On to the Next One
On to the Next One
Reporting from the front lines of life
The process of loss is strange. One tends to gravitate towards Kubler Ross’ stages of grief as if an axe splitting through a chunk of wood. Denial gets a lot of attention, but I was always more interested in bargaining. And not for petty privileges, either.
I recently suffered the loss of a best friend. But topographically, or better, temporally, in retrospect, it isn’t who I’d thought I’d lose at the time. To settle the crowd, and I don’t mean to be dramatic, I should point out that my best friend isn’t dead. In fact, we’re still very much best friends and she is still very much alive. As Leonard Cohen once said about a female business manager who defrauded him and made him very poor – “I’m still quite fond of her actually”.
In my case, I didn’t lose all of her, or even any of the many important appendages or features. She is fully intact and reachable. So, I didn’t really lose her, I just lost what it was like to know her for a period.
Periods of time don’t get enough play. They are underdogs in part because there are so many of them. These periods in life are infinitely marked by people and places and things and feelings. As one period ends, another sneakily begins, and over and over we retrace these steps.
This story starts with a series of messages sent out of the blue to me by an ex-partner who I haven’t talked to in months. I guess partner is a good word. Maybe it’s a bad and disrespectful word. Perhaps she would scowl at its usage, but even if that were true, I wouldn’t be able to guess why. I also wouldn’t care, which is something to celebrate.
I move onward, the only direction
Can't be scared to fail in the search of perfection
Gotta keep it fresh girl, even when we sexing
But don't be mad at him when it's on to the next one
-Jay-Z, On To The Next One
Anyways, the messages come rolling on in. With some classically needed urging, the messages continue and are seemingly solely focused on the goal of “being friends again”. This, after a sober period of judgement and reflection, and a complete view of the facts, was her conclusion. And focused is an understatement here. I really would believe it if you told me that off-label Adderall was involved in the roll out.
And so, shielding from incoming fire, I reflexively tap my consigliere on the shoulder - the girl I lost above, the best friend. With this girl, unlimited phone call plans are non-negotiable. A simple evening can easily morph into a four-hour call about politics, and about medicine, and problems, and solutions, and jokes and everything else.
Recent calls have been absolutely dominated by our love lives. The ups and downs and all arounds of dating, and thinking, and reflecting, and remembering. Like two drinking buddies, when the subject invariably changes to that of the other sex, and sometimes to that of the same sex, we take turns downing shots in an artful dance and confidence boosting competition.
These interactions, over time, have become a fixture and an important period in my own life. Just like the dissolution of the actual relationship with the ex-partner, which I will get to, the writing was indeed all over the wall and even the ceiling.
Around a month before I peppered my best friend with questions about the inner machinations of my ex-partner’s female mind, and messages, my best friend had met a man. This wasn’t exactly novel or new. Like me, she has been single for a reasonably substantial period of time, and I’ve been introduced – through conversation with her – to other men in the past.
Often, these stories of love and lust are amusing to me. We laugh and discuss failures on first dates and other hilariously unpredictable events. When she’s on a roll, the fireworks, and the chaos, and the funny can be be a bit overwhelming. The confident statements are always the best part - “Why was he so weird with the bill?” and “Ugh. I know” being two of my most treasured favorites.
Travel changes you. As you move through this life and this world you change things slightly, you leave marks behind, however small. And in return, life — and travel — leaves marks on you. - Anthony Bourdain
With the new guy, something seemed a little bit different. I felt no reason to take shelter or organize troops in the early going but I was awfully curious. As time wore on, and their interactions intensified in meaning and feeling, I suddenly saw the threat for what it was – a slippery and unsuspecting assault on universal and unfettered access to my best friend and on my life’s current period.
The full realization wouldn’t land until D-Day with the ex-partner, when strategizing about how to return fire became a relative priority. On a short day for me, but a long day for both of them, my best friend was off the grid for nearly four hours and thirty minutes.
Now, before I start to sound too questionable or scary let me bring this back to earth for a minute if I might. In cases of past emergencies, in cases of relative catastrophe, or even in the brief and seldom but enjoyable moments of boredom, my best friend seemed always to be on call, and always holding the pager. Somehow, she was always available.
