Where everybody knows your name

Last Friday, the cupboard was bare of anything I wanted to eat, so I stopped at the Starbucks by my office for breakfast. Posted on the door was this sign.

Last day after 36 years was the next day. As I picked up my iced coffee and Ham & Cheese Croissant, I turned to the barista and told her I was surprised and sad to hear about the closing.

"You didn't know?"

The manager, who I have gotten to know over the past ten-plus years, turned and joined the conversation. I guess they had known they were closing for a while, and began telling their regulars in May. I was gone for most of the month, and by the time I got back, they probably thought it was old news. 

We chatted for a bit. I said I was surprised that their store was on the chopping block. They are generally pretty busy, and the store had been remodeled just two years ago. I guess the store remodel was under the previous CEO, and the new CEO has other plans. My Starbucks is a smaller store with not a lot of seating, and it sounds like the focus is now supporting stores where folks can linger, a so-called Third Place. 

From Wikipedia

American sociologist Ray Oldenburg called one's "first place" the home and the people the person lives with. The "second place" is the workplace—where people may actually spend most of their waking time. Third places, then, are "anchors" of community life and facilitate and foster broader, more creative interaction.[2] In other words, "your third place is where you relax in public, where you encounter familiar faces and make new acquaintances.

When I go to a coffee shop to spend some time, not eating meals on the run, settling in to read a book, I do choose a different Starbucks and their comfy chairs. That said, my small Starbucks near my office is still a Third Place for me.

These days, I lose almost all my days off for two, two-month stretches each year. During those periods, I don't get to see friends outside the office much. My stops at my Starbucks during tax season are as much for the friendly faces and a mental break as much as it is for caffeine. There were moments like these from a February 2018 post that I won't soon forget.

There were the regular check-ins from the manager about how I was doing as the days and hours grew long. She had been at that Starbucks for twelve years, almost as long as I have been back in Washington and preparing taxes. There were hundreds of other small moments that kept me going when my energy and spirits were low. One of the last things the manager said to me on Friday was for me to make sure to take a vacation after this tax season is over. 

Yes, it is just a chain coffee shop. Yes, I will save some money not having a place so close by to sneak away and grab a caffeine and sugar boost. And yes I shouldn't be leaning on a coffee shop to support my mental health. But it feels like I have been, and the store closing removes one of my Third Places. A joint where everybody knows your name. A space of calm during the storms. A tiny thread in the fabric. A place of support and joy as silly as that may sound. The store closing is not earthshattering, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to acknowledge it, and recognize how small things and kind people can make a difference. 

Time to create better practices and find other spaces. 

November

For the last decade, November has been sort of a second spring.

As a guy who prepares taxes for a living, there are two major seasons during the year. The first crush of work/hours is to make the March 15th and April 15th deadlines, and the second is the extension deadlines of September and October 15th.

After the spring deadlines, we take a breather, get out of town for a bit, but there is still a bunch of work to do over the summer to make the fall deadlines less brutal. After the October 15th deadline, the tax year is really over. Well, mostly but there really is much less to do. This is the time when all those things I ignored and which faded into the background for much of the year suddenly move out of the shadows to be seen. There are days of office cleaning, scanning and shredding prior year stuff to make room for the current year's paperwork, doctors appointments are made, car maintenance is taken care of, etc.

It is the same thing on the home front. After weeks of long hours and few days off, it is time for (second) spring cleaning. After catching up on sleep and arriving home during daylight hours, you see your home in a different light. First, there are cobwebs. Everywhere. There is a large stack of newspapers I haven't read, but couldn't quite admit I wasn't going to get to. I only get the paper on Sundays, but the stack was still pretty high. Similarly there is a large backlog of books I want to read, but since most of them are on the Kindle or still at the library, the stack is less obvious. My desk is covered in receipts and I haven't balanced my checkbook since the end of the previous year. I reconcile other people's books all year, but can't seem to get to my own, like a carpenter that can't seem to find the time to finish the baseboard in his house. It is satisfying to dig into it, but man the list of set aside projects is long.

The other November re-birth for the past decade has been about writing. It began with that first Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) in November of 2010. The other Sean threw down the gauntlet to join in the challenge of writing 50,000 words in a month and I could not ignore his enthusiasm. I made that 50,000 word deadline and came away with a novel that first year. However, I have attempted it a few other times but have not been able to recapture the magic.

I have been on the Nanowrimo mailing list since that first year, and the encouraging emails start rolling in each year around early September. This year a singer I follow was going to take it on and she encouraged me to join. November comes and I have the time and mental space to imagine taking it on again.  Like in previous years though, I did not have a sufficient idea to pursue, but also as in previous years, November sparked something inside that made me want to clear away the mental dust that I had let gather.

Back when I was writing more consistently, I carried around a little notebook to jot down ideas that crossed my mind. Now the notes are jotted down on a phone app when they appear, but they appear less often. To no one's surprise, part of the reason is the phone itself. Moments when I previously let my mind wander are now occupied by the world behind the small screen I carry around. There are fewer creative thoughts because I don't make time for them. When I am busy I can make the excuse that my mind is full, but not in November.

