PosMenAtt

Dear J-

The new normal is definitely not like the old normal; I get up way too early (I should either reset my alarm or actually get up when it asks me to do so), riding the bike doesn’t feel quite right, and there’s these exhausting creatures at home that actually demand a fair amount of time and interest. Life is good, and the novelty of being home will no doubt be sanded down into the regular thoughts; the big luxury of having time to myself is now superseded by the responsibility of being adult. Sort of adult, that is.

Age is attitude, and someone with muscular dystrophy told me that he stays as active as possible because of that — his brother, who also has MD, has been idle most of his life, broke his hip after falling recently, and upon seeing pictures, my friend said it gave him quite a shock — but convinced him that he had been doing the right thing all along, making time for walking around and staying as fit as possible. I admire the positive mental attitude that keeps us moving forward and makes the days go by easier.

I’m reminded that there’s all kinds of unique challenges in our lives, varying by situation and geography, circumstance and timing. If it wasn’t for bad luck, you say, but it’s what you do with the chances you’ve got that determines your success. We are more fortunate than most, and it’s time I spend some of that time keeping up with things instead of frittering it away in silent contemplation of page views or what’s trendy now. The longer you go in judging your worth by how others see you the weaker your reality becomes; you’re responsible for your happiness, attitude is key, and that’s the routine I find myself falling back into.

Mike

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Headed Back

Dear J-

We have had another full day but I’m looking most forward to collapsing in my own bed tonight. The nicest thing about travel sometimes is having it be over, but we hadanother great trip to Disneyland. figgy is now (just barely) big enough to fit on Space Mountain and so we went. You’d think that we’d have traumatized her for life by now but she’s just as happy to go on Pirates as the Tiki Room. Life is good.

1. Inside It’s a Small World. Calcifer was pretty fascinated.

2. Eighty dollars worth of food is pretty filling if you go to the right places (Rancho del Zocalo).

3. We made a last-minute decision to take the double stroller and it proved its worth over and over again for tired kids (here listing to port).

4. Pirate line. Sounds like a musical huh? I’m surprised by how efficiently the line moves: have they improved that process sine I was ten and had to wait an hour?

Mike

Home Alone

Dear J-

I probably talked about it the last time we were up here but there’s definitely something strange about seeing your childhood stuff in a new house where you don’t expect it to be. The books I was reading to figgy, for instance, have my childish scrawls inside declaring they belong to me. Earlier theVet asked me which of the rooms belonged to me before catching and correcting herself — being in San Jose means things are familiar and strange all at once. This is the new neighborhood and a house with two stories again, only with an upstairs instead of a basement and the old grandfather clock my dad assembled takes its focus from the big flatscreen instead of a moderate Trinitron.

We walked over to RAMAC Park earlier today, named after an early IBM effort at a hard drive and on the campus of their old storage division (which was sold to Hitachi a few years back before Western Digital bought out everyone). The land was donated back to San Jose after remediation from years of industrial neglect and it could now be a scene from any suburban California park: grass, playground, athletic field. No mention of the memories or commemoration of the technologies of fifty years back that brought the center of the technological world to a field in San Jose or the market forces that drove them away just as quickly. I know why my parents left, weary of the yearly battles with snow and without the jobs they could walk to (their commute was an easy four blocks) after retirement.

The house has changed but none of the old memories or habits have. The soup still tastes like overboiled bones, the towels slightly musty, the price tags still prominent just in case those items need to be returned to stores long closed. And they’re still just as proud of us, just as willing to sacrifice for us as ever. You take the long road of growing up and sometimes you suspect your parents still think of you as essentially helpless but the truth is that you can’t quite let go of this thought: let me do it, it won’t take long and I might as well, don’t trouble yourself. And maybe that’s why it feels like it never quite was home again, even after long stretches away at school. You make your home and take your comfort from where you are, not the memories of what you were.

Mike

Homeward Bound

Dear J-

I get to the check-in kiosk and there’s a new option: change your flight? The moment I impulsively click yes to see what’s available I realize just to what extent TV and the Amazing Race has ruined my life. Rather than stick to the original plan and cool my heels in Providence for a few hours I’m on a flight and smugly congratulating myself that it was fifty-five dollars well spent, getting out a little early and adding a stop but getting home a couple of hours early.

The original ticket called for me to travel through Baltimore to San Diego, one stop but not touching down until seven PM. Standby adds a stop in Phoenix. When I touch down in Baltimore they’re already taking a through count and I’m bumped off the plane. The agents scramble on my behalf while having to deal with an unceasing stream of lame questions, finally getting me back through Nashville instead and I sink back into my chair with as little grace as possible, relief overwhelming what adrenaline has propped up for the past hour. They take my bad at the door but at this point I’m just happy to be pointed in the right direction and I can finally remember the little squeal of glee I let out this morning realizing that I’d be home tonight.

