Life, Work & Wonder

Category: Wordpress Writing Prompts

  • My Evolving Hobbies

    Daily writing prompt
    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
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    PROMPT: Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?

    When I was young I loved bowling.

    Starting in 5th grade my friend Bill and I would walk every Saturday morning the mile or so to the Sunset Bowl lanes in Ballard, and we’d bowl a few games. I remember bringing home the scorecard each week and just staring at each frame of the scores, thinking about them, breaking them down, looking forward to our next week of games. I couldn’t sleep the night before a game, I was so exited. So it went for the next few years. I loved to bowl, and any time I was going to bowl (including the year in 7th grade when my friend Darryl and I joined a bowling league), I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited.

    I don’t remember how old I was when suddenly I lost interest in bowling. Was I 13? 14? It seems like one month I was eagerly bowling every week, and then suddenly I could care less about bowling. To this day, more than 50 years later, bowling is something I’ll do if friends want to, but I could care less about any of it and I’m always glad when it’s over and we do something else.

    So too it was with golf. In high school, I loved golf. Couldn’t wait to golf. Couldn’t sleep the night before a round of golf. Two or three times a week I went to the course, and when there was no one to golf with me I went by myself and would join random groups. Just like with bowling, I loved the numbers: when I’d get home each day after a round of golf I would break down my game, and at some point I had every score card filed away in my room. Was I good golfer? Not really. But I loved it.

    Then one day when I was a sophomore in college I was on the course with my friends Matt, and we were approaching the 7th green, and suddenly I felt sooooooo bored. And just like that I was done with golf. Yes, I golfed some times after that, and sometimes even had fun on the course with my family and friends, but I could care less about the actual game.

    And so it went. With bowling. Golf. Baseball. Basketball. Classic movies. Partying. Even dating. One moment I was totally into it, even passionate about it, and the next I could care less about it.

    In my 40s and into my 50s, I loved to talk to strangers. On an airplane I’d love to hear someone’s life’s story. In a bar, the random person next to me became my instant connection. I loved hearing people’s stories so much that I started reading every random memoir I could find, and even volunteered on the Crisis Line because it was another way to hear people’s stories. Now? Barely at all. I sit quietly on an airplane, don’t engage people on the street, and had to give up the Crisis Line because I was struggling with keeping interested in it.

    My life has been one of fleeting interests. Fleeting hobbies. Really into something I enjoy one day, and then totally oblivious to it the next.

    There are hobbies in life where I’ve retained an interest my whole life. I love to read. I love to write. I love analyzing data. I love to exercise. And I love mountain creeks.

    But there are more — sooooo many more — activities that are ultimately a passing fancy.

    It can be something I fret about. And I could strive to recapture the joy I felt in those fleeting interests. But, then again, why?

    I feel like the important thing is that I have things I enjoy now. At this moment. The what is less important than the whether. And ultimately I can remember and appreciate the joy I felt when I was going to do those things that I once loved.

  • High School Was The Most Secure Time Of My Personal Life

    Describe a phase in life that was difficult to say goodbye to.

    I’ll never forget the last week of eighth grade.

    I skipped (with my parents’ permission) all the eighth grade ceremonies. It was an incredibly sunny week. And I just felt so much relief that I never had to go to junior high school again.

    I think most Americans look back on middle school with less-than-warm-and-fuzzy feelings. For me, it was an especially hellacious time of life. I was a late bloomer, meaning I was the smallest kid in the class, which overall I didn’t mind except I played sports and although I was more coordinated than most kids I was always battling for playing time against coaches who preferred bigger kids. Being a late bloomer also meant I looked like a 4th grader in a sea of kids who had overdeveloped bodies, which made the social circle kind of tough. And I was also an extremely hyperactive and talkative kid, which basically meant all my teachers despised me. It was two years from hell, actually.

    When that last week of junior high school hit, I swore that high school would be a different experience for me. That I’d try to find a way to blend in more.

    Whether it was because kids were more mature in high school, or I’d figured out how to blend in more, my high school experience was a much better experience.

    I got decent grades. Had my fair share of playing time in sports. And kids more or less left me alone. I was just a regular kid who went to school for seven hours, did the bare minimum of homework to get Bs, and then really really enjoyed my after school hours.

