Autobiography

I've been through a period of change over the last couple of years, as many 45-year-olds have, I suspect. I was married for 20 years and have been divorced for one. I was a full-time stay-at-home dad for 8 years, and have been back in the workforce full-time for a year-and-a-half now. I drank, heavily, virtually every single day of my adult life, or close enough that it's the same thing. I was deeply depressed, stuck, stagnant, with no idea where to go next or how to get there.

Why yes, I did say, "stay-at-home dad." It was the best job I've ever had, and I did it from 2007 until 2015. I wrote about it extensively at my blog, I, Rodius. I did it at a time when it was a growth industry, according to the Pew Research Center. I joined the Austin Stay-at-Home Dads about 4 years after its inception. Its original founders saw it as a protective fraternity, I suppose, at a time when they felt likely to be seen with suspicion on the playground. By the time I came around, and because the town in which I was doing it was notoriously progressive, I did not feel any awkwardness or suspicion on the playground, but still, being part of a play group with scheduled social interaction for both my son and me had its value all the same.

At the dawning of 2015, my son was in 2nd grade, my value as a stay-at-home parent to an only child was greatly diminished, and my sense of self-worth was at an all-time low. I had a BA in English, and my work history was marked mostly by food service and administrative support work. I had no career before fatherhood, and I had no idea how I would re-enter the workforce or how I would explain to potential employers the 8-year gap in work history on my resumé. I was sleeping a lot, going back to bed after school drop off, and binge watching whole TV series on Netflix. And drinking heavily. I was waiting for the next part of my life to start. I took no responsibility for starting it. I told myself that there was time to start tomorrow, next week, next month, next year.

But the next part of my life found a way to start itself. My wife told me she wanted a divorce. A week later, my doctor expressed concern over my health after my annual physical, telling me in a voicemail message that somewhat terrified me, "Stop drinking. Immediately. And come back in tomorrow." The detonation of those 2 bombs on my life rattled me out of my rut and started me moving forward, finally, on a new path, one that began with quitting drinking and starting therapy.

I resisted the divorce for about 3 months, certain that my destiny as I saw it in 1992 was still my destiny in 2015. She was my destiny, I was sure. I begged while saying I wouldn't beg. I promised to change, though I hadn't changed much in the previous 20 years. Eventually, though, even I had to accept that life as I knew it was changing. It wasn't an easy transition. We worked together better than many divorcing couples, keeping the well-being of our child first in our priorities, but we were not great at being nice to each other out of his sight and hearing. We are better at it now, but it's still a struggle at times. I walked a lot of angry miles after putting him to bed, in the months between accepting that it was over and finally finding a job and an apartment and moving out of my marital home. I lost a lot of weight spending my evenings not drinking for a change and walking, and walking, and walking.

Then I was out, for the first time in my life living on my own, sharing custody of the son to whom I had committed my time and energies for as long as he'd been alive, and discovering something brand new in my time without him: single adult life. I told myself in June 2015 when I moved out that I was never going to date again, or at least not for a couple of years, long enough to find out who I am alone before trying again to find out who I am with someone else. By August, though, I was dating. By February, I was using dating apps, and by August again I was in a committed, exclusive relationship.

So what has changed in the two years since my life blew apart? I work hard at reminding myself not to stop being who I am out of fear. Personally and professionally, I have stopped wishing for invisibility and anonymity and have put myself out in the world. I dance in public and don't worry (as much) if I look stupid doing it. I draw and don't worry if I'm good at it. I speak out. I volunteer. I am visible.

I connect with people in meaningful ways.

I grow and learn and take risks.

I am kind to people and find ways to help.

It's who I am.