It is not the day before the last day of 2010, which cannot come soon enough to end this dreadful year; it is, however, the day before the shortest day of the year, the winter solstice. December 21, sometime before 5:00 p.m., the sun will pause and then begin a northerly trek back toward spring and summer. Though I know it is not the sun that moves away and toward us, the spinning and rotating earth does the actual work here, all appearances in the sky give the impression of the sun gliding across the heavens.
It is just before 9:00 PST here in Reno, NV and the sun is perched far to the south, peeking through a gray layer with slanting rays illuminating the coating of snow we received overnight. These are the bleakest of days for me, depression and gloom press down on me like a lead weight of doom. This year has been one of the most difficult in recent history. Only 2004 may have been equally dismal with divorce and death taking the breath out of the year. 2010 has been as grim, though darker and more fraught with black undertones. This has been the year that I have firmly decided that I do not want to remain in Reno. Circumstances say otherwise but I must find a way to be resolute in learning some way out. Otherwise, I will die here without having escaped to a life I want to live.
Monday 20 December 2010
Monday 29 November 2010
Grinding Metamorphosis
Alprazolam 0.5 mg. It is Monday morning after the Thanksgiving 2010 four day holiday weekend. Creeping black dread descended on me like a Dementor this morning. Halfway to work on the 395 I ate one of the aforementioned tablets, after which a minor amelioration of my inexplicable melancholy began to take temporary hold on my downward spiral. What is it about this season that exacerbates my predilection toward bottomless depression? It is only during these short days and long, cold nights that this bleak thing mauls me like a fierce, slow-motion bear.
We are waiting. Waiting for word from a far off bank that may or may not say yes to our mad idea of radical change. I have loathed my worklife for at least ten years, though the reality is that I have felt this disenchantment for far longer than that. Working for the government in any capacity, a school district is no better than a sewer district for the back-of-the-house employees, has worn my very being down to exposed nerves. Dread gives way to panic that yields to horror as I near the end of my 22 minute commute. I have dragged myself to this place, or another that is identical save for the address, for over fifteen years. God has granted me a periscope into a life that could be, but I must rise to the surface on His path or be drowned by the evil one again and again. There are always newly rearranged distractions that lead me off God's path. Buy another car, have another glass of wine, read one more page of the latest news on CNN.com.
U-Swirl. Raleigh, NC. 2675 miles between Reno and Raleigh. $400,000, 90% of it borrowed from an SBA lender. Three kids to an entirely new culture. Or will it be Portland, OR? One coast or the other. Only God knows.
We are waiting. Waiting for word from a far off bank that may or may not say yes to our mad idea of radical change. I have loathed my worklife for at least ten years, though the reality is that I have felt this disenchantment for far longer than that. Working for the government in any capacity, a school district is no better than a sewer district for the back-of-the-house employees, has worn my very being down to exposed nerves. Dread gives way to panic that yields to horror as I near the end of my 22 minute commute. I have dragged myself to this place, or another that is identical save for the address, for over fifteen years. God has granted me a periscope into a life that could be, but I must rise to the surface on His path or be drowned by the evil one again and again. There are always newly rearranged distractions that lead me off God's path. Buy another car, have another glass of wine, read one more page of the latest news on CNN.com.
U-Swirl. Raleigh, NC. 2675 miles between Reno and Raleigh. $400,000, 90% of it borrowed from an SBA lender. Three kids to an entirely new culture. Or will it be Portland, OR? One coast or the other. Only God knows.
Tuesday 1 June 2010
The End of Winter 2010-Miami Freakshow
Memorial Day 2010. More accurately, it is the day after Memorial Day and this quarter-filled office reeks of a long weekend of no air circulation at all. I may be breathing 100% methane for all I know. Radon is allegedly invisible and deadly, or so we've been warned. The kids have begun their annual month-long migrations to their other parents' homes in the far off lands of Seattle and San Antonio. After next Wednesday, no one under 32 will be in the house except Brownie, the fierce and foul cocker spaniel of doom.
We have chosen Miami as our kid-free destination this year. Had I been able to get a passport quicker, we may have opted for a European, or at least Caribbean locale. South Florida is about as far away as we can get from Reno, NV while still staying in the United States, so that's where we'll land next Wednesday night. Should we not make it back alive, Yelp cannot be blamed. "They were warned," will surely be a part of our eulogies. We have read that freaks will surround our rental car at every stoplight and may even attempt to mount us as we walk the streets of South Beach. I certainly hope not, but the reviews are not encouraging. "Tourists will encounter public nudity and sudden violence, even in the grocery stores," reads one reviewers' thoughts on an unnamed travel advice site. The Ritz-Carlton on Key Biscayne has already been identified as our safehouse should we be mauled or bitten by a nude local.