Several nights this month I have been reading old posts, and going through the note-taking apps on my phone. I have found posts that I am proud of, and little snippets of scenes I jotted down for possible stories that make me smile with possibility. It reminds me that there was something in there once, and that it could be there again if I allow the time, make the space, and do the work I have been neglecting.

Treading water

I have had some form of depression for much of my adult life. It manifests at different levels, and in different ways at different times, but it is always there running in the background.

It has overall been less powerful over the last decade, primarily a result of the counseling I went through as a part of my divorce. Though you cannot rationalize your way out, talking about it nonetheless helped (and helps) tremendously. Just having someone on the outside, looking at it with you, can alter your perspective.

Two other things came out of the counseling that have helped in the intervening years. One was the realization of the effect my depression has on others. This thing I thought lived only in my head, and only made my own life miserable, had toxic effects on those around me. I know this should have been obvious, but in the thick of it, it wasn't. I was surprised to see how this misery I thought I was internalizing, brought others down with me despite my best efforts to spare them. There were many contributors to my divorce, most of which I can only speculate on, but I have no doubt that my depression was a big factor.

The other somewhat related lesson was that trying to internalize everything, to try and go it on your own is a short-sighted response. Depression can make you feel isolated and unworthy, but you are cheapening your connections and relationships by not trusting those that love you. They believe in you, even when you cannot. Where a decade ago I would not think to share my internal spiraling thoughts, I now let people know when I am struggling. Not always, but certainly more than before. I have not been to a counselor in almost a decade, but now I am more honest with my friends and share a larger part of my head and heart with them. I do this in person and also here online.

In sharing stories here someone recently reached out to me to talk about depression. That same night, YouTube coincidentally suggested a couple of videos about depression. The following morning I was crying uncontrollably in the shower.

Depression has hit me in waves before, often feeling like a physical weight on my chest, but I have never felt so out of control as I did that morning about a month ago. I know for many, depression is a chemical thing. Though I had read this and believed it to be true, I had never experienced it a way that made that knowledge felt, made it real. There were thoughts running through my head as the wave crashed, but it didn't feel like they were the quake that set off the tsunami. This felt very different, something apart from thought. And I felt helpless.

One thing that made the helpless feeling a bit stronger was I felt that I had lost one of one of my ways to respond to it. This breakdown in the shower was about a week after throwing out my back, and I could not turn to running as an outlet. There would be no solace on the road where I could try to sort things out. The feeling of being physically broken as well only added to the height of the wave. Also adding to it were the long hours of work in the month and a half ahead. How was I going to get through them feeling this broken.

The tide eventually washed out and I pulled myself together enough to continue getting ready for work.

How the rest of that March day went will follow in the next post.

Tis the (off)season

The Christmas season is in full swing with all its richness and scheduling craziness, but it many ways it is the off season right now. November and December are the two months where we get our reprieve from the tax season that somehow stretches into ten months. Even though the social calendar is filling up with festivities, there is a bit of peace to match the ideal of the season.

Wintertime is not only the off season for work, but it is also typically the off season for training. For those that have training cycles throughout the year, the winter months are generally when you take it a bit easy. Not only does your body need a break now and then to repair and renew, but you need to step back to give your mind a rest as well. You risk burnout if you go at it day after day, month after month, and I think time away allows you to pursue your goals with more energy and determination when you return.

Winter is an ideal time on the calendar for this. For most of us (ah to be in San Diego some days), the temperature drops and the daylight hours fade. Add to this the activity and temptations of the holiday season, and it is nice to not watch every calorie, and sleep in on those Sundays when you would be more typically rising early to run or ride. 

This year is a little different, though. For a number of reasons, I wasn't as active this summer. Injury and illness played a part, as did more finish lines on the work calendar than the running calendar, but if I am honest with myself, I lost that spark, that drive to take care of myself. As a result, I am carrying more weight these days, both physical and mental. That needs to change.

So I am getting back at it now. For the past couple of months, I have been getting out three times a week for a run or a ride. Things being slower at work makes it a bit easier, but the winter season makes it more challenging. I am running in the dark most of the time, so I am either chasing a little headlamp circle bobbing in front of me, or swapping out more scenic routes for ones with streetlights. 

And then there is the weather. It has bounced between drenching rain and bitter cold. A day after I sank into the saturated soil, the hole froze solid. 

But then it was 66 degrees on December 10th, the warmest December day recorded in Seattle since records began in 1945. There is nearly as much time spent wondering what I should be wearing as there is actually running. 

But I am finally moving in the right direction again, and the habit is starting to take hold. The other day when I was just about done, a red light delayed me. Even though I was ready to be done, I decided to turn right and add some distance rather than wait. I have also been running some 5ks lately, and it is nice to be toeing the start line again. 

