All that really mattered then was that I was a man

...And those were the days of roses,
poetry and prose and Martha
all I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
we'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I was always so impulsive,
I guess that I still am,
And all that really mattered then
was that I was a man.
I guess that our being together
was never meant to be.
And Martha, Martha,
I love you can't you see?

-from "Martha" by Tom Waits


I've liked Tom Waits since the evening my college roommate and a couple of friends were hanging out in our dorm and playing our latest finds from the various used CD stores around campus. I think it was Dusty who played "I Hope That I Don't Fall in Love With You" from Waits' 1973 record Closing Time. I could not get that haunting, melancholy ballad out of my head. The Song "Martha" is from the same album, and evokes a similar mood.

The song is sung from the perspective of a middle aged man, Tom Frost, who looks up a lover from his youth, connects with her over coffee, and reminisces about their past. My favorite line from the song is "And I was always so impulsive, I guess that I still am, and all that really mattered then was that I was a man." I was listening to the song tonight while taking Leo for a walk and started thinking about why that line resonates with me so much.

I think it's the way that Waits delivers "that I was a man," with all of the bravado of a 20 year old but also with the weariness and knowledge of an older man with many regrets, that gets me. I don't want to be a Tom Frost singing to my own "Martha" 20 years from now, but I can see ways that I was on that road.

My problem was never the need to prove how manly I was, it was almost the opposite. All that really mattered to me, was that I was a sophisticated, competent, intellectual, sensitive man who was nothing like the young Tom Frost. I still don't think that there is anything inherently wrong with being sophisticated or competent or intellectual or sensitive. The need to be that kind of man, however, kept me from ever dealing with the times in my life when I was not particularly sensitive or had it all together. The denial of who I really was, good and bad, did more damage to myself and all of my relationships than if had occasionally acted like the selfish prick that deep down I was from time to time.

Fortunately, I'm not middle aged, and I likely have more years ahead of me than behind me. I have learned more about myself in the past year than I have at any other point in my life. One of those things that I'm starting to learn is to embrace that inner selfish prickishness. If I deny it exists, then I can't surrender it and be changed.