    I read a lot of books (ironically, rarely ones assigned for school). Played a lot of games. Played a lot of basketball. And spent a LOT of time laughing with (not at) classmates and friends.

    Although my time in actual class bored the heck out of me, I loved those years. I had extra spending money from part-time jobs. I had my friends. And I didn’t have a lot of responsibility, not like in the adult years when life is mostly drudgery for anyone who is wholly devoted to their family.

    With the exception of maybe a year or two in college, I’d never again know a life like this. It was a wonderful time. And at graduation — when most of my friends were celebrating — I remember feeling pretty mixed, because I knew (from watching my parents’ burdens) that a good time of my life was closing.

    Life is amazing. And there are always pockets of joy within any phase of life. But it was actually difficult to say goodbye to that time of my life that included high school.

  • If I Want To Live Forever, I Need Only Attend Corporate Presentations From Hell

    What bores you?

    There is the saying that only boring people are bored. But is that true?

    I’ve found in life that I’m rarely bored when left to my own devices. There is sooooooo much to do in life!!!! So many books to read, magazines to peruse, films to watch, exercises to do, hikes to take, places to explore. If I lived a thousand years, I couldn’t begin to cross everything off my list that I’d like to do. So for me, the problem isn’t boredom but sometimes of feeling overwhelmed.

    For me, the only time I feel bored is when I’m trapped. When I was a kid, that meant sitting in class with teachers who dictated what we had to do, or sitting in a class (e.g. shop class) where I had no interest. As an adult, it’s corporate mandated trainings and meetings. Life is an ETERNITY when I sit in these meetings. I feel so bored. So trapped. I feel like if I want to live forever, I should just spend every day in a Corporate Presentation. But who wants to live forever in that way? That’s like an eternity in hell.

    Have I ever left a corporate presentation Zoom call or a training or a meeting where I thought, that was worth my time? Not that I can think of. But I do feel like time has slowed down and that the day was 10 years long.

    So I’m rarely bored when left to my own devices. It’s when I’m forced to waste my time in meetings where I feel trapped and bored. If I want to live forever, I’ll just spend the rest of my life going to corporate meetings.

  • For Me, The Best DIY Project Is No DIY Project

    Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.

    Spring 2001.

    I was in the midst of a major (and expensive) home remodel which involved improving the basement and actually finishing the top floor of a three story house. In the midst of all this, it was decided to also paint the main floor bathroom.

    I was 33. I had a lot of energy. I had a young family (two young children) with a stay at home parent (their mom) who needed every ounce of savings we could spare. So I decided to take on the painting of the main floor bathroom. It didn’t matter that for four years before this I had tried and failed at numerous home improvement projects that we ultimately had to hire to be rebuilt. This was painting. How hard could it be?

    For two nights, after work, after dinner, after story time and teeth brushing time and putting the kids to bed time, I went into the bathroom and I painted. I’d change my clothes, get the brushes etc.. I taped all the edges, and carefully carefully carefully rolled and brushed the paint on the floor. I don’t remember why it took so long, maybe it was because I put on two coats of paint, but I believe I painted for two days until 1am, perhaps eight hours in total. I’d go to bed exhausted, get up at 6am the next morning, put in another full (stressful) day at work, then repeat the process.

    When I was done, the bathroom looked — terrible.

    Truly terrible.

    I hadn’t taped properly so the paint edges looked like bright dragon’s teeth. There were drips all over the place where the paint had been too think so sweated down the wall. And the paint had been applied spectacularly unevenly where some spots were pretty bare.

    Despite my exhausting effort that cost me probably eight hours of sleep, we ended up hiring someone to re-paint the bathroom walls. In other words, my effort was a complete waste of time.

    I had to admit to myself, that no matter my intentions, no matter how many books I read or videos I watch, I am not a DIYer. Not by any stretch of the imagination. I’m just not good with tools or projects like that, in terms of aptitude, efficiency and skills.

    We like to say, where there’s a will there’s a way. But that’s not true at all. Just like there are lots of people in this world who will never run a 4.4 forty no matter how much they devote themselves to that cause, there are people like me who will never be a skilled or acceptable DIYer. My brain just isn’t wired that way.