Because that’s part of the fun in traveling. It’s great to find new places and walk down unfamiliar streets but knowing at the end of it all you get to put your head down in the usual places and kiss the right faces makes the return that much sweeter. When I finally got back to the hotel room in Providence the first thing I went looking for was a CVS, not because I needed the Coca-Cola and Doritos but because out was familiar. How many nights had I ridden the last bus of the night home to Jamaica Plain and stopped a little short just so I could make a meal of it, sorrow of solitude drowned with junk food? I did out again last night to remind me just how lucky I am, coming home to the chaos I’ve grown to miss.

Mike

Home Work

Dear J-

I’m doing something as simple as sweeping the floor today — chores around the house are not my strong suit, though I have litterbox, vacuum, and garbage duty — and it occurs to me that there’s a whole world at home that I’m missing with the schedule I’m on. The pleasant reality of this adjusted schedule is the lack of people peering over your shoulder. You do a good job because you don’t want to live in filth, which is a powerful motivator, but it also comes from within; either you’re happy working at things half-assedly or you put your best into it. The difference now is that the roles are flipped; work-job has become a distraction while work-home is the current priority. Sure, it’ll flip again come Christmas, but that’s where I’m spending my most productive hours and it’s hard to concentrate on two things at once.

I got hired on at the power plant as a contractor around Labor Day of 2002; I was actually hired on the same day and same company with someone else who’s working at the plant, though our career tracks have clearly diverged — he’s now a manager and I’m scrapping to become a level 3 engineer; he stayed in the financial side we both started in and I started over four years ago, as an entry level engineer. Reinvention is the goal; find something you’re happy with and run after it. The thought of bossing people around, even now after having gone through leadership training, frankly frightens me, and the time committment (my friend the manager talks about his ten to twelve hour days without a trace of resentment) doesn’t bode well, although I suppose that the more you put into it, the more you pull out of it.

The interviewers for the contracting company asked how you treat the job: what if you’re not done at the end of the day, what if you need to stay a little later? My answer at the time might have been the right one: this is the client, we need to keep them happy, and so we work as long as we need to — and that’s the way we worked it, my friend and I, we drove in together and drove home as late as we needed to, on Saturdays, on early mornings. The job was everything. Somewhere along the way I’ve lost that fire to some extent; the job is important, sure, and I’ll do what I can while I’m there, but the demarcation has been drawn in high relief, this is work, this is home, and the schizophrenia of having them together is pulling my head apart during the day, waking me up at night, and playing havoc with what I can do at home.

Mike

Back Again

Dear J-

Back home and it’s a relief — I do like going places, and Disneyland’s a prize destination, especially with kids in tow, but there’s something satisfying about having things put away and back in your usual bed at night.  Despite all the nice things I can say about the Disney people (hey, I paid them to be so nice), and how wonderful life at the Grand Californian was, I like being here at home hearing the familiar sounds and smelling the right smells too.

theVet tells me that this is just like going to Vegas, but for kids:  park your car at the hotel and don’t jump back in until you’re ready to go, because everything you care to see is within walking distance.  Lessons learned: even if you’re a dedicated non-stroller person, get one for Disneyland.  Don’t think you can head over to shows in the last ten minutes or so.  f/8, 8 seconds, infinity focus, and ISO 100 are good settings for fireworks displays, better if you have a tripod.  Comfortable shoes are a must.  Though they officially prohibit outside food and drink, don’t forget to bring water.  Escape into California Adventure (Animation Studio) at the really hot parts of the day.  And finally — it can be the saddest place on earth just as easily as the happiest if you choose to make it that way.

Mike

Day 05: The Return

Dear J-

As it turns out the intimidation was mostly in my mind; we were never in any real danger (strong ropes and strict protocols) but my brain still isn’t able to keep my feet from shaking when placed, solidly or not, on quarter-inch wire rope. I’m glad we went through it, but I’m also glad to be back home where the new normal is watching half a TV program as we keep putting figgy back to bed, picking up the toys strewn on the floor, and dealing with the reality of a nigh-three-year old. Leadership or not, it’s humbling to come back home — sixty miles and a world away — and remind yourself of your true place in the world.

Seriously. I have a friend who was always going to self-help seminars and motivational speakers, which I regarded in the same light as Scientology and Moonies. It seemed so easy to apply lessons immediately and in such perfect support this morning; now I look at it with a bit of rising panic wondering how I could effect change in the world — personal world, work world. Deep breath. Remember this morning, then; remember the steady stream of feedback and information, keep it simple, stay direct, eye contact, panic quashed. Is there really any doubt?