The Evan Sebenius 5k Memorial Run

 The Green Lake Gobble

Turkey Trot

Holiday Fun Run

So it is sort of an off-season that isn't. I am hoping (planning damn it!) to carry the training dedication and self-care through the winter and into the April madness. I need to do a better job at prioritizing heath and well-being over deadlines that will be there no matter what I do.

One nice thing about the crossing of the off-season (that is or isn't an off-season) and the Holiday Season is having the time to be able to see friends and family. I look forward to the grand gatherings with the warmth of home and friendship, but there is something special about pinning on a race bib and taking on a challenge together. A bit of fellowship to add to the richness of the season. And burning a few extra calories before the roast beast doesn't hurt either. 

Subtraction and addition

Sort of last minute, I had the whole week off. One benefit of working all the crazy hours of tax season (which seems to stretch out to nine months) is getting to bank a little comp time for when it slows down. I have a few weeks saved up, and to work around other people's vacations, I was told to take last week off.

Since I was short on planning time (and disposable vacation money), I didn't go anywhere. It became a week to take care of projects that have fallen by the wayside. Cleaning the apartment, reading the stack of articles set aside, finishing reading a book, etc. I did get to see my brother and niece in a play, ran a 5k with friends, watched a couple of football games with different friends, and hosted some biking/brewing buddies for a brew day. Writing it all out it seems busier and less solitary than it felt. Brain probably isn't focusing on what it should.

The major project though was whittling down the stuff in storage to see if I could downsize. When we sold the house, I threw much of my stuff in storage, temporarily I thought. Then a couple months later, I moved to San Diego for a few years. So everything just sat. After I moved back and into my own place again, the big pieces came back out. It was an interesting and almost fun experience rediscovering parts of what I had left behind. My memory never being terribly good, it was easy to be surprised by things I had forgotten.

Then life/work got busy, and to be honest, I got lazy. The remainder of what was in that rented garage was left to sit. Part of it was that with each pass through, the decision of what is still important becomes more difficult. I am a pack rat by nurture and nature, so there was a lot to go through. Even though I was in and out of there every month or so to grab gear or tools, I really didn't know what was all there hidden away in those boxes. Now with a week with nothing on the schedule, it was time.

Frankly there weren't many painful surprises of love lost hidden away. It was more an exercise of deciding when and what to call quits on. Sports I will likely not participate in like skiing and softball, tools inherited from my former father-in-law that I have not used, the extra chair or sleeping bag, the motorcycle unridden, the files from my failed venture into real estate and lending, school books, bank statements and on and on.

By the end of the week, I had take a truckload each to Goodwill and to the dump, and a couple of large boxes to the shredder. The weather cleared up on Friday, and I moved what remained into a unit half the size, which saves me $100 a month. There are still things in there that need to go (like the motorcycle) but what remains is a more focused, organized set of still current passions - camping, hiking, building.

A couple of other pursuits have slipped from "passion" to "should be doing", but I am having difficulty getting my mojo back. I ran the 5k the first Sunday, and have some more on the calendar, but I need to get running back to an every-other-day habit. The other "should be" of course is writing. It is no secret the posting has been pretty damn sporadic here, and this month I am getting daily email reminders of what I am not doing. It is NaNoWriMo time once again. I have thrown my hat in the ring the last four years to spend the month writing dangerously. That first magical year, I wrote what would become Share the Road. Getting to 50,000 words in a month, all the subsequent work and then getting it in print was an amazing feeling.

Each year since has been a series of misfires. I was excited to take it on that second year, but stalled out at 30,000 words. Subsequent years were less inspired, and I mostly made the effort at the egging on from my friend Sean. He didn't throw down the challenge this year, and I am mostly glad. The magic just isn't there right now. I am still getting those daily email reminders from the NaNoWriMo website and community, however. They are messages filled with enthusiasm about creativity, and just plunging and seeing what happens. I am not ready to join in right now, but I will let them keep poking at me to prod me back up off the couch.

I am not ready to cart this off to the land of recycled passions just yet. It made the cut, and I will open up that box more than just once every few months.

It was a cleansing week and I am feeling a bit leaner. For all the subtraction this week, there was one notable addition. I have my CPA license back. After fitting in 120 hours of classes and taking ethics twice (I am now extra ethical), it became official last week. I stepped away fifteen years ago, and I guess it was one more thing that sat in storage all this time.

I am glad I didn't throw that away.

Walking path

"In the city, Harold's thoughts had stopped. Now that he was back in the open land, he was once again between places, and pictures ran freely through his mind. In walking, he freed the past that he had spent twenty years seeking to avoid, and now it chattered and played through his head with a wild energy that was its own. He no longer saw distance in terms of miles. He measured it with his remembering."

 ~ from The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce

Work has been crazy lately. This was not unforeseen, as we have very defined deadlines we can mark out on the calendar at the start of the year. No matter how much we try to prepare, there is always a mad rush at the end. We can be seen skidding through then narrow opening as the heavy door comes crashing down a la Raiders of the Lost Ark, and we can only hope to have made it with hat and head intact.

