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I know my worth, and I haven’t always been able to say that.

My value isn’t in the external. My value is the man I am inside. It’s my ability to grow and to change, my enormous capacity for love, my supportive and encouraging nature, a generally positive outlook, and a tenacity in achieving my goals.
There have been times in my life when I’ve lost sight of these attributes. It happens to all of us. We get sidetracked with careers or goals or other ambitions. We work to climb the corporate ladder, get a bigger house or a nicer car of whatever else it is that motivates us.

Today, I’m thinking a lot about my worth and value, and I’ve been reminded that I’m doing things right. Oddly enough, the reminder that I’m doing things right is that there are some challenges to navigate.

I made a conscious decision several months ago to change some things in my life. And while I got thrown some curveballs in the process, I know how to navigate the temporary frustrations to get to where I know I want to go.

It’s almost funny to look at myself in the mirror and recognize this attitude. I lost it a while ago, and it took me doing some things for and by myself to regain this confidence. But seeing it here, I can easily fall back on my experiences to know how and why I feel this way.

Not that long ago, I had a successful career working for the Federal Govt. I was married, had a young son, a house, a yard, an honest-to-god picket fence, and a dog. I had two cars in the driveway, and I was putting myself through college. I was living a kind of American Dream, but it wasn’t _mine._ Still, I’m proud of what I was able to accomplish at that point. It’s amazing, thinking back on it.

But I had the courage to take a leap of faith and pursue a very different dream. As my marriage dissolved, I moved to California for grad school. I got an MFA in creative writing, began a new career as a college professor, and moved to a rural mountain-top retreat. When I was immersed in the earlier married life, there’s no way I could Have forecast the life that was waiting for me. I’d have scoffed if you’d told me I could have the life I’m living now.

And right now, the life I have is so much happier than anything I could have imagined. On the way here, I’ve had a lot of turns, and I have to say they’re positive, because they lead me to this point. There were periods in which I wanted for nothing materially. I lived with a multimillionaire and by all accounts had no worries. But I wasn’t fulfilled. It’s nice to not have to worry about some things, but if I’m unhappy or lonely, what’s the point of that lack of material worry? I’ve also been on the other end of that spectrum, struggling to make ends meet. While the latter can be challenging, it’s really more of a temporary frustration.

I know how to get back out in front, having done it a couple times in my life already. It’s easier when I know what I want and what I won’t compromise.

And that confidence comes from my childhood. We mimic what we see, And we’re comfortable when we find things that recall our formative experiences. My family is deeply flawed, but I never doubted that I as loved. In fact, love was the foundation of everything we had. We were dirt poor, but I didn’t know that. I worked with my dad in the garden every day. We went fishing and hunting and camping. My mom was always cooking and canning and baking. My parents read me stories every night.

There was no TV, so we played games. During the days, I was outside. I was active and encouraged to be creative. And when my parents separated, they ended up getting remarried to each other a few months later.

I learned that material things are nice, but they don’t last. What matters are the people in our lives; genuine people who care and support. I learned the pleasure of giving that care and support in return.

• I learned to value real, personal interaction.
• I learned to value forgiveness.
• I learned to value love, both giving and receiving it.
• I learned to value hard work and perseverance.
• I learned to value connection.
• I learned to value working together.
• I learned to value growth.

All those things that I loved were the product of us not having alternatives. We gardened because we couldn’t afford to go to the grocery store for everything. Mom cooked the way she did and canned to stretch things longer. We bonded because we couldn’t afford distractions. And we relied on each other because what mattered most …what we truly valued, and knew would last… were the bonds we shared.

The truth is that there always will be challenges to face. What matters is not letting ego or pride get in the way of leaning on the people who genuinely care about me. What matters is showing up and being present. What matters is my positive attitude and belief that things will always work out for the best; that challenges are temporary. What matters is staying open and loving and supportive. What matters is keeping this great big heart vulnerable and open both to giving and to receiving the love it deserves.

Life is hard sometimes, but I’m up to the challenge. I’ve worked hard to be able to say that. And I feel good being able to recognize the man I truly am. I may have challenges to face and overcome, but there is joy and strength in doing the hard work necessary to do just that. So today, I’m grateful when there are struggles. It means I’m doing things right, and I’m on the right path. My eyes are open, and so is my heart. And I’m proud of who and what I am.

