pisron (pis•ron) n. Perceived Important Sailing Regatta, Oxymoron Noted.

Maggie wasn't really Maggie. She lied about her name to protect herself in case I turned out to be a stalker or rapist. Because she lived in San Diego we visited frequently, always by her traveling to Newport Beach. We rode bikes, went to Catalina either by plane or boat, or just existed. She met me in Hawaii for a few weeks while I raced in a pisron. Our mild relationship on for several years. Eventually, she told me her real name and the name of the guy she had been dating after she dumped Gary. I didn't care who she dated. She was protecting my feelings, so it was clear that she didn't know me that well.

She moved to New Jersey to work toward a master's degree in nutritional science, so we wrote a lot. These were pre-internet letters sent by regular mail. Cynthia, in these letters, was another sweetheart of mine who eventually gave up trying to change my ways.

1988

Dear Margo;

It was, as usual, again, nice to talk to you last night. It sounds like you anticipate some pretty big changes but might be a little afraid to act selfishly enough to be truly happy about them. I'm not going to be some professorial guru lecturing about the wisdoms of life because nobody knows what's right for another. In fact, each of my days is another exercise in collecting experiences to see if they match how I think life ought to be. At the moment, things are nicely tuned and I think there are some principles at work here which might interest you. I like to think that this is no accident, however, for all I know my whole set up may evaporate tomorrow. Even if that happens, I have ways of dealing with that.

I say selfish and I mean it.

Our society is a giant machine that has been conditioning us into accepting things as normal since day one. This situation explains how kids think that smoking is cool and how parents believe toy guns are OK for their children. It explains how Christmas became so dreadfully out of hand. Sure, put a dead tree in your house and wire it with electricity and pray (to something) like hell it doesn't burn your house to the ground. Get some big fat guy in a department store to make promises that stand no chance of being fulfilled. The conditioning I write about explains religion, war, the U.S. government and nuclear proliferation. It even explains marriage. Divorce is a natural reaction, a final upheaval by the human spirit against conditioning. It shouts back that things can't always be the way it is in story books.

The daydream you left on my phone machine about windsurfing in high wind and warm water is totally within reach by me, right now, as are many other dreams. This is because I have rejected, for myself only, the concept of relationship as it applies to anything but friendship. I am currently doing everything that the advice columnists warn against. I refuse to commit to anyone (commit what?), live with anyone, provide for anyone, support anyone. I am standing up to my neck resisting the river of humanity that says I should work my ass off for the sake of anything or anyone else.