni gathering in New York City earlier tonight. I ran into some old friends and met some new friends. This is why I live in New York: the serendipitous activities; the always-on; the my-highschool-was-on-the-west-coast-but-of-course-there-are-enough-people-in-New-York-for-an-alumni-gathering. 

I feel sad. Sad that it’s over. Sad that I can’t ride that social high. Missing it already. 

I miss that event more than I miss most of the activities I did in highschool. 

Improv, some theater, bumming around with friends. ..
I don’t miss having been there.
New York seems to have been in hibernation mode.
And now, finally, it opens. 

Repetition DOES NOT Equal Boredom (Apr 5 2026)

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In which Our Hero meets a new sort of show

The weirdest part of the Baptist Easter services was the repetition.
Say it again: The weirdest part of the Baptist Easter services was the repetition. 

Listen to me now: 

At 9:30am, Partner and I walked north into Harlem. We approached one church on the right. The church was welcoming people inside. We entered. The deacon at the door introduced us, mentioning there is a $10 admission to the service. Partner found this charge unacceptable. We left. You shouldn’t charge admission to Easter services.
Say it with me now: You shouldn’t charge admission to Easter services. 

We continued onwards up north. A few blocks later, we arrived at a second church. More active, more bustling, with bright colors adorning all the flock milling about. We joined the line to enter. Security wanded us, patted me down. We ascended to the second floor balcony of the former theater. We joined. 

And ‘allelujah, did we experience His flock. 

The singing began at 9:54am. It did not stop – I say it did not stop – until 11am. 

At 11am, the service stopped for an ad break. The Hope Network and the church itself both advertised (the latter for donations). 

Then, 11:05am. The pastor – pastor Mike – enters the stage. This man has the sort of presence that demands a $180 ticket to his 55th birthday party (on a yacht around Manhattan, cash bar, advertised during the ad break). He starts with the text. Of course he starts with the text. And oh boy oh boy does he go deep with the text. 

Deep. But not wide. Deep. 

What juice can we squeeze out of these four lines of text? And how many times can we repeat it?
There is… profound juice to be squeezed from this one line of text. 

I said: this juice can be squeezed.

Now turn to three people near you and share the message: There is. Juice. To squeeze. 

A 45 minute sermon. Fewer than 9 points total. 

The sermon was the opposite of boring. It was repetitive and grand and communal and physical. It was not wide. It contained 1) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; 2) Inviting the congregation to repeat the thesis of the sermon to their neighbors; 3) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; 4) Raising the audience up to standing; 5) Seating the audience with the wave of a hand; 6) Repeating the thesis of the sermon; and of course 7) Repeating… 

Of all my experiences at church, this was my most enjoyable. Partner commented, only half-jokingly: “Our kids might become the only white atheist Hispanics Jews in the Baptist choir.” 

I’m reminded of the Grand Texas Megachurches I visited in Austin back in 2019.
Those subtly (or sometimes obviously) wormed their messages into your minds.
Their leaders funneled away money while allegedly practicing various Good Deeds. 

This church made no promises. It gave some advice. But it was all vibe. 

Upon leaving this church, I felt energized. 

At the end of my faith healing in the Austin megachurch, three separate individuals invited me to come back to church. I never did. 

But next year, with this Baptist church?
There may be more juice to squeeze. 

Food & Fluff (April 2 2026)

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A view into my daily life. 

“Write about oxtail soup.”
“You could write about how good I am at making tasty food in all sorts of ways.”
“Nooooooo you can’t say that.”
–Partner, in answer to my question, “What should I write about today?” 

Partner and I have a new approach to food.
As we recently moved in and are about to renovate our apartment, cooking options are limited to 1) A sous vide, and 2) Two Instant Pots. 

Why two Instant Pots?
They were free. Unused. From Facebook. From the same person. 

Why did they have two unused Instant Pots?
🤷‍♀️

Partner: “I learned how to make frybread once.”

Me: “Mmhmm?”
Partner: “End of story.” 

Partner: “Okay, the context was someone else talking about the best food and … Indian fry bread.” 

Partner: (Mockingly) “Native American fry bread.” 

