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Hey world. This is the first time I’ve posted in a decade where something life-changing hasn’t happened. Instead, I was driving home from chaperoning Homecoming tonight when the moment just struck me how cyclical life can be. I overheard plans from a large contingent of students were going to one of two places: Whataburger for burgers and shakes or an entirely unofficial after-party.

Hilariously, I’ve lived both of those moments in my life, as longtime followers and readers and friends know. We’ve had a cold snap in Texas as of late, and as a result, I was able to do my old-fashioned feel good late night drive with the windows down and the heat on the dash. Completely ecologically terrible but a guilty pleasure, I must admit. There’s certain songs that just hit me in that moment and I’m transported to another time and place entirely.

With those words about Whataburger fresh in my mind, I was very aware of a time in my life after a homecoming football game that everyone went to Sonic and hung out until like 1 AM, where we were asked to leave by the police because a few were under 18 and curfew or whatever. Warner Robins was weird like that. There’s something quintessentially American Teenager about a cheap hamburger and milkshake that seems to soothe the soul. This panacea is so uniquely right for the teenager that I find myself chuckling now even thinking about the number of nights that ended at a Steak and Shake, Whataburger, Sonic, etc.

The juxtaposition between the party I heard about and the milkshakes just hits so hard. This blog started on the denouement of my undergraduate experience, prompted by an old friend who said I needed to write more and get the the words out, because they could tell that something was bottled up and locked away. In the years that followed, the blog became a shelter and healing point while also a flashpoint for relationships. At least one friendship was ended because of this, but I digress. stuckbetweentwoworlds was literally just me being untrue to my soul and my heart, torn between what I thought I had to be and what I wanted or needed to be.

Eventually, as you all can see from a stark lack of content, I healed. Somehow, someway, I healed. I have my wife to thank for that. But a part of it has to be this journey aspect. The past few years have seen an impressive rise in confidence for me because I just feel so much more sure of myself. After all, I’ve never been able to really boast about me. I still struggle incessantly with praise and a lack of internal feeling that I deserve any kind of it, but I’ve gotten better about it.

Which leads back to the title and where I am tonight, with my five month long writer’s block being shattered by the musings and thoughts of a 35-year-old brain getting a nostalgia trip at the annual homecoming dance. The novel hasn’t progressed like I ever planned to, but again, I digress. I think I can chalk my life into three main eras or chapters. I’ll use eras from here on out because swiftie, am I right?

You’ve got your first era for me, which ended quietly and meekly as I decided to completely uproot my college choice just days before graduation. While I love how it worked out, that’s era one. That first era is foundational to me, as it is for all of us. That first era fizzled and led to a new era in college and young adulthood that saw turmoil on a daily basis and deep changes in psychology. While this second era would be the one that would have been like “Oh yeah after party oh yeah,” it also very much includes any number of burgers and milkshakes at 2 AM that set my soul at ease (and probably raised my A1C, lol).

The third era, I think it’s when I came to Texas. The hard break and uprooting was huge. It also was a step in maturation that I needed as a person and adult. Between death, marriage, COVID, death, and career swings, it still goes back to the fact that I truly think a milkshake at 11 PM would REALLY be great. This chocolate milkshake absolutely hit the spot right now, even if it put me over my calorie count tonight (Jesus, I’m freaking old). Yet, I don’t really want to go to Whataburger by myself or with the group. The third era is strictly defined by my relationship and friendship with the greatest person in my life: my wife. The third era is defined by me still having the desire to do things like that… but only if she’s with me. Otherwise, I become boring and lame as fuck.

For instance, I chaperoned a trip for school to Scotland and Ireland this summer. While last summer, she and I traveled to Australia, I was solo this time around. The entire first week of the trip saw me moping and sad about the turn of events. I hated it. I loved the trip as much as I could, but holy hell, I just wanted to be back with her. We found this awesome coffee shop my first day, and all I wanted to do was to tell her about it. So moral of this post is – I love my life. The cliche is still there.

