Before I left for Vegas at the end of May, I had new wood floors installed in my house. The entire condo is now wood, except for stone tile in the bathrooms. The floors look magnificent, except there is nothing on them now except cardboard boxes and a few pieces of leftover furniture. The old furniture is now in the garage, waiting to be picked up by my sister. I had to clear everything out so the new floors could be placed down. It made sense to get rid of all the stuff I didn’t need or really love, to completely refurbish my condo as if I was starting from scratch.
When 2010 began I made an overtly conscious effort to restart my life. I was unhappy with who I was and what my life had become. I mapped out a path to salvation, means I hoped would get things back on track.
I quickly realized how far down the mountain I had fallen.
I spent a lot of time in January and February digesting the fact that the self-image I had generally perpetuated was a mirage, that I was nowhere near as intelligent or attractive or virtuous or cool or talented as I had long believed. I had talks with close friends about life, love, women, careers. I thought a lot about perception, how we can become drunk on half-truths and untruths for so long that they become fact in our minds.
Tearing down the shell of lies I was encased in wasn’t depressing. It was uplifting. It’s a wonderful thing to learn more about yourself, even if the knowledge isn’t glamorous.
In Vegas a series of eye-opening events unexpectedly lifted the hologram ceiling I had set for life. Dreams that had been cast by the wayside rematerialized. Suddenly returned the idea that anything is possible. Amazing things can happen with hard work and a little luck. I felt greatly encouraged even as I came up short time and time again at the Rio.
Maybe it was the sunshine. Day after day I would lie, sit, stretch, meditate, swim, sweat in the unrelenting heat. If it was too much, I would jump in the pool. But most of the time, it felt great.
Maybe it was spending so much time with so many great people. I half looked forward to busting out of the tournaments so I could play with my friends.
Maybe it was because I haven’t smoked pot in eight months.
Maybe it was the masochistic workouts – 100 degree runs on the blacktop or blistering circuits through the gym. I took pleasure in punishing my body for my mind’s failures. I found satisfaction in the pain.
One night this summer, I suddenly realized I was happy. Maybe. I might not know what it actually is to be happy. I just knew I was excited to go to sleep, because that brought me closer to the next day and I wanted to live the next day. I felt for the first time like the cobwebs had finally been cleared out, the new floors had been laid, I liked who I was, and it was time to start furnishing the house.
For many months now I have been going through the motions with the opposite sex. I have made the occasional foray but in the back of my mind I have had little desire to be in a relationship, and never considered pursuing anyone beyond anything casual. Slowly, inexorably, the angst and disgust I feel towards women has receded. I am not yet at the point where I can fully trust or open myself up to someone else. But under the right circumstances, the possibility of that happening is no longer inconceivable. Perhaps the reemergence of that possibility was what got me so excited to get up in the morning.
Whatever it was, I had a splendid time in Vegas and didn’t want it to end. It was a wistful drive home.
Now I sit in a nearly empty house and contemplate what the future holds. I have no idea. I am addicted to Rush Poker on Full Tilt. I play long sessions, do something else for a little bit and then get back on. I do things I have never been interested in before like cooking and listening to hip-hop. I still love eating and working out. I have no desire to leave my house. Instead I watch Entourage.
Sometimes I work on the house. It is a massive undertaking. I am still clearing out old crap while investigating new furnishings. It feels good to get stuff done yet I spend more time doing nothing.
It happens every summer after the WSOP. The crash landing. There is so much energy at the Series. There is a monster poker tournament almost every day. There is so much action, so little downtime. Physically, mentally, even socially, it takes a monumental effort to get through the Series. Afterwards, there is an inevitable letdown. I wake up every morning in a blank state. I have little purpose or drive. The vitality is gone.
There are many glorious events on tap for the coming weeks, yet I am not as excited as I should be. Nothing can compare to the World Series.
Still, the house sits there: incomprehensible, empty, undefined, ready, waiting.