Partner is now saying things in an effort to make me write them.
I will not comply. 

—

Me: “You have any edits [on my daily writing]?”
Partner: “Boooooo.” 

Partner, 2 minutes later: “Now I have to self-censor.”
Me: “No you don’t.”
Partner: “Because what I want to say is ‘Poopy butts’.”
<Seeing my writing>
“You wrote it wrong. It was ‘Poopy butt face’. That’s funny. ‘Poopy butts’ is disgusting. You’re an unreliable narrator.” 

—

Partner: “I feel like you need a closing… something clever.” 

(Upon reading this) “That’s not clever.” 

The Maginot Line (Mar 26 2026)

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Crossing lines and having great times 

After World War I, having been invaded by the Germans five times in under 200 years, the French devised a novel strategy: build an impenetrable line of defenses along the French-German border. The Germans could not defeat this line. The forts and artillery were too strong. The Maginot Line held. I see this same concept all over French culture. 

The Germans went around The Line. Through Belgium. And invaded France yet again.
Oops. 

In the 2010s, France experienced a rash of bombings. In response, there now exist security officers at every sporting event and even many grocery stores. These security officers check bags for weaponry. But if you simply don’t stop? What if you walk through, refusing their patdown? Do they tackle you like the potential terrorist you are? No, they shrug uncomfortably and continue about their business. How do I know? I’ve done this many times. 

When the park closes at 6pm and it’s 5:45, the French gendarmes stand at the entry to prevent your entry. They do this because the park closing at 6pm means everyone must be out by then, not merely in the process of leaving. I accept this difference as a cultural choice and have no qualms with it. But when an American in a silly teal dinosaur hat argues with the gendarme for forty five seconds and then simply plows ahead, they do not apprehend him. They do nothing more than shout “Monsieur! Monsieur” a few times before returning to their croissant. 

Some local frogs (that’s the PC term for French people) taught me a silly game of throwing sticks. I happened upon these frogs thanks to one time I was out for a stroll in the darkness and saw lights and heard laughter. I approached to watch. They said (in French) “this is a private club”. I replied (in French) “we were out for a stroll and saw the lights”. They invited me and Partner to play. 

That experience isn’t the Maginot Line connection. (Even though a boundary did go un-enforced, ahem.)

The Maginot Line connection is that I taught a frog classmate how to play the game and she kept stepping over the line. When I called her out on it (it’s like bocci or bowling: a restriction on one’s distance is literally what makes it a game), she didn’t stop. She continued stepping over the line, stepping on it, using her foot to move the line, etc. It’s like she needed Germanic-level rule enforcement to keep her in line. 

The public parks in France close at sunset. That closure is my least favorite part of French culture. My research suggests this trait is due to the French desire to prevent people from doing bad things. In American legal culture, we’re deeply skeptical of preventive restrictions. Our permissiveness is part of what makes us innovative: you’re allowed to break the law; it just leads to punishment. 

And the fact that we Americans are a violent bunch means people have the honor not to step over lines. Viewing a nude performance art piece in Texas, I asked a fellow audience member what would happen if someone started recording. The local longhorn (that’s PC term for Texan) said that at least a dozen people would beat you up and take your phone. 

During the French Olympics, the U.S. State Department warned Americans about Parisian pickpockets. The Americans responded by beating them up so frequently it became an international meme.
Presumably when a native frog catches a pickpocketed in France, the appropriate response is to shout “Monsieur! Monsieur!” as they run away.

The Purpose of Purpose (Mar 23 2026)

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In which Our Hero lackadaisicals purposely  

Last week, in Central Park, a 2 year old boy told his mother “bus”, clearly indicating a desire to board.
His mother asked, “Where do you want to go?”
The boy did not answer, looking down to the side, clearly confused by the question.
It made about as much sense as asking someone where they’d like to go on a roller coaster.

Today, my 18 month old nephew rode the fast train to Paris. Looking out the window, he repeated, “Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Over and over. 

For babies, the process is the purpose. 

When does that change? 

In rural Arkansas, the focus is football. In urban areas, basketball instead.
When life is rough we prioritize the achievements to improve our lives.
When life is easy, we get to play. 

