Life, Work & Wonder

Tag: life

  • It Ain’t No ‘Call Me Ishmael’ (AKA The Opening Sentence Of My Autobiography)

    You’re writing your autobiography. What’s your opening sentence?

    In another life I was a teacher.

    And for some reason I thought it would be awesome for the kids to teach them, “Moby Dick.”

    Who does that? Who takes a 17 year old high school student, someone who has their ENTIRE life ahead of them, and says, “I’m going to teach you Moby Dick!”

    I did.

    Those poor kids.

    And to their credit they didn’t rebel. They didn’t mock me (at least not to my face) or refuse to read another word. Day after day they came to class, had a smile on their faces, rolled up their sleeves, and worked on their assignments.

    I remember the last day of the unit. I thanked them for being patient with me through the book. That it had been a long slog but that they’d stuck with it and I was grateful for that (because students WOULD rebel if they don’t buy in to a unit or a teacher). Then we watched the movie, the one with Patrick Stewart. When the opening line of the movie was “Call me Ishmael” the students cheered.

    That was one of the great moments of my teaching career. Because they had actually stayed with me during Moby Dick AND the powerful opening line to Moby Dick had actually stuck with them. Resonated (maybe) with them.

    “Call me Ishmael.”

    It’s such a great opening line. Simple. Direct. Even layered and symbolic (Ishmael also means “wanderer”).

    For me, that is the great opening line of any novel, one that can be aped or matched but never surpassed. And, for me, when the students cheered when that line was said in the movie was one of the great professional moments of my life.

    I’m asked, “What would be the opening sentence of your autobiography.”

    And to that I’d say, first, there is no sentence I could ever write that would match that book. And, second, I can’t say anyone would ever care about my autobiography since I’m just an ordinary person who has had mostly an ordinary life:

    • My dad was a banker who wore a tie, my mom was a CPA.
    • I went to public schools in a mid-size city.
    • I was mostly a B- student, I played sports but neither terribly good nor too terrible, I had some friends but no more than an average person.
    • I’ve had a middling career that was neither terribly good nor too terrible. I know for a fact I was pretty exceptional at strategic sales early in my career, but am very mediocre at it since 2011.
    • Now 50 I’m neither rich nor poor, and just like most 50 somethings am trying to figure out which side of the Hill Of Life I’m on (the up slope or down slope).

    In short, I’m pretty average in every way. And that’s just fine by me.

    So, I guess, my opening sentence(s) would be, “I’m pretty ordinary in every way. And that’s just fine by me.”

  • Three Objects I Couldn’t Live Without (AKA: I See You Oxygen, Food and Water)

    What are three objects you couldn’t live without?

    As humans, we take things for granted.

    Heck, maybe all creatures take things for granted (the kitties seemed to get awfully bored with their toys and food after a short period of time unless there is variety).

    I’ve taken things for granted. And I sure as heck have been taken for granted (my high school girlfriend, college girlfriend and ex wife come to mind).

    So when I’m asked to name three objects I can’t live without, of course my mind goes to:

    1. Coffee. My life would be a lot more empty without coffee.

    2. iPhone. Not because of the doom scrolling or being accessible all the time, but because I just love sooooooooo much how I can fit every song and book and credit card I own along with a camera and notepad in my pocket all the time. I’ll never forget the first time I owned an iPhone in late 2011 — I couldn’t believe how much I could fit in my pocket!!!

    3. Money. It’s pretty hard to live without money. I don’t need a private jet or fancy house or a McLaren or an 8-figure investment portfolio, but it’s pretty hard to feed my family and keep our shelter serviceable without at least some money.

    But do I really need these things to live? Will I fold up and die without my morning and afternoon cups of coffee? Can I live without my music, albeit at a much less satisfying level.

    But wow oh wow it’s hard to live without food, water and (most of all) oxygen. Maybe someone could argue those aren’t objects, but they are physical so therefore I’d label them as objects. And I could not possibly live without them.

    We take things for granted. But I think if someone has lived with lung disease (like I have) where they’ve learned we can’t do much without lungs, been extremely thirsty where we’d do anything for a drink of water, or lived through a famine (so grateful I haven’t!) where we’re just so miserably hungry, then we’re certainly less likely to take oxygen, water and food for granted.

    Here’s to Oxygen. And water. And food. In that order. I will not take you for granted. And I’m just so grateful for you.

  • My Evolving Hobbies

    Daily writing prompt
    Are there any activities or hobbies you’ve outgrown or lost interest in over time?
    View all responses

    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.

  • 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.

  • Going To Be A Career Day Speaker

    A week ago there was an email from my kids’ high school looking for adults willing to be a Career Day speaker wherein we prepare a 15 minute presentation about our career and then present it to the students during Career Day. I volunteered to talk about what it’s like being a Seattle Real Estate Agent. Today I learned I’ve been approved and will be presenting. I can’t tell you how excited I am!

    There’s that old joke that more people are afraid of public speaking than death, which means people would rather be the person in the casket than the person giving the eulogy. And time was that I thought I was a terrible speaker and hated giving speeches.

    But I’ve learned in recent years that I’m actually pretty decent at giving speeches when I like what I’m talking about. Following a prescriptive Corporate Powerpoint Presentation with all the typical “look how amazing we are” slides? I’m awful. Giving a QBR presentation? Very hit and miss depending on if I like the team and the presentation isn’t too formulaic.

    But give me a topic I want to talk about, give me some time to ponder how to go about presenting it, and give me an open format to work with, and often I’m decidedly okay giving a presentation and I actually like it and can be relatively funny.