Monday September 15th was the latest deadline, and we finished the last project around 9:00 at night, three hours before the midnight deadline. After a couple of weeks of long hours and working weekends, I was offered a random Tuesday off to recover and recharge. The clock has already started ticking on the next deadline, but sometimes you need to take a break to avoid breaking.

I slept in a bit, but my fried brain still had enough energy to chatter me awake too soon. I decided to go out for breakfast, and made it that much better by walking there. I have found that I need to get outside to balance out the desk time, but let that knowledge slip away as deadlines loom overhead like a guillotine. A walk in the sun would do more for me than the coffee waiting at the diner counter.

I slipped on some headphones and fired up the latest U2 album. The album had been given away free to all iTunes users as a promotional stunt at the latest Apple launch. I won't be buying an iPhone any time soon, but was happy to walk away with a little bystander swag.

Though I have been doing a bit of hiking and biking lately, I have really lost touch with my active self. A bout of Plantar Fasciitis in May kept me from running, and then the round of shingles forced me to pull back further to allow my body to heal. The shingles are gone, but the heal pain lingers. That has been discouraging, but more troubling is the loss of drive to recover my former self.

I have had a couple of anchors the last few years that have kept me (relatively) sane, and I have let them both slip away. Both writing and running help to keep my mind and soul clean. I have turned away from both, and I am dealing with the consequences. Netflix binges have pushed out time to write, and I have been filling in empty spaces with too much food and drink. I am fifteen pounds heavier than I was at the beginning of the year, but it is more than just a physical weight that I feel. I have known the solution, but at times those first few steps or words are the most difficult.

So instead of trying to run, I walked.

Forward motion. Music. Lyrics. A gift of a day unexpected. Sunshine. Fresh air. All had their part in shaking loose some of the jangled thoughts and emotions that had built up over the summer. Breakfast was served with a friendly face, and coffee and bacon did their own trick of service. Afterward, I wandered down to the river path and stood and watched the ducks preen and swim in lazy circles.

In the afternoon I would meet a friend for an impromptu hike, conversation and climbing peeling back another layer. In the evening, I would meet my two brothers for a drink, and find further connection and renewal there. We did not find the meaning of life as the subject line of the coordinating email implied we might, but we did find life at our booth on a random Tuesday.

I can get lost so easily on such a familiar path, especially in the busiest times when my head is down, just working to make it through the next real or imagined gateway. Running and writing have been my compass in the past. They don't always point me in a specific direction, but they definitely mark the path away from a place I shouldn't be.

Baby steps.

The mental game

This tax season was harder than the last, and at first glance, it really shouldn't have been. I worked about the same number of hours, had a shorter commute, and I was a bit less clueless about what I was doing. Sure there were a few hiccups this season like one of our staff leaving in the middle of March, and my truck getting sidelined for the last couple of weeks, but overall it should have been a bit more manageable the second time around. In retrospect, there were a few factors that made the difference.

Like any other challenge, a lot of it is mental. I went into the season sort of excited to see how I would have improved after a year behind the desk. I had learned quite a bit from classes I had taken, but much of it was just figuring it out on the fly. Through repeated exposure, things made more sense, and files didn't seem as daunting.

I had made it through the crush of April 15th, then survived the more final deadlines of September and October. This time I would know better of what I was up against, and I figured it would be a bit easier to handle. However, there is a flip side to the benefit of experience. It is less scary because you have been there before, and there are fewer unknowns the second time around, but those same disappearing unknowns can make the challenge more daunting. You know how hard it will be, and fear is sort of replaced with dread.

It is similar to running marathons. That first one is a mass of breaking through barriers into worlds unknown. The strange realization of finding hours to dedicate to training that you didn't seem to have previously. Little by little, sometimes literally step by step, expanding what your body and spirit can do. Discovering strength you didn't know you had, pushing through fatigue, discouragement, or just the temptation to stay in bed this Saturday instead of heading out for three hours of running in the rain. Little victories along the way that culminate in the brilliant joy and relief of crossing the finish line.

The second time is much different.

Having been through it once before, you know how difficult the road is going to be. The long hours, the hard work, and all the things great and small you sacrifice to make it happen. Instead of breaking new ground each time you head out the door, the gains come in small increments, sometimes too minute to notice. You have made it to the finish line once before, but you know that doesn't mean finishing is a given this time. Most of the fear is gone, but so is that nervous energy that heightened every sense. That first time, no one could fault you for reaching beyond your grasp. If you don't finish the second time, it feels more like a failure.