    So, for me, I’ve learned that I can waste my time trying, or I can just pay the money upfront. So that’s what I do.

    For all this reasoning, I’d say my best DIY project was that bathroom since it showed me the mirror. But the truth is the best DIY project is — for me — no DIY project.

  • I Learned That When All Is Taken From Me It’s Coffee That I Miss Most

    What is your favorite drink?

    In 2012 my doctor suggested I give up a lot of foods I love. Just for six months or so, so not for terribly long. But still. It was a lot to ask all things considered.

    For more than a year I’d been mired in hell battling lung disease. I’d spent the better part of a month going through a myriad of doctor’s appointments and tests before spending a week in the hospital as they tried to diagnose what I had (spoiler alert: a very very rare disease with only a handful of known cases at the time). Then I’d spent six months on prednisone and other medicines to battle the disease. Then the real hell began: utter exhaustion as the disease and the doctor’s faded away and left me to pick up the pieces of what had been a normal life just 12 months earlier.

    Turns out all the prednisone I’d been on had created sensitivities to a lot of foods, many of which I love: breads (yeast), chocolate, most fruits and (aarrrgggghhhh) coffee among them. I was placed on a strict limited diet to decrease inflammation and to give my body a chance to re-set. This meant that I had to give up nearly everything I love to eat, including pizza, chocolate and coffee.

    What I learned from this experience is that you can take nearly everything from me, and what I most hated sacrificing was my coffee.

    I love coffee.

    I love waking up in the morning to a cup of coffee. Sipping coffee throughout the day. And a midafternoon espresso to give me a final boost.

    I love the smell. I love the feeling. And I love the experience of coffee.

    To take that away from me was very very hard. And I was so grateful when I was told it was okay to drink it again six months later.

    We learn how important things are when they are taken away. Lung disease cost me my ability to play competitive sports, the political ability (and desire) to thrive in Corporate America, and even my first marriage. But it was coffee that I missed most of all when I couldn’t have it.

    Here’s to life. And here is to life with a fresh cup of coffee.

  • Life Is Growth Of The Sole (AKA Yesterday’s Perfect Shoes Are Not Today’s Perfect Shoes)

    Tell us about your favorite pair of shoes, and where they’ve taken you.

    In 1997 I found the perfect pair of shoes.

    They were in the window of a small shoe boutique, and for me they were perfect at the time: not too expensive, very comfortable, very fashion forward, and could work with slacks or jeans. I purchased the shoes and wore them nearly every day for two years. I got lots of compliments on them and I loved them.

    In 2003 I found a different pair of shoes that I loved. They were Kenneth Coles and pretty tame in comparison to the shoes I wore in the 1990s. But at the time I was working in Corporate America, in a job that required many hours and my wearing slacks and a dress shirt during those hours, walking many many miles through airports and business centers while working those hours, and my Kenneth Coles were so comfortable they were almost like tennis shoes in a time before people wore tennis shoes with suits. Plus these shoes were easy to polish while watching TV on a Sunday, and had thick soles that made me appear on the north side of six feet (before I lost an inch or two to back issues 🙂 ), and I just loved those shoes so much.

    Today the shoes I love are my tennis shoes. I have a pair of bright Keehus that I loved, and a pair of Chlae Bradley high tops that I also love. Just like my beloved shoes from 1997, I wear them with jeans and I wear them with suits and they are very very comfortable to walk in. And since I have a pair of cloth overshoes I wear in the house, I rarely have to take them off during the day even though our house is a shoeless house (be gone, sidewalk germs!).

    Anyway, for me a good life is a life with personal growth. One where we are continuously evolving, learning, adapting, trying to get better (kinder and wiser). Normally, I strive for growth in the soul. But in this case, it’s growth of the sole 🙂

    I love shoes. I love comfortable shoes, I love fun shoes, I love adaptable shoes, and I love stylish shoes. I’m grateful for the fun (and affordable) shoes I’ve owned over the years.

  • Budgeting: A Tale Of Two Lives (Then and Now)

    Write about your approach to budgeting.

    Over the decades and over the years, my approach to budgeting has changed.