    In late 2019 my moronic manager took my client presentation and tweaked it a short time before I was supposed to give the presentation in person while jet lagged. It didn’t go very well. Partially because he turned it into the same eye-rolling presentation a million other software companies deliver to the poor prospective clients, partially because the last second changes didn’t give me time to prepare the new presentation, partially because the changes ripped apart the flow I’d been rehearsing in my head for a few days before the speech, and partly because of the time I would have been physically (eating) and mentally (breathing) preparing for the speech I was trying to learn his last minute tweaks. When he tried to do the same thing two months later, I ignored his changes and did my original presentation that client presentation went much better (spoiler alert: we lost the first client opportunity and won the second).

    A few months later I gave a presentation to medical students about my experience with a rare lung disease. I had a few weeks to prepare, had an open format to work with, and was passionate about the topic. The result when I gave that speech? It went great! So great that even my ex-wife who was embarrassed by everything I did at the time and was in the audience as a medical student herself even seemed remotely impressed.

    I love real estate. I love being a real estate agent in Seattle. So I’m excited to talk about my career in a few weeks. And excited to talk about my career to a group of high school students who are trying to figure out this career thing. I’m grateful to be given the opportunity and am looking forward to preparing and then giving the presentation.

  • 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.

  • Sometimes I Feel Almost Like The Old Me

    Time was I hopped out of bed first thing in the morning.

    I made coffee, ate a healthy (fruit) breakfast, did the dishes, fed the dogs, then either walked/ran or hustled to the gym for an hour before starting my 10-12-hour work day. During the day I moved moved moved, and frankly didn’t have a lot of patience without the drive or energy I had. After the kids were in bed, after I’d read them a story and helped them get on their pajamas, then I’d ready or watch movies or work some more.

    That was before 2011. Before lung disease clawed away all my energy. For two years after that, it was all I could do just to function in life. That was total hell.

    I remember asking my doctor, “Is it hopeless? Will I always feel this tired?”

    He looked me in the eye, and said, “You know, we can look at this way: the old you, the one that was at the top 1% for energy, is gone. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get you feeling better than you do now.”

    It took the better part of five years, but by 2017 I was starting to feel normal again. Nowhere near the old me, but not perpetually overwhelmed and exhausted all the time.

    Then in early 2020 I got Covid. The fever lasted a week, but it taxed the heck out of me and in the six years since I haven’t quite felt the same again, although I felt a heck of a lot better than I did in 2012 and I continue to improve from 2020.

    But there are days I start to feel like the old me. The pre 2011 me. Hyper manic. Energetic. Like the last few days.

    Evy is on break this week. And I didn’t have to volunteer this week. And I am working as my own boss in real estate versus working for Micromanagers From 21st Century Corporate Hell. And the result is I’m feeling good. So very good. In fact, the last few days I’ve felt great. I’ve cooked. I’ve cleaned. Done laundry. Been productive as heck at work. And I start to feel like the old me, the me before 2011.

    It feels amazing.

    I’m grateful.

    I’m grateful I used to have so much energy. Grateful that I know what that feels like (amazing!). I’m grateful that I survived lung disease, and that I feel better today than I did in 2012 and again in 2020.

    Life is a journey. I’m grateful for the journey of the past few days.

  • Last Night I Made Soup: The Recipe Was Delicious

    I never liked to cook. Eventually, I hated to cook. Finally, I refused to cook.

    In the beginning I cooked because I needed to eat. But I didn’t like it very much. It was just a chore I tried to get through as fast as I could.

    Then I had kids. And kids needed to eat. So for the better part of 20 years I cooked breakfasts, prepared school lunches, and made dinner. And since my now-ex was often gone, I was doing this while also trying to work, tend to the dogs, get the kids to their events and helping them with their homework. It was hell. I became pretty worn down, actually, and I remember in the late 2000s every night in the late afternoon sitting down with an espresso and a cocktail trying to motivate myself to cook yet another meal.

    Then my now ex started medical school. And somehow I was expected to cook for her (and her classmates) too. And to be supportive I did it. And that, among other things, broke me.

    For more than five years, I’ve all but refused to cook. I’ll be an assistant cook (“Rob, would you turn the oven on to 400”), I’ll prep cook (maybe), I’ll clean up, but otherwise I want to eat out at restaurants, eat take away food (note: I’m American but prefer the Brits use of Take Away over To Go 🙂 ), or warm up food, but I all but refuse to cook.

    But yesterday Larissa had a super busy day that went until the early evening. I knew she was tired, and didn’t want to go to a restaurant, and didn’t want to think about cooking food (she normally likes to cook but has been so busy the past few weeks), so I decided to take it off her plate.

    And I cooked.

    I spent half an hour researching “healthy hearty simple” soup recipes. I found one that seemed very very healthy and tasty, and had a prep time listed as 10 minutes. So I went to the grocery store, purchased all the spices and vegetables and broths, came up, turned the music up high, and started cooking.

    Did it take much longer than 10 minutes? Heck yes! These prep times assumes someone has a commercial kitchen with vast amounts of experience dicing and slicing things. But that’s okay. I got into a zen moment, did what needed to be done, and when Larissa got home a delicious soup was waiting for her.

    The recipe was amazing. I will use it again.

    Anyway, sometimes in life we have to break through our resistances. For me, that is cooking. I’m happy I cooked last night. I hope to do it again soon.

    RECIPE: https://www.loveandlemons.com/vegetable-soup/

  • The Best Gift I Ever Received Was A Divorce

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