Robert F. James is a lecturer in creative writing at San Jose State University. He’s been a professional writer his entire adult life, and his writings primarily focus on the challenges of modern masculinity. He lives on a small hobby farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California, where he raises chickens, rabbits, and ducks while managing a small garden. He’s been a Sailor, a pastor, a television and radio personality, and a professional piercer. His eclectic background lends itself to an exploratory aspect of his writing. His work is an authentic reflection of the issues he puzzles over on a daily basis, and he spends a good deal of time outdoors to process them. A large herd of deer on the property seem to respond favorably to his ramblings.

Once upon a time, I fell in love.

And god, she was beautiful: tall, long-legged, and an amazing sense of humor. Her red hair was the color of a sunset, and falling asleep in her arms was heaven.

The problem was she was my mother, so marrying her and spending the rest of my life with her was a long shot. So that meant I had to find “the one” on my own. The problem is that I was never convinced there was “one” out there for me. Simple statistics means it’s pretty improbably that out of all the billions of people on the planet, there is only one who is ultimately compatible with me, and I’m on some sort of search for her.

It’s like Quest for Fire, only for a girlfriend.

So, I came up with an analogy for what I was doing with my approach. Because of everything I was doing, the one thing I didn’t want to do was to waste time in dead-end relationship or dating women who just weren’t right for me. I’m thankful for all my experiences, but I was always a little goal oriented. So I imagined that each date I went on, each failed relationship, was analogous to me painting a portrait of the woman I’d fall in love with.

Each person in my life added a brush stroke or two to the portrait.

And I figured that if I had enough brush strokes on the canvas, then I’d recognize her when I saw her. That’s a great romantic ideal, but I’m not sure that analogy makes much sense, either. But what it did do was give me something to think about when it came time for me to decide “do I stay and fight for this, or is it time to pull up stakes and go?”

How on Earth do I know when to fight for something?

You know, there really are two answers to that question: macro and micro. I’ll start with the first.

Experience showed me who was worth fighting for and who I could cut loose. That sounds mercenary, but it’s certainly true. By knowing what I truly want (through trial and error), I was able to know when it was time to divorce my first wife. I was able to know when it was time to move out from living with a woman who was perfectly fine and safe and stable, but not at all a person who would allow me to grow and be the man I wanted to be. And it allowed me to not go chasing after a woman I cared deeply for, but who dumped me after a few months because she was scared of commitment.

It also allowed me to stick it out with some relationships that might have ended too soon had I not know it was someone worth fighting for. Because the truth is, not every relationship is for a lifetime, but each relationship has something to teach me, and I want to make sure I’m there long enough to learn my lesson. That also sounds mercenary, and it isn’t. If I back off and just focus on being in the moment, then I’m not worried about the long-term. I’m here and I’m present. It helps me recognize when I’m good, and it helps me recognize when things are off. And when things are off for enough “moments,” I am confident enough to not fight for something that isn’t healthy for me.

Last night, I asked my partner what she thought of that question: How do you know what to fight for, and her answer surprised me. She said simply that if she met someone new, she was looking at his entire life; wondering if she could picture herself folded into his life.

To illustrate the point, she used the example of her ex. In this case, he is someone whose life revolves around counterculture events like Burning Man. He hosts house parties where alcohol is the centerpiece. And wine and fine dining are the cornerstones of his life. There’s nothing wrong with any of those things, other than the fact that my partner is sober. So when she looked at her ex and saw the life he leads and the social circle he’s constructed, there simply isn’t room for her in it. There’s not a logic to weaving herself into that existence.

So that’s the macro. Is it worth fighting for? There’s no real formula, but it starts with knowing yourself enough to know what you want and how you would fit in with a potential partner. The more yesses that appear, the more worth the fight it really is. And ironically, that’s how I’ve managed to stay fighting for my partner, through her own battle for sobriety and personal growth. I can see a future with her. Is it my only future? Absolutely not. But I like the one that could develop. And that makes that life well worth the effort right now.

But that still leaves the day-to-day decisions about what is worth fighting for and what is worth walking away from. And one of the easiest things I do is to just stop and think before I speak. When a situation arises, such as her using something to push me away or to create distance, I stop and really question my motives.

Is this something that really has to be said?

Is it something that has to be said right now?

Am I the person who needs to be the one to say it?