    Partly because of the times, but mostly because of the circumstances.

    Time was I had to budget to the penny every single month.

    Part of this was because my mom was a CPA and budgeted to the penny every month so that was normal for me. But mostly it was because I was broke.

    I was in graduate school with rent to pay, then I was a lowly-paid teacher with a mortgage to pay, and every single month money was tight. Exceptionally tight.

    At the time, I used a chart on graph paper to keep track of every necessary bill (mortgage, electricity) and reconciled the checkbook to the penny, and if a bill didn’t arrive on time I called to ask how much it was so I could pay it and not worry about it showing up unexpectedly. Every month was down to the dollar, and more often than not the last week of the month was a reliance on broccoli soup since broccoli was cheap. I remember joining a mail-order coffee club because they gave a free coffee machine, and that was the only way I could afford a coffee machine. Adding to that was the city of Seattle, of course, which had exceptionally high license renewal fees/taxes each year for car renewals despite the fact I was driving a very basic and aging car, so every August when that was due I’d moonlight a second or third job to cover that expense so I didn’t have to fret about it.

    But overall it was hell.

    Today budgeting is easier.

    I have some money in savings, I am steadily building my retirement savings for 10 or 15 years down the road, and we’re good about not living beyond our means, and all my financial obligations except credit card* are on autopay, and my daily expenses go on credit card, so I don’t have to hyper manage my budget anymore. In fact, although I religiously check every expenditure that goes out, I don’t budget per se, and I don’t fret per se, although if we have a big expense coming up (trip to see family, house repair) I’ll put the money for it aside in a separate account.

    It’s hard to be poor. It’s exhausting to be poor. It’s stressful to be poor. There is absolutely no margin for error to be poor. So for me when I was part of the working poor (much of my adult life, actually, given that I gave my 20s and part of my 30s to teaching) I relied heavily on a budget, had no room for extras, and kept track of every single penny.

    I’m grateful that in recent years I can be more re-active and less stringently uptight. It makes life more enjoyable. And it also gives me compassion for the people who are part of the working poor like I was.

    NOTES

    (*) Not having credit card on autopay forces me to go through the bill each month in a timely manner to comb for errors and/or fraudulent charges while also keeping an eye out on my spending habits for the month so I can adjust if necessary.

  • Inadvertant Criminal: Killing Stress (Illegally?) In Alaska

    Have you ever unintentionally broken the law?

    In 2003 I was stressed.

    I was in software sales, selling to the State of Alaska, and 600-employee company I worked for was largely dependent on our client (State of Alaska) signing our new sales contract to meet our numbers for the month.

    The sales organization I was working for, like most sales organizations, was not a tolerant organization. They needed me to bring in the new contract and by gosh if I didn’t bring it in then quite possibly I was going to be fired. So I felt a lot of pressure.

    A wrinkle was, I’m ethical. I refuse to lie, cheat, bully or bullshit to get a contract signed, so I was essentially relying on good old fashioned pleading (“please can you sign this by the 31st??”) and client relationship (if a client likes me they’re more likely to try to get it signed on time) to get this thing signed on time, but the reality is I didn’t know if my client could get approval from the state to sign it by the end of the month.

    It was evening of the second to last day of the month, and the next day would determine whether or not the contract would be signed on time, and my boss (who was under the same pressure I was) and I flew up to Alaska to try to nudge this contract along, partially because it’s true the squeaky wheel gets the oil. That night, after spending an afternoon with the client, we went out to a dinner, had a few more glasses of wine than we should have, then joined some other associates at a local bar for another beer or two, mostly to drown out the stress we were feeling over getting the contract signed.

    I wasn’t obnoxiously drunk, but I was pretty tipsy by the time I left the bar and walked the few blocks to my hotel.

    Little did I know that I’d broken the law that night.

    According to several online sources, Alaska has a state law prohibiting being intoxicated at a bar. When that law was signed, and why it was signed, I don’t know, but it does appear to be a law all the same. And I definitely had had a glass of wine or two too many that night.

