Safely onboarded into a new career, I turned my focus to home.
Together, David and I had made tremendous strides in five years in Portland. We had a new apartment, blessed with good health and eager to turn the page in post-COVID times.
The new apartment ignited an interest in cooking — something that I had never fully explored, aside from the occasional spaghetti dinner. Our gas stove soon became a focal part of our lives. I began making casseroles, biscuits and muffins; sautéed steaks, grilled fish and many other delicious meals.
Nearing a half century of existence — an age, frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see —- I finally felt at peace with my life. Publishing a book was sort of my grand finale. There wasn’t a lot of sales, but perhaps I need to die to be discovered or appreciated. Seems to be the case with a lot of famous writers.
Our apartment building was buzzing with creative types, mostly Millennials and Gen Zers. Once a month, management hosted a themed party on the rooftop in an effort to get residents to connect with their neighbors.
That’s where we met Stanley.
A published author of critically acclaimed sex therapy books, Stanley and I hit it off from the start. I liked his intellect and there wasn’t a lot of walls thrown up — something I had run into a lot at work.
Stanley was David’s age, but dealing with some major health problems. He had a partner from Mexico, who was quite younger and an aspiring singer with rugged good looks.
The four of us went out for drinks a few times at a nearby cocktail bar. I shared with Stanley about my past as a journalist and how I never would have imagined that at this age, I would be doing blue collar work.
“The body eventually breaks down,” Stanley said. Was this foreshadowing?, I thought.
David, of course, pulled out his New York playbook and began rehearsing stories I had heard many times before. They both lived in the city when 9/11 happened. Stanley, tragically, had a front row seat in Tribeca.
Stanley was intrigued by relationships and it didn’t take him to long to inquire about how David and I met and came to be a married gay couple. Realizing, a professional shrink lived next door, I let down my guard and shared how David and I navigated our different desires.
None of what I shared came as a shock to Stanley. He had been in practice for quite some time. It only took a few meetings for him to deliver an assessment that lifted a heavy burden off my shoulders.
With martini in hand, Stanley served up some truth.
“You’ve never had and never will have the love you needed from your father,” he said in that sort of 60 Minutes interview way.
Then he leaned forward, hovered over the table and put it in no uncertain terms.
“What you need to do, John, is go out and have some fun. Unleash your true feelings and, for God’s sake, find something that makes you happy and then…just do it!”
Slice of Good Ol Boy Life 
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