Those three questions have saved me so much hassle and headache. Because when I start worrying about saying the things that aren’t necessary to say, or that aren’t required for me to be the one to say them, then I avoid the unnecessary conflicts when I’m just trying to be right, prove a point, or convince her of something. Rather than jumping into speech, I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut, which is a tall order for someone who makes a living with words.

But it’s a lesson important enough not only to learn, but also to practice. And if you think about it, I have time to think about it day in and day out, not only in my romantic relationships, but also in my platonic interactions. I can’t describe how much I’ve alleviated stress just by learning to listen rather than trying to solve every problem around me. And I got there by finally admitting that not everything is my responsibility. Absolved from problem-solving duties, I am free to let other people fix their own problems, which means far fewer disagreements and arguments.

When there is an argument, I’m much likelier to be expending that energy on an issue that is truly important, such as figuring out a budget, or expressing my emotional needs or wants, or deciding who is doing dishes that night. The big stuff like that.

In the end, it’s down to the individual to decide how to manage the fight instinct. But management is healthier for everyone involved. And that kind of peace of mind along with less conflict is something truly invaluable.

Robert F. James is a lecturer in creative writing at San Jose State University. He’s been a professional writer his entire adult life, and his writings primarily focus on the challenges of modern masculinity. He lives on a small hobby farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California, where he raises chickens, rabbits, and ducks while managing a small garden. He’s been a Sailor, a pastor, a television and radio personality, and a professional piercer. His eclectic background lends itself to an exploratory aspect of his writing. His work is an authentic reflection of the issues he puzzles over on a daily basis, and he spends a good deal of time outdoors to process them. A large herd of deer on the property seem to respond favorably to his ramblings.

I remember the heady days of high school when I was first able to “date” on my own. Let’s face it, having a car or at least a license to borrow mom and dad’s opened up a whole new world. Rides to school. The hallway meetings hurrying between classes. The long lunches spent cuddling up and making out. It was all about connection. I certainly had no real social graces when it came to dating. I did what everyone did: dinner and a movie.

Dinner usually consisted of fast food.

Movie was whatever was starting at 7.

The funny thing is, I don’t remember any of the movies I saw during that time when I was out on dates. The movie was just the excuse. We wanted to be together. We wanted to be connected. And that last word is something that I tend to forget in the midst of my more “mature” relationships.

There’s all this amazing chemistry at the outset of a relationship. “New Relationship Energy.” It’s great being in this kind of honeymoon phase. It feels like it felt in high school. But unlike in high school, there’s all this other stuff that I have to pay attention to. I have to get up and go to work. I have to take care of my home. I have to pay my bills, fix my car, and keep up my obligations and appointments. Time is a commodity, and it doesn’t take long for life to take over from the rapture of being with someone new.

Unfortunately, though, chemistry isn’t connection. And chemistry, while it can always be present, isn’t the same as being grounded together and fostering that deepening bond. Also unfortunately is the fact that somewhere along the line, we stop being satisfied with just spending time together. I, for one, start relying on things that are more monetary in nature. I’ll send flowers. Or maybe I’ll take her out for dinner. And while those things are nice, they’re different from the things that are connecting.

Going to dinner is fine, but it doesn’t always have to be something extravagant. What about cooking dinner for her instead? What about making sure she has the things she likes always on hand? Try being attentive, because I get much more mileage out of genuine presence than I do the “things” I give to her.

It’s time.

And more than that, it’s quality time.

The things that stand out most for her? The days we went to the beach and just laid there watching the waves come in. Hours we sat there. We laughed. We talked. And it created an easy kind of rhythm for the afternoon, even giving us the opportunity to joke about the windburn we shared, or how much we had to pee by the time the afternoon was over!

There was a time we went hiking, and on a whim, I’d bought a dollar thing of bubbles. And we walked with her using the wand and blowing bubbles the entire time. She wasn’t in the best of moods when we first started. But it sure didn’t take long for things to get fun and silly and lighthearted; for her mood to ease, and for the afternoon to dissolve into tenderness. Because bubbles make everything fun. Go ahead. Tell me I’m wrong.

It’s funny. The things I enjoyed most as a kid: going for walks, playing games, watching movies, getting ice cream, sitting by the fire and making s’mores, going to the beach, or just hopping in the car and driving with no destination: those are the things that are some of the most enjoyable memories I have now as an adult.