I said that I left Warner Springs believing in the power of the group, and I stick by that assertion. Earlier in the week we didn’t know each other well enough to have even attempted some of those stunts this morning. Throw us together in and out of class, though, and suddenly we’re a well-oiled machine; why can’t that happen more often in real life? I know, sure, this week was real life but it takes on an air of unreality when I try to poke back at it now; much of the growth was internal (a good deal went to my belly) but there are tangible benefits too. Head higher, back straigher, and all the way forward; I am excited to see what and how the changes will ripple through my life.

Mike

Warner Springs

Dear J-

Well, assuming that nothing else goes wonky this post comes to you courtesy of the network at Warner Spring Ranch, which is set up near Palomar Mountain, home to the famous observatory and, for this week at least, me. It seems a bit quiet but at the same time it feels like home: passing through one of the towns on the way here, Ramona, gave me a sudden, wrenching ache; something about the way the highway approached the town and plunged through it reminded me acutely of the way Cheney is laid out along Highway 904; you country types may not appreciate a small city when you pass through it, but the old downtown, the tiny businesses hit that part of my heart that speaks to home.

The lodge itself settles down after hours too; I came here in search of a meal, but there’s nothing for now — I’m here roughly half an hour late, and meals have shut down for the night. Brick floors; wood furniture, incongruous bamboo motifs but it all bodes well for tomorrow’s activities; the weather should warm up nicely, and the dress code is well-relaxed. I’ve no idea when the classes will let out, so I’m turning in early tonight, especially given all the batteries that will need to be recharged. It’s a strange way to come home, isn’t it?

Mike

Rage Legacy

Dear J=

Rage is a living thing: I have danced with it, I have let it consume me. I have come away thinking that sweet smell was victory, not burnt flesh. I have dried my tears with the rough side of anger, vowing never again while hoping for a next time to set me off once more. The simplest things lately have set me on edge, and for no good reason other than to taste the flame. It is a bitter heart. And it is mine. It starts with envy: I want or I don’t have or I’m not and I won’t. It ends in scorched earth, destroying everything fertile around so that you don’t have to feel the prickles growing into your heart.

Draw this picture: you’re on the freeway, minding your own business and someone jumps ahead of you to exit. Could have just as easily stayed behind, but had to pass and go; what do you do? If I’m not speeding up to close the gap, playing traffic cop, I’m cursing the spawn of the devil driving it. I can’t read minds and figure out why, I can’t do anything but make life harder for the cars around me, but it doesn’t matter, all I want to do is punish. It is depressing and empowering both to admit you are powerless; you can’t change things, so why let that affect your attitude? Sorry, my attitude.

Frustration doesn’t seem any less tasty at home, either. You get one crack at each day and taking things home — the wrong things, like how frustrated you might be isn’t fair to people who didn’t cause it. I have plenty of time to myself; I have lots of ways to get what I want. The envy should be less and yet there it is steadily gnawing away in my gut whispering lies: need, not want. All that yelling does is prove who can be louder, not making minds change any faster, unless you want to think of the change as spreading legacies down generations..

Mike

Patient Stat

Dear J-

On the way up we pass through a couple of valleys — Sorrento and then Carmel, which from the freeway present a morass of modern business parks complete with the dark glass and lit signs proclaiming famous-brand corporate tenants. We were invincible when we were part of that scene, parking lots and landscapers, walking to restaurants and taking real lunch breaks back in Sacramento. The work seemed endless and so too did the jobs, but we were all there on the smiling favor of some cost-cutting executive; as profits dwindled in the wake of accounting irregularities (yes, we were THE Worldcom) one by one those centers closed and consolidated until one day it was Sacramento’s turn to fold.

I’m feeling a lot of similarities in the jobs lately; the terror of not knowing what to do is replaced by an inward groan at foreseeing how much work lies ahead, the more familiar I get with it. Each new day, it seems, brings us closer to irrelevance — I don’t know if it’s a function of getting better at it, but the less challenging the work becomes, the more I fear being replaced by robots or trained monkeys pushing buttons. On the other hand it’s more likely that we’d change hats while doing the same work if it came down to it: there’s too much money and time invested in our skills to let them walk.

I don’t see myself as settling in to this slot for good; I don’t see myself building a career from this. Now is a wickedly opportune time to play on that, as I keep seeing more of the same before and ahead of me, stretching on into infinity. I came home last night in a daze, half-asleep and half-crazed with a need to root into the couch, but it wasn’t long until figgy, tired from the shenanigans of the night before (she kept emerging from the bedroom like an unsleepy fig-in-the-box) worked her self into the first of several passive face-down tantrums. It’s not the work, I think, it’s the best hours of my day being socked away and stolen that I hate, not the work. I think.

Mike