In music, there is that added pressure on your second album. Since you managed to beat all the odds to break through the first time, it shouldn't be that difficult to do it again now that you have made a name for yourself. But once again, what was fresh and new in the first go 'round can be a tougher sell on second pass. The breakthroughs give way to a series of tweaks and adjustments, crucial but less dramatic. So many fail that the phrase "Sophomore Slump" was coined

Now that I have gone done the rabbit hole of metaphor, I suppose I stalled in a similar way after my first book came out (well, only book so far). There was that unknown excitement and fear that propelled me along the first time around. Failure was almost certain, so what was there to lose? Now that I have actually finished something, there is that demand (from me) to do better on the second one. Doubt and second-guessing are somehow ironically stronger after success. Heightened expectations, even if they are just your own, can do you in.

Oh the games we play.

Happy place

Work is full on into the crazy season now. I still have Sundays carved out to get outside, but other than that, it is head down, trying to get it all done before the deadlines go flying by. Insomnia is making it more difficult, but at some point I think even that will give way to fatigue. Sundays will disappear at some point, but it is the calm eye of the storm for now. 

These videos have popped up lately, and they are moments of simple happiness. Animals can be that calm in chaos, eyes in the storm, bringing forth a smile where you didn't think you had one. I hope they turn your day around like they have mine.

A darkness of the mind

I shouldn't make even the smallest decisions, much less operate heavy machinery first thing in the morning. This is nothing new, but it has been even worse lately. I am up to about fifty-five hours a week at work now, and with the commute, I am gone for twelve hours at a time. The minimal watts of brain power I usually operate on before the sun rises has dimmed even further. 

The hours of sunlight are getting longer, but the hours at work are matching the increase, so I am still heading out and coming home in the dark. Sierra and I wander the yard pre-dawn and post-dusk, so her already cloudy navigation skills are further limited. However, there is a light on the corner of the house to lead her to the yard, and the porch light to lead her back. When she wandered aimlessly one morning as I was late for work, I said, "c'mon puppy, just head toward the light." No, wait, don't head toward the light!

Since I can't seem to get home in time to get in a run, I have been heading out on my lunch hour a couple times a week. Steve has encouraged this to keep sane during the crazy season. I only have time for a couple of miles, but heading outside and getting the blood pumping does help clear the head. Unfortunately, not quite enough. 

A morning routine has more or less fallen into place. Wake up, feed the dog, prep the shot, take her out, shower, eat, give the shot, take the dog out once more, scoop poop, drive away - all in about 45 minutes. Even with repetition, there are hiccups. Tuesday I forgot my running shirt, so no run at lunch time. This morning I remembered the shirt, but forgot the lunch I had packed the night before, so no run again. I was sitting in my car feeling like banging my head against the steering wheel when our Admin Tamara drove in. I explained my moronitude as we rode up in the elevator. 

Under the strain of the longer hours, shorter nights, and trying to figure out what the heck I am doing, my brain is breaking. I am feeling a whole lot dumber lately. A couple of hours later, I was at the copier "making copies". I made some sort of error, and said (I thought) under my breath, "dumbass". Without missing a beat, Tamara said from across the room, "No you're not." 

It was a nice reminder that I am not as dumb as I am feeling right now. Also, that I need to avoid falling back into the habit of knocking myself down over stupid mistakes. It is a terrible habit, and it certainly doesn't make me any smarter. 

I swear I am going to remember my lunch tomorrow.

The 20 year path to where I started

"There's not a word yet
for old friends who've just met."

~ lyric from "I'm Going To Go Back There Someday", The Muppet Movie

It sort of feels like I've returned to someplace I have never been. Returning to a job that I have never had.

I studied business and accounting in college, but I have barely worked in the industry. Before I graduated, I went through a series of interviews at school, but did not snag an accounting job. After graduation, I took a review course and studied to take the CPA exam. If memory serves (and it has been a long time) there were four parts to the exam stretched out over two days. If you passed at least two of the sections, you could keep those successes and only have to pass the remaining two parts on your next attempt. The wrinkle is that the exam is only held twice a year.

I managed to pass all four parts on the first try, something only 7% of CPAs accomplished at the time. With the passed test in my hip pocket, I thought it would help set myself apart from other recent graduates. More typically, beginning staff accountants have to split their time between learning the job, and studying to pass the exam. I returned to my college to go through the interviewing process again, and with that successful CPA exam highlighted on my resume, I got even fewer interviews.

I was pretty discouraged. I kept looking, but eventually gave up. I kept working at the restaurant, not sure what was next. Then I got a call. I had left my resume on file with the local CPA association, and was brought in for an interview. It wasn't a typical firm, and they dealt exclusively with clients in trouble with the IRS. Soon I had 350 clients, and I was putting out fires and trying to prevent seizures of property. There simply wasn't enough time to take care of our clients properly. It was chaotic, combative, and unmanageable.

In the end, it wasn't for me. I ended up going back to the restaurant full time. Not much later, I had the opportunity to work for a buddy in construction. It was great learning a new skill, working with my hands, and actually finishing a project. Instead of continually putting out fires and scrambling to cover other people's mistakes, at the end of each day, I was able to point to something I built. Something tangible that would last.

