Bismark Park

Bismark, ND. I’ve never spent any time in North Dakota as an adult, so I decided to spend a night here on my return from Minnesota. I’m enjoying a hot chocolate at a little coffee shop (Terra Nomad) while I reflect on my recent visit with friends and contemplate what I want for my future—and how that has been shaped by my past.

My friend “Joseph” and I had a chance to have some great conversations late into the night during my visit and I’m once again confronted with the feeling of longing for infinite free time to spend with my people.

I’ll occasionally buy a lottery ticket—it is more for the exercise of hope for unrestricted potential. A blank slate for daydream imagination combined with a problem-solving panacea.

Minnesota is beautiful and green. Most of the little towns hit a lot of my dream-home buttons: sparse populations; tight and bustling communities; quality local shops, bakeries, and delis; well-maintained and cared for public spaces; beautiful old architecture; virtues of hard work, respect, honesty, and balance all clear and effortless. If there were mountains and milder summers (with fewer bugs), I’d become a resident tomorrow.

Is it possible to replicate the success of these dream conditions elsewhere? I kind of think it is. When I visited Germany and Slovenia, I got a similar impression (though it was admittedly a brief sample). Both of those visits included mountains, so what’s keeping me from moving there? If money were no object, I might be compelled to test out such a move, but ultimately the truly lacking variable would be my friends and family. At the end of the day, I need my people.

*Does that mean I should try to make my people (i.e. marriage and children)?

**Should I try to transplant my people to the same location?

***Should I find a way to be happy with limited access to my people?

Tough Mother

Visited my friend “Trevor” in Kalispell today. Trevor suffered two strokes just before this past Christmas and he is working on his physical therapy and recovery. He’s 35 years old.

When I first met up with Trevor, he was standing on his porch and I couldn’t tell if anything was different. After he started walking down the stairs, the mobility struggles became apparent with his left foot dragging and the stilted cadence of his gait. We went for a hike and he answered a lot of the questions I had on the way. I learned that he had two rare forms of stroke simultaneously that should have left him unable to speak or walk—making the progress he’d already made that much more remarkable. He still struggles with recall (though I didn’t personally witness any gaps) and his kinesthetic awareness for his left limbs. His vision is also impaired, but he has already seen improvement there, prior to any lens correction.

He was angry and frustrated with what he viewed as slow progress, but he also demonstrated his personal fortitude by predicting a full recovery. I mentioned that patience has never been his strong suit (a sentiment to which he claimed resentment, but also grudgingly admitted as accurate).

I felt much better about his condition and prospects after that one visit—he’s strong and determined and he has great support from his family and their local community. I’m looking forward to my next visit and witnessing the new progress he’ll undoubtedly make.

Travel Update

Last day in Seattle: 1/31/2019

First day in the world: 2/1/2019

I spent the month of February traveling around visiting friends and family:

About a week with my friends in Yakima—playing with the kids, eating delicious home cooking, working on random projects with my good friend. No TV, just quality time.

About a week with my brother and his family in Idaho—playing with my nephews and niece, enjoying the snow (then shoveling TONS of snow), video games and quality time, and moving the last of my worldly possessions into my brother’s shop as I prepare to launch officially on the road.

About a week at my folks’ place in Montana - trying to keep the house warm amid -20F temperatures and snow. Loading firewood and adopting my dad’s routing of retirement (a lot of TV, but also trips to town for lunch with my mom while she is at work). The waterline breaks just as I am preparing to make a trip to visit my friends in Wyoming, leaving my mom and dad without water, but they are prepared with bottled and water from town.

About a week with my friends in Wyoming—playing video games and watching TV with my good friends. A nice balance of mindless entertainment, challenging boardgames, and stimulating conversation that reminds me of college. The old rhythm is there, though the perspectives may have evolved.

A few days in Colorado visiting my cousin and his family—playing with the kids and some more great quality time and conversation. I really value reconnecting with my cousin and I am thrilled to see how his kids are turning out (all of my nieces and nephews are such wonderful children who are glowing testaments to the efforts of their parents, but also examples of the consistent and awesome spirit of their youth).

