John de Guzmán

Pro tip: Stop it, Microsoft

Microsoft, I’m using your legally purchased product, yet your [Compatibility Mode] always make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.

Pro tip: Stop it.

Drifting…

I’m packing boxes in my apartment, and, like I assume everyone does in a move, I’m exploring this closing chapter of my life. I’m leaving a hell of an apartment, 28 floors up in Manhattan. I came to this beautiful perch four years ago with a puppy, a girlfriend and an engagement ring I had to keep hidden from her in the move. It was the height of the recession and we got an incredible deal on a 2BR/2BA in Hell’s Kitchen. It was the first time for either of us living in a doorman building. In fact, it was the first time I, personally, wasn’t living in an NYC sh*thole.

I moved in with a set of expectations. I was going to propose while living in this apartment. And get married. And procreate. I mean, I had the ring and we had a core of a relationship that could hold for a lifetime. It was fantastic, and even though our connection was a little rough at the time, I knew that core would sustain us. We already had an incredibly sweet and well-trained puppy… We were on the way. It was happening. The second bedroom was going to be my office, but it would quickly become a baby room.

Eight months after moving in, I was living in this massive apartment alone. We lost our way. The core imploded. The dog visited regularly. He’s watching me write this on the couch—surrounded by boxes—uncomfortable as he sees my life’s possessions explode all over the apartment and, eventually, get shoved into boxes. I know he can also sense my sadness. He’s still incredibly sweet and well-trained. There is some consistency I can hang my hat on.

I had four years here on these parquet floors with an incredible view of the city, Lincoln Tunnel front-and-center. I fell in love with a couple of other women while at this apartment. For one reason or another, those didn’t work out either. I guess I’m focusing on my relationships in this meditation, because, well, they mean that much to me. Six months ago, I was deep in a relationship. I thought she was, too. I guess we both thought we were. I mean, we had a name for us getting married. We called it getting to “Memphis,” and brought it up daily. When I said, “I don’t know where I’m going to live in six months,” she got sad and said she assumed she was moving in with me. “Nothing would make me happier,” I replied. I was honest. Nothing would have made me happier. Two weeks later, we broke up. That was six months ago, and I’m still struggling to get on my feet.

A lot has happened in four years. In fact, I started tweeting the day I moved into this apartment. Since then, I’ve become a social media hound with a rich set of digital friendships and a modicum of influence. Four years ago, I was a self-employed, constantly-traveling management consultant exploding change into my clients’ companies through long work days. Now I’m a full-time employee at a news organization slowly, painfully, slowly dragging change through an organization that fights to accept the new, digital evolution. I’ve gained weight. I’ve grown my hair out. My friends at the time have all gotten married and now have children. I’m single, and I think I’m okay with that. I’m only moving 6 blocks south, but it feels like a much bigger departure is happening.

This move out feels totally different than the move in, probably because it is. The next chapter doesn’t feel like it will have a wife and a child in it, all of us crammed into my new one bedroom. It just isn’t here. I’m incredibly alone. Yet, I’m not alone. In these four years, I’ve fallen into two rich communities filled with talent and compassion and creativity: the Magnet Theater that focuses on improv and NYC’s Instagram community which focuses on kicking ass. Those weren’t in my life in 2009.

For the first time, ever, I have no expectations about what’s ahead. Nothing. Of course, I will continue to explore the city and find new communities and hunt for adventure… and I think I’ll keep myself open in a way I never have before. I guess having no expectations or prospects allows that. I’m drifting. Anchorless. If you don’t give into that reality, you could go crazy with the constant struggle to anticipate what your lat/long will be in a year, a month, even an hour.

Of course, it’s not as bad as this is sounding. To give a little perspective: I’m not sick. I’m not in debt. I’m confident in who I am. My education, alone, puts me in the 99th percentile of almost everything. I know where my next meal is coming from—in fact it could come from anywhere I’d like it to. I’m employed. I’m smart. I’ve got a nice smile. I’ve got a personality most find engaging and charismatic. I’ve put out an album. I’ve written four novels. I know how to dream. I know how to laugh. I know how to make a woman feel special. I know how to love.

But, part of me is mad that I haven’t gotten a break in love. I haven’t created that family I’ve been looking for. Coming to terms with that is difficult. It’s like an athlete realizing that silly, random injury could keep him out the major leagues. Sure, he could have a fine life selling used cars, but he had always had his eyes on the big leagues. It’s like a musician realizing she just doesn’t have the ear to sing those harmonies, no matter the depth of her passion. It’s just bad luck.

Part of me wonders how I’ve been so unlucky. Part of me wonders how I’ve been so lucky. Part of me realizes that it/love/having a family might not be as important to me in the future because the window to what I was looking for might be closing with this move. I’m turning 38 next month. I might be passed the time where I’ll settle down and have children. I might not be. I really don’t know, and I’m trying to be ok with that. I’m trying to still play the music even though my harmonies might be off. I’m trying to learn… something new. 

So, I’ll keep packing and in my stuff I have an engagement ring I, literally, have no idea what to do with.

Here’s to drifting into opportunity.

_

John de Guzman

March 9, 2013

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