After about five years, I moved on to running the office, managing the jobs and crews, and yes filing the business returns. It was a great mix of the business skills I had learned in school, and the things I had picked up in construction. Construction being what it is, there were up and down times, and when the owner and I decided to move on to something different, I went into real estate and mortgage lending. I enjoyed the work and the finance part was another step closer to actually using my degree.

Of course I got into the industry just before the market crash. I tried to weather the storm, but clients disappeared and my broker closed up shop. When my marriage suffered the same fate, I moved down to San Diego and I returned to construction. I was back to working with my hands, on my feet and outside in the sunshine. I enjoyed it, but as before, the work wasn't consistent. When I decided to move back to Seattle, I really wanted to find something with steady hours and a steady paycheck.

But what sort of job? On paper, I wasn't really tailored for a particular job. I haven't exactly job-hopped, with jobs lasting between three and eleven years on my resume, but the changes of industry along the way wasn't helping my case. In a better economy, I could probably work my way in the door, but with so many out of work, there are lots of resumes out there with great experience for nearly every job opening.

I went through a couple of unsuccessful job searches while I was in San Diego. Initially, I was looking for a foot-in-the-door sort of job, a beginning position that could lead somewhere. Even with my accounting degree and experience in lending, I couldn't get a job as a bank teller. After failing to get a nine-to-five job of some sort, I decided to go back to restaurants. With eleven years of restaurant experience, I couldn't get a job as a waiter. It was pretty discouraging.

When I decided to move back, I didn't have a job lined up. After the failed job search in San Diego, I was open to most anything. I couldn't be too choosy. I just wanted something with a steady paycheck, and maybe some benefits. If I couldn't get a job that might start me on a career path, I wanted to at least shoot for a company that I believed in.

As I was drawing up a list of good northwest companies, I sent out an email blast to my family, and friends I had stayed in close contact with. Though I had little to back it up, I figured it would be easier to find work back in Seattle, where I had more long-term work connections. I also threw out a message on Facebook. I told everyone that I was moving back, and that if anyone knew a company that was hiring...

I have mentioned before, I have found myself defending Facebook lately. For the past three years, it has kept me in touch with friends both near and far. Now I have one more reason to appreciate it. I found my new job there.

A friend I went to college with has a CPA firm, and he needed a staff accountant. I was completely honest with Steve, and told him that I was 15 years gone from my last accounting position, and even that one didn't translate many applicable skills to his firm. He understood, but believed that those accounting lessons we had learned together so long ago would come forth, and more importantly he trusted me as a person, and that is hard to quantify on a resume. Steve and I actually come from the same, "If there's time to lean, there's time to clean" school of work ethic, picked up during our mutual stint at McDonald's in high school.

As a side note, I have always wanted to answer the interview question of what sets me apart by simply saying, "I actually give a shit." I have worked with so many people who just don't care. Whether I am flipping burgers, digging holes, or representing a client, I take my job seriously and want to do the best I can. I won't tell you I am going to give a 110%, but I am always shooting for a hundred.

So here I am, back in Seattle, returning to a job I never really had. There have definitely been challenges these past months, scraping 20 year's worth of rust off those old lessons, but  I am excited for this opportunity. As suspected, who you know can trump what you know, and I feel very fortunate to have the door opened so I could get my foot in. Now that it is open, I want to kick enough ass to show that this trust was well deserved.

Frozen

I got nothing. My brain is fried.

Well that isn't exactly true. I have things, it is just that my brain is sort of full trying to learn on the fly at work. I am getting up earlier than my body is built for, and only see sunlight (what little there is) through the window at my office. When I get home each evening, I just don't have the mental space to write.

It feels a bit like an endless loop, this dark to dark routine, like the treadmill so hated by the runner. Much better to get outside where the random twists and turns keep your head up. With the days so short, I haven't been able to get out for a run during the week, and that isn't helping.

Each morning there is a new layer of frost on the windows. I had forgotten the many different textures of ice. Some days it slides right off like a light dusting, others I am going at it with an ax. A few mornings there was black ice, and the hill from the house was shut down. Luckily I remembered a back way out from my time running around with UPS.

Sierra wanders around the front yard while I thaw out the truck. With her fading sight, she jerks back when she moves from light to shadow, assuming the shadow means something is coming right at her. The other morning, the garbage truck pulled up, and the spinning yellow siren light had her flinching repeatedly. Some mornings are rougher than others.

I keep trying to tweak the routine to shave a minute here and there, but I think it will take longer days for me to get back out on the road. I did get out for a bike ride last weekend, though. I barely rode when I had endless sunshine and far more hours, but there I was pedaling in 30 degree weather. The tighter schedule may force me to make the time for a ride where I didn't before.

Weekends are going to start filling up with work as well, but I am going to do my best to grab the daylight when I can.

And write.