But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. - Robin Williams as Sean Maguire in Good Will Hunting
My mind wandered to what was going on. She had been dismissed from work for hours. The earlier inconvenience of needy rural pharmacy patients had lifted by evening and yet still no sign of this “you’re a sight for sore eyes” kind of best friend.
The obvious occurred to me eventually, as the obvious always annoying does in times such as these. Another weeknight date with Cornelius – the pet name I’ve crowned this lucky jewel of a man with. Cornelius might not seem like much to you but it’s an improvement on his predecessor, Cletus.
As I sat alone in my apartment reflecting on events, I realized that the urgency of the developing situation with my best friend had completely eclipsed the boring situation and foregone conclusion with my ex-partner. The transition to ex-partner, or whatever it should be called, was a relatively reasonable one. The reasons why are multi-layered and probably come down to the cold hard cash in your pocket value of life experience, and some combination of my training, attitude, and stubborn and enduring nature.
The churlish knock on the door was an amusing one but was simply just more of the same. There was a “pretty final judgement” feel and taste to the thing, and you realized it more the closer you got. The transition with the best friend, the one where she turns off the pager and gets on with her life is a loss but one that we always knew about and sometimes thought about and talked about, too.
When I drew all of my conclusions my pencil was dull, but I couldn’t help but laugh, and put on important music. Tunes by Miley Cyrus, and Kid Rock and Cheryl Crow, and Adele, enveloped my senses in unconditional ways. Tempting as it may be, I won’t jump to calling this a spiritual moment, but it was something worth noting.
Whatever my best friend’s future – I just want her to be happy. I also want to enjoy different but satisfying periods with her down the road, whatever shape they end up taking.
And whatever ends up happening with Cornelius, I know that this period of my life, precious as it sometimes seems, will come to an end one way or another.
In his savage breakup anthem, Jay-Z sings “on to the next one”. I’d be lying if I didn’t think about my best friend singing that a few more times as well.
Post-script:
Two songs inspired this writing. Adele’s I Drink Wine and Mama, You Been On My Mind by Jeff Buckley. I’ve loved Adele since around 2017. That was around the time I was accepted to medical school and a very surreal period to think about for so many odd and interesting reasons. Adele’s music and my attraction to her as artist were both very profound in that atmosphere. Buckley, I’m not even all that familiar with. He’s probably most famous for his rendition of Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. Jeff Buckley is the only one who ever gave Cohen a run for his money when it came to performing the song. He drowned in an accident in 1997 at the age of 30. I won’t wander too far here, but I’m 30 and find myself amused by how often age now comes to mind. Not in a nagging or brutal way, either. It’s just more present as a metric and a bearing in life. People can be so sensitive about age but as I wage this war against time myself, it really doesn’t feel like a fight. But it also doesn’t feel like the slip into passivity that Christopher Hitchens’ famously articulated either. I like wondering about how that will change in the future. -d.
Notable Mentions—
Cold Cold Man by Saint Motel
Picture by Kid Rock and Cheryl Crow
Motel 6 by River Whyless
Hung Up by Madonna
Ride Of the The Valkyries by Richard Wagner
Game by Mating Ritual
When I Was Your Man by Bruno Mars
Malibu by Miley Cyrus
Make You Feel My Love by Adele
Genghis Khan by Miike Snow (see hyperlink for the epic and worthy music video)
Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem) by Jay-Z
Lost+ (With Jay-Z) by Coldplay
-d.
ADDENDUM
2023.01.11
Amidst the chaos of an extremely hectic but endlessly stimulating day at work, I’ve come to meet the actual meaning of Buckley’s song. Its a bit of a trip. Part of why I love the song is that it doesn’t really make a lot of sense on first glance. As you get older you realize that music isn’t that lucky, though. When a song is so universally understood as great, the lyrics become less and less random. Soon, random seems like an ugly past obsession or habit. It’s boring and it doesn’t command your influence like it once did. This seems to be the case with Mama, You Been On My Mind. I’m not going to ruin the surprise here for two important reasons. For one, don’t be lazy - just listen to the song. And for two, I’m thirsty.
-d