Now, when should we
Approach play with the intensity of necessity
Or
Approach intensity with the posture of play ? 

The most successful in sport
see the game as more important than it is. 

Is the same also true of the other direction?
The most successful CEOs have a simple stick. 

The times I’m most appealing to others
most attractive
most magnetic
Are the times when I am fully speeding ahead.
Moving aggressively or assertively in direction toward desired outcome.
enacting Purpose. 

Yet there is no joy
like a little boy
pointing at a cement mixer
only to be graced
by the kind construction workers
opening the valve
to release its steam. 

The Sunshine of My Life (Mar 21 2026)

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A reflection on partner’s reflection 

Partner seems much happier today. Less pressured. Less stressed. Less worried. More reflective.
I’d think she’s high, but I know she’s not.
Is it the weekend? The days of space while I’m miles away? The joy that comes from wanting to be with someone, when not stifled by actually being with them?
Or am I changed? Different? more open and relaxed.
I really, really think its her.

I’m glad she has time to herself. To work and gym and walk. The same things we do when we’re together. But recently, it’s been all business. The apartment floorplan; her work; my work. Heads-down in a hyper-focused sort of way.
The time we’re free, we spend playing cards with friends.
We plan or we execute. We execute or we plan.
We don’t get to have space. 

Is there a value to space.
To the separation you get from separating.
To the open, empty curiosity.
To the necessary reflection. The seeing. The reckoning.
Is that what I’m seeing? This open, energized, asking-for-what-she-wants version of a woman I love?
Is that the beauty that space creates?

Do we have too little of that in our days together?
Should I take some action to create more… 

I enjoyed writing that.
To explore its ideas.
To mull its philosophy and systems-level approach. 

But also, 

I think not.
I think it more likely
today was just,
finally, 

a warm, 

sunny

day. 

Talking to Strangers (Mar 18 2026) 

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In which Our Hero makes a new friend

“Is this your pillow?” The well-groomed man from Galveston Texas holds out my pillow in offering. 

“Yes,” I say and take it. He sits down beside me, to my right, and immediately plugs his charger into our shared outlet. 

Three minutes later, I ask my father, “is that your light that’s pointing down at me?” 

My father says no. I illuminate my screen. The screen shows an advertisement, then another. The clock in the corner counts down from nearly 3 minutes. 

“Three minutes worth of ads?” I say to no one in particular. 

The light switches off. “It was my light,” says the well-groomed man from Galveston Texas. 

 “You heading to Paris for business or vacation?” I ask. 

“Neither. My wife’s father died.” 

“Recently?” 

“Today.” 

“Was it sudden?” 

“Very sudden. Heart attack.” 

You ever talk to someone and it’s especially smooth, like the caramel inside of a Lindt chocolate truffle oozing slowly out of its shell. If I liked men and he weren’t married and I weren’t engaged… 

Harrison is an interior designer. Not an architect (that’s the requirement to be a floor plan submitter in New York), but he works with a lot of architects. He draws the plans for them to submit. 

I check the specifics. “If I showed you a bathroom and said ‘is that a prototype?’, you’d be able to spot it in your sleep?” 

“Pretty much.” 

“Feel free to say no. Can I ask you a couple questions?” 

He agrees. I pull up my floorplan. “I got these three bathrooms. This left one is accessible. And the right ones: one of the doorways is 28 inches, the other 24 inches, and one of them opens up off the kitchen.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Harrison says. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” 

“But bathrooms need to have doorways 32 inches clear.” 

“It’ll probably get through. You have the accessible one over there.” 

“That’s not code.” 

“I know. But they’re [the examiners are] reasonable. And the bathroom off the kitchen: I’ve never seen it enforced.” 

“That’s one thing I’ve loved about New York City: the rules are only rules if you’re also bothering other people. If you aren’t affecting anyone, people generally let you alone.” 

Harrison laughs. “And even if they don’t, you can always draw 32 inch doors and then just install smaller ones. We’ve been working for five years with a building that requires 34 inch doors. We’ve never installed a single one.” 

Thank you, Harrison. 

Yes, that is my pillow. 

Thank you for helping me sleep easier.