The last half of March has been spent transporting water and assessing the water situation. Now that the snow has started melting, we’ve been able to trace the water to a leak in the line and after a lot of digging, we revealed crack in the line that will likely mean replacing the line altogether. There’s something therapeutic about the labor—a single task of digging in the rolling foothills with snowcapped mountains beyond; vast blue sky with high clumps of clouds and bright sunshine warming my back and head (along with the effort of the toil); the radio providing a rhythm, but the real soundtrack is the breeze in the pine trees and the birds calling to one another. It’s a familiar feeling from my childhood, but it feels much older than that…a primal resonance that’s more than just memories from my childhood home. It’s a perfect moment in time and I’ll honor it properly by just letting it be.

Living Vicariously Through Myself

Blog chronicling the decision to deviate from the standard model

Why?

That’s the first and most obvious question I’m asked when I reveal my decision to leave my job of twelve years in a growing metropolis of opportunities and financial stability.

My job is a very good one. It is a small office that has managed to retain most of the startup sensibilities—autonomy, varied responsibilities, flexible schedule--while remaining successful/profitable.

I live in an apartment in Seattle. The city has grown significantly in the 13 years I’ve lived here, but the pace of growth has resulted in a further acceleration in the pace of life. My neighborhood is walkable, with grocery stores, restaurants, and cafes nearby. My office is a 30-40 minute commute (20 minutes if I leave very early in the morning). Traffic can fluctuate pretty severely, which has the psychological impact of mentally factoring a substantial time in traffic when making social plans. Combine the lack of readily available parking options and the possibility of inclement weather and suddenly, spontaneous activities become less appealing. Even getting together with friends in the same city becomes restricted to a weekend activity.

There are plenty of folks who adapt to these conditions by utilizing ride-sharing services for travel to avoid parking or spending more time at home with their families. The former is little more than a stopgap for those who seek an active social life and one that does not address traffic concerns or accommodate the freedom of altering plans. The latter option is appealing to me, as someone who values quality time with conversation and small social circles; however, for those of us who are single, a home represents solitude and isolation for a majority of the time. Solitude and isolation are also valuable and appreciated, but mainly when they are choices, rather than a status quo from which to deviate.

Even the simple act of driving without a destination is a luxury that has become difficult to enjoy in a congested urban cityscape. Traffic has many negative impacts that range from the obvious logistical challenges to the more understated psychological erosion of patience and goodwill—any seemingly thoughtless action is amplified as a personal affront and injustice. I don’t like finding myself cursing at other drivers or being impatient. I recognize that this is a challenge I should attempt to overcome in myself, but if there is a better environment for me to exercise patience, I’d like to explore that.

I’m a man who values taking his time to appreciate life. I value roots and home and family and friends. I’d like to have my own house and turn it into a home. The longer I’ve been in this city, the more distant the prospect of home ownership seems. The housing market boom continues and my boss has encouraged me to invest in a home. My concerns are three-fold: firstly, I would view a home as a terminal investment, in that I would want to buy something where I could plant roots and take decades to develop. Such an investment would necessitate my remaining in an area for that time and preclude my moving elsewhere.

Secondly, the cost of buying a home in this area would be such that I would need to remain gainfully employed and advancing within my career in order to afford buying and maintaining a home. Losing my job or deciding to pursue another career would be a much riskier proposition with a mortgage responsibility.

Lastly, buying in an area where I could afford the cost of the home and find the pace of life I’d prefer would further increase my commute time and reduce my time spent enjoying the home, as well as time for social endeavors (i.e. meeting a significant other and developing interpersonal relationships).

Community is something that I find valuable and developing community is integral to society. It seems that a growing number of social ills are the result of isolation and marginalization—violence, homelessness, and the general attitude of division and faction resentment that pervades the country and world at large. We tend to choose the path of least resistance, which leads to our gravitating toward like-minded groups who can further reinforce a like-minded perspective, rather than consider alternative viewpoints in an honest way. We don’t have to live with people with whom we disagree, so we consider those people as outsiders who are “wrong” in their worldview. If we are forced to live together with those with a different point of view, we tend to find ways to get along together and respect our differences. Eventually, that respect allows us to more honestly consider different points of view and build a diverse ecosystem that is more resilient and more likely to endure adversity—whether it be economic challenges or other threats to the well-being of the community. With that well-being reinforced, it provides greater stability for those residing within the community and enables them to spend more of their focus on introspection, advancement, growth, and enlightenment. If I don’t have to worry about my neighbors as much, that gives me more time and freedom to do what I want with my life.