Sex, Moves and Videotape

Some housekeeping - You may have notice I have a newly re-designed website! Thanks to Pieter Richter of https://lemonskate.com for the great work.

Writer's block is real, I tell ya! Wow. After weeks of being completely unmotivated to write, I churned out this post about a month ago. I typically write in Apple's Notes app, ostensibly for the instant backup to the cloud and availability on my phone and computer. When I went to put the finishing touches on the post and put it on the blog - POOF! - it was gone. WTF?!?! I tried my phone and I painstaking restored multiple offsite Backblaze backups of the Notes database file. I was able to get the title and that was it. Needless to say, this did not inspire me to keep writing! So here we go, I'm baaaack….

Bear with me, I’m going to pack a lot in here. Late 2015 was a bit of a whirlwind (what else is new, right?). After completely the Landmark Forum in late July, in September 2015 I began a 13 month coaching engagement with Melissa Ford in Oak Park. With barely two shekels to rub together (I was living rent free in my former marital home as it neared the end of the five year foreclosure process) I borrowed a not-inconsiderable sum of money from my magnanimous Uncle Steve. It probably sounds sound counterintuitive - why would I go into more debt? Before Landmark, I had been well and truly stuck. I mean, I just could not get out of my own way. Having worked with Melissa a few times, I knew at some level she had what I needed to really grow. I was just too scared to really dig down and find it. The Forum really brought that into sharp relief. I no longer had the same level of fear around the growth and transformation I knew was necessary. So I doubled down. Our all day kickoff meeting was in the stunning Langham Hotel on the Chicago River. It sounds extravagant, right? Perhaps. However it was important for me to be able to experience myself in this place as WORTHY of staying in such a place. I remember walking in and almost feeling overwhelmed by the niceness and level of service. The coaching was going well, however I felt I needed a kick so I registered for the second Landmark course - the Advanced Course in January. It was useful, insomuch as it prepared me to take the Self Expression and Leadership Program. That was truly remarkable.

Going into 2016, things were cooking! Work was coming in - good work! My schedule was full with profitable jobs and my photography was looking as good as ever. As a result of hosting Olympic Silver Medalist Emilio Sanchez Vicario and his colleagues at my house while they were in town to run a tennis coach’s academy, we struck a deal for our first video project - an advertisement for his academy that would run nationally on the Tennis Channel! Not a bad way to step into video. We flew to Naples, Florida in early February and shot for three days. Thing is, now that I seemed to have my head on straight, my body was beginning to make itself known. The shoot was absolutely brutal. Johnny had the flu and was running at about 40% and I felt like some alien being was trying to tear it’s way out of my urethra every time I squatted down (which is something one does a lot when shooting video AND when playing tennis). For some of the shots I had to lay prone on the ground. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain. We got what we needed and I headed to a friend’s house in the Bahamas to meet some people and play tennis for three days.

Johnny and I shooting at Sanchez-Casal Academy as Emilio stands a safe distance away! | February 2016 | Photo by Matthew Chamlin

I was in absolute agony the entire time. I was a complete buzzkill, I’m sure. It felt like I had a urinary tract infection. Taking ibuprofen helped a bit so I pounded three every couple hours and we played hard doubles for three or four hours a day. Flying home, I had to sprint between terminals with my 35lb camera backpack on my back to make a connecting flight. It was hell. I had zero idea what was going on with my body. On the recommendation of a friend, I went to see a nutritionist in the city. This was the very first in a nearly boundless line of practitioners. She had me draw blood and do a DNA test. When the results came back, she had me order about $500 worth of supplements and it turned out the DNA test showed that I was homozygous for the MTHFR gene. This will be important later. Actually, it was important then, I just didn’t get great information as to what to do about it. She sent me to her husband who is a Chiropracter. He gave me a bunch of leg stretches to do. About this time, I was dating another woman and things got physical - and really, really painful. Once again, an intense, nearly unbearable burning in my urethra. Not Good. Did it slow me down? No. I kept up my tennis and workouts. I was hitting with the high school varsity players. My muscles were beginning to get really stiff. At one point somebody asked me why I was limping as I came off the court. “I’m not limping” I replied. I had no awareness of how bad things were. Some more test results came back and the stool tests showed candida overgrowth and some other stuff. I don’t even recall. More supplements were recommended, I think. We needed to kill off the candida with grapefruit seed extract. Ok.

With my muscles locking up, I was scheduling deep tissue massages about every three weeks. In early July (nearly three months after the symptoms started for those of you keeping track at home), I made an appointment with a physician. After keeping me waiting for at least 45 minutes, listening for five and without even putting a hand on me, he said, “It sounds like your prostate” and he left. Encouraging. Gosh, why didn’t I do this sooner? And that was the first of many allopathic medicine appointments that left me perplexed and pissed.

On the plus side, I was starting to make some moves around getting four or five years of tax returns prepared. I had some income to pay the preparer anyway and it was abundantly clear that I needed to get this boulder out of my path.

Striking out in the dating arena and feeling newly empowered by all the coaching and growth, I reached out to “Q”. I still had very strong feelings for her, in spite of (or perhaps, more accurately, because of) all we had been through. The exact details escape me, but essentially we began to have a physical-only relationship. Just sex. I was happy with that, however very much wanted more. I wanted it to be like it was.