Anyway, three chapters or eras. Maybe I’m on a fourth now? Maybe the second is really two? I don’t know how we define them, but I’m very sure that everyone has these sorts of eras in their own stories and journeys. The cyclical nature of downing milkshakes and burgers and talking about life and love after dancing to “Every Time We Touch” by Cascada and “I’m Not Okay” by My Chemical Romance just has me thinking about a lot tonight. Joining a mosh pit of 20 boys going crazy to “Mo Bamba” was pretty hilarious. Breaking it down and teaching everyone how to Dougie was once again not on my bingo card.

But all I know is? I wanted to do it all with my wife there.

Gods, I’m a sap :).

I don’t know when I’ll post again, but I want everyone to know who finds this, that you’re okay. It’s going to be okay. It gets better. It truly does. While my posts were taken down (more because of cringe and self-loathing of my writing), I promise that it always gets better. You grow up and move on. Things fade. Priorities shift. I’ve been teaching for ten years now. I never would have thought that when this blog began.

You rock.

(I really want to write in the novel right this minute but I need to sleep)

Tonight, I was driving home with my wife when it hit me. Tomorrow is six years.

That means the last time I spoke to my father was six years ago tonight. Words were raised in anger and frustration, and while I’ve spent time processing and moving forward, a small part of me will always wish that the final words had been softer. Nicer. Better.

Regardless, this put me in a very introspective and “gushy” mood. You know, I’ve wanted to return to words and blogging and all of that, but I’ve never felt like it was the right time or place. Even now, the writer’s block punches my brain and gut with the force of a million fists. Before you get farther, just know that this is word vomit and gets a bit all over the place.

Back in July 2017, my life took an unexpected turn, and since then, everything has changed. It’s hard to believe how much I have grown and the experiences I have gained since then. It feels like a completely different life altogether.

Life.

When my father died, I think I can best describe that as a catalyst or trigger for a quarter life crisis that was raging. I was lost in a bad way, and while I’ve only truly recently discovered some of the truths or answers that would have make things simpler, that doesn’t discount just how much the death spurred me. In the midst of this darkness, seeds of personal growth can be sown and were sown.

I finally wised up and proposed. We’ve been married about four years now, and I couldn’t be happier. In addition to the love and support that my spouse provides, I’m grateful for the little things that make our relationship special. From the inside jokes that only we understand to the shared adventures we embark on, there’s never a dull moment with them by my side. Our home is filled with laughter, warmth, and a deep sense of companionship. Together, we create a harmonious space that nourishes our souls and strengthens our bond. We’ve also learned the art of compromise, understanding that no relationship is perfect but that with love and open communication, we can overcome any obstacle. Our love story is one of growth, resilience, and unwavering commitment. I wouldn’t have figured this out either without the wake up call almost six years ago.

I changed careers and truly stuck to it. The decision I made in the months before his death ended up being for the best, and while there are some rough days, growing from loss is a transformative journey that tests one’s resilience and inner strength. I show that in my career, as I fought for every single chance I had and have.

I remember that I went on a long road trip in the year directly after the events of July 2017. I couldn’t be there a year later. I made it though. Every step I take, every lesson I learn, I can’t help but wonder if you would be proud. The choices I make, the challenges I face – they are all influenced by the hope of earning your approval. It’s a constant drive to prove myself, to show the world that I am capable of great things. Even though you may not be here to witness my accomplishments, I carry your memory with me, finding strength in the belief that you are watching over me. So, with each milestone achieved, I silently ask myself, ‘Would you be proud, Dad?’ And in that moment, I feel a sense of pride knowing that I’ve done my best to honor your legacy.

I know that In The Heights has nothing to do with my story or struggle, but I really can’t help but think of my father during Paciencia y Fe.

“And ay Mamá, what do you do when
Your dreams come true? (And ay Mamá)
I’ve spent my life inheriting dreams from you”

I finally started living my life away from the thumb and the push that they put me on. Shit, this year even, I now know that so much could have been so different. How do you react when you realize that you probably inherited ASD from a parent and no one ever caught his? How would it be different? Twice exceptional could have made it a very different life.

It’s also really shocking in a way that my life is finally coming together in a way that would be absolutely unbelievable and shocking to me a decade ago. Catalysts are important for biological processes. No one said that everyone’s catalysts would be the same or come without significant strife.

I bid you all good night, who knows when I post here again, but I promise you, I haven’t given up and won’t ever do so. To do this would be a disservice to anyone and everyone.

See you on the flippity flip.

-G

chapters

Six.