    Thankfully the contract was signed the next day, so the deal was signed and my job was secure for at least a day until the next morning when it was the first of the month and the rat race started all over again. But best of all, I didn’t get fined or jailed for unintentionally breaking a law that evening 🙂

  • My Autobiography Title Would Be “Ugly Boy” (AKA Takes A Licking And Keeps On Ticking)

    If there were a biography about you, what would the title be?

    As a teen, I was teased a lot about my looks.

    But my favorite tale is the time in eighth grade when my classmate burst into class. “Hey everyone, get this!” He called out to the class. “Tony’s grandma was looking at our yearbook last night and stopped and pointed at a picture and said, ‘Now that boy’s ugly.’ So Tony looks who to see it was and it was Rob!” Of course, I’m Rob in that story, and I can still hear the laughter from my classmates.

    To make a long story short, that was a painful comment but I kept my head up. And I have many many faults, but I’m a reasonably confident person who didn’t let that teasing about my looks in my formative years bring me down and in fact had a lot of fun in my teen years. I’m actually kind of proud of that if I’m honest, that I hung in there and resisted the urge to withdraw from the world despite some heartless ribbing along the way.

    I’ve had a lot of luck in my life. But I’ve also had my share of times where I was kicked in the groin. I had undiagnosed autoimmune disease as a kid but somehow emerged from that reasonably productive as an adult. My first marriage was to a selfish narcissist who eventually kicked me to the curb after extracting every morsel that she possibly could from me but again I emerged from that too (and today am re-married to a much better person). And perhaps luckiest of all, I was diagnosed with a potentially terminal (50/50) lung disease at age 42 but not only survived that but emerged from it mostly okay.

    So I feel like I’ve lived a lucky life where I have so much to be grateful for, but also one where I’m frequently called “Ugly Boy” (mostly figuratively but one time literally) that I have had to stave off and then emerge from. And I have done just that.

    I feel so fortunate for all that. So grateful for that. I am proud to say that I was called “Ugly Boy.” And that I emerged from that a-oh-kay 🙂

  • Living A Different Life Than My Parents (AKA My Parents At My Age)

    PROMPT: What were your parents doing at your age?

    I was always 5-10 years behind my parents.

    By the time they were 20, my parents were married (to each other 🙂 ). They started careers at 21, having kids (me) at 21 and they owned a house by 22. Later, they upgraded their house by age 27, started earning decent money at 30, and making great money at age 40.

    Me?

    I was married (for the first time) at 25. Started my career job at age 29. Had kids and a house at 30. And started earning decent money at age 35.

    Always I was about five or ten years behind them. And that was okay.

    By some miracle I caught up to them by age 40.

    At age 40 I had some lucky breaks in my career, and I too suddenly started making pretty great money, just like my parents themselves had done at 40. Mom was proud of me, telling me that I was farther ahead of them by age 40, but the reality is we were about even.

    Then life took me on a different path for me.

    I got lung disease at 43. What started out as some fatigue and breathless when I exercised at age 40 was diagnosed as potentially-fatal lung disease when I was 43. That irrevocably changed the course of my life.

    Whereas my parents spent their 40s having fun and accumulating money for retirement, I spent my 40s managing my health and holding on for dear life to my life and my career.

    I spent countless hours in the doctor’s office. I lost a job, then found and lost another job. Meanwhile, after 5 years of trying to push and horse whip me back into my past successes despite my lung disease, my (now ex) wife lung gave up on me and moved on, first emotionally and then completely.

    By 50 my parents were living their greatest life and could retire at any time.

    By 50 I was job hopping, making half what I’d been at age 40, job hopping, managing my health as a second job, and hoping I could scrape enough together to retire by age 70.

    In short, by age 50 my parents had been a LOT better off than I was.

    And that’s okay.

    I’m not my parents. My life is not my parents’ life. I was blessed because life could have just used my lung disease to kill me, but instead it spared me and I learned that I am a survivor, a battler, and surprisingly resilient.

    And, overall, happy. Happier than I was at age 40, for sure.

    I’m remarried. I won’t retire rich but by age 70 I’ll be okay.

    In short, I was behind my parents, then caught up to my parents, then life pushed them ahead while knocking me back. And all in all I’m grateful. Because at the end of the day, all that matters to me is carving out some joy, managing my stress, and being alive.