Connecting starts with a foundation of time. And that requires both people to make time. Especially when both of us are busy, we make sure we make dates. We start talking about it days ahead of time. And sure, there’s sexual tension. We both enjoy each other sexually, and we talk about it as a way to amp up the tension. We send each other pictures and text messages, egging each other on. But it’s not just about showing up for the physical intimacy. It’s making time and just being present without some sort of agenda or routine.

Robert F. James is a lecturer in creative writing at San Jose State University. He’s been a professional writer his entire adult life, and his writings primarily focus on the challenges of modern masculinity. He lives on a small hobby farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California, where he raises chickens, rabbits, and ducks while managing a small garden. He’s been a Sailor, a pastor, a television and radio personality, and a professional piercer. His eclectic background lends itself to an exploratory aspect of his writing. His work is an authentic reflection of the issues he puzzles over on a daily basis, and he spends a good deal of time outdoors to process them. A large herd of deer on the property seem to respond favorably to his ramblings.

A few weeks ago, a violent windstorm tore through the mountains where I live. I spent a good portion of my day clearing downed limbs and debris from the drive. The trail, where I walk each day and meditate was particularly hard hit. About a mile and a half in, a massive oak had fallen across the path, blocking it.

The first time I walked the path, I got to the tree and turned around. After all, there was an obstacle in my path.

The second time I walked the trail, I found a way around it. On one side, the drop off was too steep, and there was no way to cross. But up on the hillside by the root ball, I could scale up and over. It wasn’t easy. And I returned the same way.

It wasn’t until the third time walking the trail that I realized I could just step over the tree. It really wasn’t that tall. I just saw it as an obstacle, and it felt like the way around had to be more complicated. When I did step over it, I laughed at myself.

There’s a couple I see walking the trail from time to time. I don’t know their names, but they always smile and say good morning and ask how I’m doing. We are never walking in the same direction, so we only have time for one joke. I say something my dad would say: “We should pack a picnic lunch for next time!” Something cheesy and silly that gives us a laugh.

The funny thing is, after I had learned I could just step over the tree, I saw them out there walking back from that direction. The woman said “There’s a tree down. The trail is blocked.”

I was puzzled. I just said “I just step over it.”

She looked equally puzzled. “Are you allowed to do that?”

In hindsight, it’s a silly question, but it’s too often true. When we see an obstacle in the path, we just assume either we can’t go around it or else we’re not supposed to. So we just give up and turn around. I’ve been guilty of that, far too many times in my life.

Then, I figure out I can find a way up and over or around the obstacle. But even then, I get used to the obstacle being there. When the rangers showed up last week with their chainsaws to hack the tree out the trail, I made a joke as I walked past: “I’m going to miss my obstacle.”

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized that this, too, was a metaphor for how so many of us behave. We expect things to be hard. And we get used to defining ourselves by the obstacles we have to navigate. We don’t think we deserve a clear path.

But now that the obstacle is removed? I don’t actually miss it at all. I get to walk a trail that is open. I get to walk with purpose, and I don’t have to figure out a way to navigate around it.

The past few months, I’ve been busting my ass to remove the obstacles that prevented me from living the life I wanted. I’ve grown stronger. I’ve left personal interactions that were holding be back. I’ve claimed parts of my life and started fixing things that needed fixing, not avoiding them. I’m not the man I was, and I’m only getting stronger and more whole.

I realize I’ve been attached to all these obstacles in my life. I’ve used them as excuses. But now that they’re out of the way? Well, now there’s nothing preventing me from claiming the life I want. That makes me a force to be reckoned with. I’m stronger than any doubt; and I’m confident in my ability to do whatever it takes to succeed.

I’m not the man I was just a few months ago. I know what I’m worth. I know that I won’t settle.

I’ve already let go.

The path is clear.

I’m walking with purpose.

And I won’t stop.

Robert F. James is a lecturer in creative writing at San Jose State University. He’s been a professional writer his entire adult life, and his writings primarily focus on the challenges of modern masculinity. He lives on a small hobby farm in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California, where he raises chickens, rabbits, and ducks while managing a small garden. He’s been a Sailor, a pastor, a television and radio personality, and a professional piercer. His eclectic background lends itself to an exploratory aspect of his writing. His work is an authentic reflection of the issues he puzzles over on a daily basis, and he spends a good deal of time outdoors to process them. A large herd of deer on the property seem to respond favorably to his ramblings.