Next week...

Is going to be really busy. I suppose that's a good thing. I have a lot of hearings to get to, and preparation for the next week to do.

I have a pro bono case that's about to explode. The way they always do. I have another one, that I thought I settled, that looks like it's going to get unsettled.

Am I only what I do? To a lot of people yes. "That's Rob, my lawyer." I love the possessive before lawyer. That's MY lawyer. Like MY dog. Or MY handgun. Makes me feel like an instrument. A tool.

Lately, I've felt better about doing the things I like to do. And extending myself enough not let my fear or trepidation keep me from doing things I want to do. Whether that's going to a club, or making small talk with the people at the bar. I'm losing my crippling lack of self-confidence.

Yet I still don't feel like I belong with any particular group. I run out of things to say. Out of interest. I find myself pulling out my cell phone. I'm pretending it rang, but really I'm just checking the time. I want to be in the mountains. I want to be alone.

But really, at base, I'm lonely.

So there's the conundrum. I want to be alone. But I want people with me. Maybe I just want the parade of individuals that wander through my life to be less random. To be more about my choice of who I want around. And less about those who think, or do, need something from me. I have no tribe. In a sense I have a pack.

I'm not trying to be too dramatic. But I think about the lone wolves that roamed this valley before they were hunted down and killed. Three Toes. Old Aguila. Ally. They lost their packs as they were hunted down, one by one. Surrounded by a cloud of coyotes and stray dogs they continued the hunt. But there was no love in the pack. There were no litters. No young to protect. Just an endless forward movement, from one bloody night to another. No wonder there were such spasms of killing. Nights when ten, twenty, a hundred sheep and cows were killed.

All that was left was their JOB. Their LIVES were over. I don't want to be like that. I know myself. I can see myself withdrawing further. Withdrawing with the family I must protect, and a cloud of folks who, for all their good points, are only there to share the kills.

There must be more. There is more. But I don't know where to find it. I don't know how to keep it. But I know, to be happy, I've got to be more than a title on a door. I know all about lawyrrob. It's personrob who baffles me. And at the end of the day, it's personrob I need to get to know. To develop. Unless I allow myself to get pushed further and further into those mountains. To the barest edges of the world. To a place where I am truly all alone. To a place where all that's left is to stand upon a hill and stare at the lights with fear. Knowing you can never, ever, go back.

I've decided to really try. Because I don't really want that to happen.

Whatever...