In late September, our long painful foreclosure odyssey abruptly came to a close. We had lost our inital case and won on appeal. Case law had been established that no longer supported our case. While the new trial was pending, the garage at the house, which needed to be replaced since at least 1987 was literally falling apart. It was quite a sight with a ratty blue tarp covering the roof which had been chewed through by raccoons who took up residence in the attic some years prior. At one point when I raised the overhead door, one of the tracks pulled away from the ceiling. And, to top things off, it had attracted the attention of the Village, who wanted it torn down, post haste. I had neither the money nor the will for this. At about the same time, the bank made a cash offer - turn over the keys and we'll give you $30k. The absurdity of this was not lost on me - had they offered something similar on the front end of all this, we maybe could have saved all the trouble, however they had zero interest in talking back then. I split the cash with Amy and the amazing lawyer, Sandra Emerson, who had taken the case on a pro bono basis.

The foyer of the “Bonnie Brae House” with my grandmother’s rocking chair | July 6, 2015

Now I had another problem. Where was I going to live? With the help of realtor Liz Badrinath, I found a great place eight blocks north on the same street where we had lived since 2002. Owing to my lackluster credit rating, the landlord wanted four month's deposit plus first month's rent. That was going to be a tough one for somebody without any savings who just got kicked out of his free living arrangments. As it happened, I got a call from a large law firm asking about portraits. After a site visit, I created a proposal. As always, I was struggling over how to price it. After doing sort of a "cost plus" analysis, I decided to substantially increase how my prior self would have priced it. (I kept complaining that I didn't feel like I was being paid what I was worth, yet I was always hesitant to ask for more.) When I presented the propoosal, I was having an internal panic attack when I got to the pricing. At the end the marketing director commented, "Oh. That's very reasonable." Between that and the remaining proceeds from the bank, I had enough for the place. The Universe comes through again.

The weekend before I moved, I covered various aspects of the World Series for Steve. When the Cubs were at home, I photographed VIP grip and grins on the field pre-game and covered signage for advertisers during the game. I remember walking up the ramp on the first base side at one point and nearly fainting from the pain. I had two cameras over my shoulder and lenses and batteries hanging from a gear belt. Again, not totally sure how I made through the night. During Game 7, I was posted at Addison and Clark to hopefully capture “Cubs Win” on the marquee and send it to MLB ASAP. For three hours I stood in the crowd with my cameras. Girls were peeing. People were climbing the light poles. Cops were angry. We were getting game updates from a couple guys with crystal radio sets because cell coverage was non-existent. When the banner hit the marquee, the explosion of cheers from the crowing is one of the loudest sounds I have ever experienced.

With Steve G at Wrigley Field during Game 1 of the 2016 World Series | October 2016

Back to reality. Unfortunately, the Universe does not pack and move your worldly possessions for you. The packing and the move were brutal. I had a good sized workshop full of power tools, large and small, not to mention lumber, along with quite a bit more than was going to fit in a three bedroom apartment. Steve's wife Lisa, my sister from another mister, was an absolute savior. She spent several days helping me sift, winnow and pack up my shit. I moved on Halloween day. By the end of the day, I was absolutely shattered - mentally, emotionally and physically wiped out. For as many moves as I have endured, I am simply not cut out for it. I ended up renting a storage unit to hold all the tools and more. Nearly four years later I sold most of what was in it for the damn near the same amount I spent on the unit rental. I was very sad to give up my maternal grandfather's 1952 Delta Unisaw. It was a beast of a tool. It's really funny the energy and meaning we invest in inanimate objects. Energy that can cause us to behave in completely illogical ways. I just kept thinking I would find a space - a garage, a corner of somebody's manufacturing space, somewhere I could set up the shop again. I had grown up visiting my grandfather (both were carpenters) and spending hours in his little workshop cranking out "Projects". It's in my blood. I love spending hours puttering around and creating things with wood.

The Bonnie Brae apartment, eight blocks north | August 27, 2016

The girls were pretty upset by the move in general and losing the house they'd spent most of their lives in. I was also distraught and mourning, although I was not present to it, nor to their level of sadness. I noticed it at some level, however I simply pushed it down. Amy had the great idea for the four of us to meet at the house to have a little farwell ceremony. We lit a candle, we cried and we wrote our thank you's to the house on the rafters in the attic that we gutted and never did get around to making into the master bedroom of our dreams. It was cathartic and I highly recommend it when moving out of a place where you've spent a lot of years.

In November, I finally got around to attending a ten day Vipassana meditation retreat. Over Thanksgiving, I went to a center west of Rockford, Illinois and turned in my cellphone. No books, no writing, no reading, no talking, no non-verbal communication for ten days. We meditated for nearly eight hours a day. It was difficult, especially the first three days. It is physically and mentally exhausting. In hindsight, I honestly do not know how I did it. I was so incredibly puffy and stiff. I practically sprinted to my room twice a day for nap time. My roommate only lasted about two days. On about day five, I was walking across the same bridge over the pond I had been crossing several times daily. I happened to pause and look into the water. I saw movement. Fish! There were fish! I began to sob. I don’t even know why. There was just something so ineffably beautiful about them. A couple days later I was walking back from breakfast, in a hurry to get a nap, and I heard a noise. Birds. I looked up and there were about 50 of them flying around the tops of the trees, singing and playing. More sobs racked my body. The exquisiteness and depth of the feeling of peace by day ten is nearly indescribable. Maxine was right - it didn’t “fix me” (because I wasn’t broken). But, man, if everybody would take ten days out of their schedule and have this experience, the world would be transformed beyond recognition.