And here's the thing, we have walked down Market Street in San Francisco many times, dodging various sidewalk dwellers who often lay muttering to themselves in pools of urine. Gross, yes, but I am hearing that Miami may be upwards of a thousand times more intense than the Market Street scene. But we're going to roll the dice and see if South Florida tries to kill us.
We have chosen Miami as our kid-free destination this year. Had I been able to get a passport quicker, we may have opted for a European, or at least Caribbean locale. South Florida is about as far away as we can get from Reno, NV while still staying in the United States, so that's where we'll land next Wednesday night. Should we not make it back alive, Yelp cannot be blamed. "They were warned," will surely be a part of our eulogies. We have read that freaks will surround our rental car at every stoplight and may even attempt to mount us as we walk the streets of South Beach. I certainly hope not, but the reviews are not encouraging. "Tourists will encounter public nudity and sudden violence, even in the grocery stores," reads one reviewers' thoughts on an unnamed travel advice site. The Ritz-Carlton on Key Biscayne has already been identified as our safehouse should we be mauled or bitten by a nude local.
And here's the thing, we have walked down Market Street in San Francisco many times, dodging various sidewalk dwellers who often lay muttering to themselves in pools of urine. Gross, yes, but I am hearing that Miami may be upwards of a thousand times more intense than the Market Street scene. But we're going to roll the dice and see if South Florida tries to kill us.
Thursday 11 March 2010
310 Plus 6
Six years in to my grand plan to reinvent, primarily, my whole financial scene. It has been successful to date and I see glimmers of possibilities that the Monterey peninsula may just be possible in another four-ish years...maybe six...but nonetheless not that far off. I have read 48 Days to the Work You Love by Dan Miller and I am working to remain in the mindset that there really IS something more out there. It takes consistent, if not constant, attention to formulate new possibilities. Someone recenly told me that the difference between a rut and a grave is the depth. I am committed to NOT getting to the six-foot mark.
The tenets of 310 involved total financial and personal freedom within 10 years from March 10, 2004. I have since paid off all debt except two houses and will be able to vigorously invest as soon as one remaining second mortgage is paid off in the spring of 2011. Reality says that my kids won't be totally out of the house until 2018 or 2020. That allows seven to nine years of the aforementioned effort at building real wealth and a springboard to phase 2, which should include a condo with a view of AT&T Park and true, Christ-centered peace.
Because the alternatives must be discussed, the well-worn path of despair should be pondered. Imagine another fifteen years behind this gray desk in quiet desperation? Work without passion stretching out into old age without hope of escape. Maybe another mortgage, backsliding into car loans, credit cards and dysphoria? Low end red wine and endless hours of television. All of this while the waves roll past the Golden Gate and the sun sets far out on the Pacific. The smell of grilled salmon and spinach risotto drifting in from the balcony. Countless bottles of velvety Silver Oak lining a wine cellar with reserves at the ready. The crack of the bat just across the way and the lights of the City twinkling on and on. Moonlight on the bay and the Berkeley hills beyond. So many reasons to press on toward the sublime.
The tenets of 310 involved total financial and personal freedom within 10 years from March 10, 2004. I have since paid off all debt except two houses and will be able to vigorously invest as soon as one remaining second mortgage is paid off in the spring of 2011. Reality says that my kids won't be totally out of the house until 2018 or 2020. That allows seven to nine years of the aforementioned effort at building real wealth and a springboard to phase 2, which should include a condo with a view of AT&T Park and true, Christ-centered peace.
Because the alternatives must be discussed, the well-worn path of despair should be pondered. Imagine another fifteen years behind this gray desk in quiet desperation? Work without passion stretching out into old age without hope of escape. Maybe another mortgage, backsliding into car loans, credit cards and dysphoria? Low end red wine and endless hours of television. All of this while the waves roll past the Golden Gate and the sun sets far out on the Pacific. The smell of grilled salmon and spinach risotto drifting in from the balcony. Countless bottles of velvety Silver Oak lining a wine cellar with reserves at the ready. The crack of the bat just across the way and the lights of the City twinkling on and on. Moonlight on the bay and the Berkeley hills beyond. So many reasons to press on toward the sublime.
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