What a night for a sunrise

New Year's Eve was a quiet one as anticipated. I wasn't even sure I was going to stay up until midnight, but then the local coverage came on, and I stayed up to watch the Space Needle erupt in fireworks. It was a good show, but I was happy to watch it from the comfort of my couch.

This morning, there was an air of hangover in the house, but strangely it was the pets having a rough go of it. One had pooped the bed, and the other one hurled on the deck. Not sure what sort of partying they did after we went to bed, but they are getting too old to bounce back the next morning.

After feeding her breakfast, I let Sierra out front. The air was clean, and the sky clear of any clouds to blanket in any heat. The temperature gauge read 28 degrees, and rooftops and windshields were covered in a layer of clean, white frost. The grass crunched under the pooch's feet as she wandered around looking for the right place to mark her spot. The cold air knocked away the cobwebs of a short night of sleep, but it was nice not to wake up with a headache like so many past first day's of the year.

I waited until mid-day, and a temperature bump to 39 degrees, before lacing up my shoes for the first run of the year. It was still chilly, and I found myself running on the sunny side of the street to avoid the colder shade. I haven't been running much since the big weekend in November, and it was nice to be back out on the roads this morning.

Work is going to get much busier in the coming weeks. My boss joked that we should enjoy our last day off for the next four months (at least I hope he was joking). It is going to be harder to get out for a run, but I am going to try my best to sneak out when I can. It will likely mean running in the dark, on more nights of short sleep, so I am doubly glad I took it easy last night to enjoy the sunshine today.

What a night for a sunrise...

Out of the mouths of babes

I had a couple of amusing encounters with kids yesterday.

Kristy and I went out for some cheap drinks and nachos in Old Town. Old Town was one of the first neighborhoods in San Diego, and some of the remaining buildings date from as early as the 1820's. It is now a historical park and a local attraction.

The place was packed with tourists and locals alike, and lines led out the doors and into the streets at nearly every place. With waits running at least 30 to 40 minutes at nearly every restaurant, we backtracked to the Alamo. The Alamo is this cheaper, outdoor place where you walk up to a window to order your food and drinks. But they had heat lamps going, and we found an open table with a built-in firepit. Though not near the nicest place in Old Town, the lack of wait and nice view of the bustling street more than made up for it.

Parking is always at a premium anywhere in Old Town, and with the streets and restaurants filled with people, we lucked out  by pulling in just as someone was about to leave. There was a no-parking zone right behind the car, so I pulled up next to the red curb to wait for him to leave. A BMW right in front of him had his lights on as well, but seemed hemmed in and unable to move.

When the car pulled out, a cute five year old kid was leaning out of a back window of the BMW. He held up his hand asking  me not to pull into the spot that had just been vacated. As his Dad pulled back and forward to get better situated in the spot in front, the little boy smiled and moved his hand back and forth as if directing traffic. When the BMW was properly in place, he gave us the thumbs up to thank us for waiting. We both thought it was pretty damn cute, and when we got out, Kristy complimented him on what a good job he had done. We walked on into the crowd of people with a fresh smile.

Earlier in the day I had stopped into my local Starbucks for some afternoon caffeine. I had worked a ten hour shift with the caterer and had been up since 4:45am. When I was headed back out, I walked ahead of a mother with a stroller and a little girl by her side, all stopped in the lobby. I quickened my step so I could get to the door to hold it open for them. The mom looked up and said "Oh, thanks" and "Come on Honey" as they moved to the door.

The mom passed through first with her stroller, but the little girl slowed then stopped in front of me. She was probably three years old. She looked up at me with a serious but pleasant look and said, "You are such a nice boy." This was not prompted by the mom, who I don't think even heard it. The moment did more to boost me out of my sleepy haze than the caffeine would.

Kids today.

Back in black

Just when I thought I was out, they pull you back in.

OK, in truth, I went back willingly.

I spent two decades working in restaurants, both casual and formal. As I mentioned before, most of my friends are people I worked alongside, or are related through one level of separation. My jobs since that time have been a mix of construction and finance, and a big part of me resisted getting back into the restaurant industry. I enjoyed my time there, but I wasn't looking forward to the odd hours and working weekends. But times have been thin for a long time, so I started putting in applications to supplement my income.

Unfortunately, no one has called back. There is no question in my mind that I would do well, be an asset, yadda, yadda, yadda, but I have been out of the game for eight years, and of course there are many more people looking for any kind of work these days. My job search for restaurant work was going about as well as my job search for office work. Nowhere.

And then I got the email. My friend Tami was chatting with a friend who does catering down here in San Diego, and mentioned my name. After a day of playing phone tag, we finally connected last Friday morning. After a quick chat about what we were each looking for, she said she could use some help that weekend. After work, I rushed out to buy a black, button-down shirt that only waiters seem to wear, and was up til midnight laundering, ironing and deciding which dress shoes would be the most comfortable.

I got the call early the next morning to be in at 10am. I showed up dressed head to toe in black, not knowing what I would be doing, or even where I would be working. I had sunscreen and sunglasses in case we would be outside, a notepad and pen in case I would be taking orders, and some folding money to make change or pay for parking.

