Every now and then life will give us the opportunity to beat the crap out of ourselves under the guise of “having it all figured out,” and – if we’re paying attention – we just might be able to curb the beatings before any permanent damage is done.
I have been given such an opportunity, and if you are among the crowd who has wondered where I disappeared to – or, if are interested in avoiding your own self-demolition – then this blog post is for you. It’s going to be kind of long though, so if you have somewhere else to be right now, I promise not to hold it against you if you don’t feel like sharing my walk down ‘How to Stand in your own Way Boulevard’.
Circa 2001
This is when it really started to fall apart, so Kayla, Cassie, and Austin, please know that my fall from grace at your expense has been duly noted in the history books. Also know that climbing out of the depths of self-imposed purgatory is as cleansing of an experience as a person’s soul can have.
After a failed marriage and an equally unsuccessful attempt at reconciliation, finding a job at a successful ‘dotcom’ company seemed to be the ticket to freedom – not to mention vindication – but 3 years of dedicating my life to a cause that I did not create left me more jaded than enlightened. My attempts at setting a good example for my kids while simultaneously rebuilding my social life found me firmly in the throes of workaholism while unsuccessfully navigating the minefield of ‘dating’, and one day I decided that fleeing the scene would be the best thing for all involved.
Rinse and Repeat
While the twin towers fell to the ground in September 2001, I was literally driving through the middle of the United States on my way from Seattle, WA (home of failed marriages and dotcom riches) and my new home in the tropical southeast corner of the country.
By that point it was too late to go back, and since I was fueled by the belief that leading by example meant creating success IN SPITE of adversity, I forged on. The post-911 economy, however, was far from in resonance with the idealism of an ‘anti-corporate’ rebel, so I ended up crawling back into bed with Corporate America on 3 separate occasions before finally starting my own business and breaking ‘free’.
Free is a relative term here, however, because even though I came close to making 6 figures a year – and even got married again in the process – all I had done was buy myself another 12-hour per day job, only this time I was the one signing the paychecks.
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