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I don’t know how to say goodbye to you
I’m not good at things that I don’t want to do
— Sam Phillips, “I Don’t Know How to Say Goodbye to You”

I have no regret about any of the times in my life when I’ve fallen in love. Each woman who I’ve loved has meant something to me at that time in my life — and for reasons that were about her alone — so I cherish and honor each woman in her own way.

But I do regret how some of these loves have ended. It’s not so much that I regret things I did that were damaging or hurtful to others, but rather that I have a history of holding onto love that needs to be allowed to die.

I know how to love in ways that are deep and honest and healthy. What I don’t know how to do is to walk away from my feelings for a woman when it’s no longer healthy to love her. I’m never sure where the line is between loving in a steadfast way and holding onto something which is already dead.

And all this is wrapped up in childhood trauma about the mother who abandoned me.

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It’s always fascinating when people try to guess what I do for a living. It happened again Saturday afternoon when I was sitting with three young women. Two of them work at the restaurant where we were sitting and a third just happened to be there.

“I’m not sure what you do, but I’m certain you’re rich,” one of the women said. “You carry yourself like a rich person — like you’re totally confident and sure of yourself. My uncle is chief operating officer of a bank and you have that same sort of air about you that he does.”

I smiled to myself. Rich? Bank executive? How in the world had she come up with that? For me?

Another of the women had seen some of my photographs before, so she said she assumed I’m a professional photographer. The third one had never met me until today. She said I must be either a lawyer or a university professor.

After they had made their guesses, I first told them — as I often do — that I haven’t decided what I’m going to do when I grow up. They laughed. Then I was more serious.

I told them that I play with ideas. That’s what I do. Everything else I do with my life — even the parts I’m paid for now — are just trivia. The answer wasn’t what they expected, but it was the most accurate answer I could give.

I play with ideas. That’s what I do. That’s who I am. I just haven’t figured out how to get paid for it yet.

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I noticed this morning that gasoline prices had jumped by another 10 cents per gallon overnight. I texted a friend to see if he had noticed.

“Unbelievable,” he texted back. “Biden gas is expensive! Biden inflation is expensive!”

I can’t stand Joe Biden. I also can’t stand Donald Trump. I detest what all these politicians collectively represent. All of them believe that they have the right to make decisions for your life and mine. All of them believe that you and I must be required to obey them — by force, if necessary.

But I know that gasoline prices would be sky high right now no matter who the president was. I understand that the dip in gasoline prices for the previous couple of years was because demand was reduced during a time of lower economic activity. And I understand that the Russian invasion of Ukraine last week caused prices to spike because Russia is a major oil producer.

These are obvious truths for anyone who’s being intellectually honest, but those who are filled with partisan hatred would rather find a ridiculously simplistic explanation that allows them to blame whoever they hate.

This isn’t new. Each time there’s a change in who controls the White House, the angry people of the political mainstream switch sides. The people who have spent four years blaming the incumbent president for everything suddenly decide the new guy — their new hero — isn’t responsible for anything that goes wrong.

And this idiotic game has gone on for decades, allowing almost everyone to ignore the economic looming disaster which was set in motion more than a hundred years ago.

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