It was all a bit of a whirlwind, and when I arrived there wasn't a moment to stop and get acquainted. The small kitchen was filled with a crush of people getting food prepped, and the woman who had hired me was busy working on one of the dishes. There was no separation of cooks and waiters, just everyone jumping in where needed to get the job done. I did my best to pitch in and hang on.

As each dish was completed and wrapped, they went into one of the two vans waiting to whisk it away. The clock ticked louder as the deadline approached, but somehow it all came together at the last minute. There were at least three events each day, so as soon as one was over, we had to pack, clean, prep and set up for the next one. Frenetic rushing around followed by slower moments of making sure everything was topped off and kept clean.

I ended up working Saturday, Sunday and Monday. I probably did more food preparation in three days than I had in eight years at the Keg. As the new guy I felt a little clueless, but as the weekend wore on, it all started to come back to me. The energy, the teamwork, the constant need to adjust priorities; the lingo, the jokes, the balance, the rhythm; an old familiar world brought back.

I am essentially on-call at this point, and I will be brought in when there are larger events in town, so I don't know how much work there will be. For now, I will take what I can get and hopefully things will pick up at both places. Like the job itself, you never know how busy it will be, and you always have to be ready to shift gears when take advantage of an opportunity walking through the door.

Degrees of separation

Like a million little doorways
All the choices we made
All the stages we passed through
All the roles we played

For so many different directions
Our separate paths might have turned
With every door that we opened
Every bridge that we burned

~ "Ghost of a Chance" by Rush

Woke up to a rainy morning, more typical of Seattle than San Diego.

I will catch myself once in a while, slightly dumb-founded that I live in California. For the first 42 years of my life, I lived within a 25 mile circle. My family did not move around when I was younger, I went to college near home, I did not get a job that required me to pull up stakes. I stayed home.

These days I drive fifty miles to work, along highways carved through rocky hillsides dotted with avocado trees. I carry my 70 pound dog up and down concrete steps so she can pee near a palm tree. I run along the ocean past tourists who traveled miles and time zones to get here. Rain is an aberration and I wear shorts year round.

It was a thousand decisions, great and small, in my control and not that lead me here. Of course this is true of everyone's life. You never know what would have happened if you turned left instead of right that day. There are obvious ones that lead me to San Diego, but I have been thinking farther back recently.

In the summer of 1992, I had just returned from a trip of a lifetime after graduating from college. My brother and I spent more than a month on a whirlwind trip across Europe. It was an incredible adventure that I don't imagine I will ever repeat.

When I returned, I did not have a job or a place to live. I moved in with my folks for a couple of months while I looked for work and saved up some money.

I applied for work in a few local restaurants. Two called back. The Keg called first, and though I gave a stupid answer when they asked during the interview why I chose the Keg (because it was close), they hired me. I met many great people, and most all of my friends can be traced back there by one or two degrees of separation.

When you think of a phone call that changed your life, this is not what you would picture. But if Billy McHale's had called first, I never would have met all these people or had the same adventures. I would not have met my former wife or the woman I am with today. I would not have met the couple I live with, nor the man I work beside, had I not worked at the Keg.

I try not to obsess over the endless 'what-ifs' of it all, but I have been known to ruminate over regret. I am doing much better these days, but every so often I slip back into bad habits, and through a confluence of factors, that is what happened this week. I spiraled, I self-berated, I carried it under the surface and was a jerk at work on Thursday.

Kristy is out of town, and I am house sitting and taking care of the old dogs. I have had a place to myself for the first time in a while. I was looking forward to some solitude and getting lots of writing done, but I have felt more like a hermit. I've barely been running, and the writing hasn't been much better. I have dug myself into another hole this year, and I need to claw my way back out.

I posted on Facebook a shot of a sunset from the back deck along with the quotes from Seneca,

‎"Begin at once to live, and count each separate day as a separate life."

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."

This week I regressed, but tomorrow is a new day, next week is a new week. Maybe I needed to go through this valley to remind myself how miserable I used to be when I shut myself off and hid away like a hermit. To remember all I need to be thankful for in this season of Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for my family and friends, here and a thousand miles away. I wish I could bring these two places together somehow, especially during the holiday season. I am thankful for a temporary job that lasted a decade and introduced me to all of you. And I am thankful that Billy McHale's didn't call first .

Quote of the day

"We need people who can actually do things. We have too many bosses and too few workers. More college graduates ought to become plumbers or electricians, then go home at night and read Shakespeare."

~ from an Andy Rooney esssay on finding a good job, March 21, 2010

Andy Rooney passed away this weekend at the age of 92, shortly after retiring from 60 Minutes

Things just got more difficult (part II)

As if finding work weren't hard enough, a federal agency warns that some employers are excluding jobless workers from consideration for openings.

People testified before the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission (EEOC) on Wednesday about what some said is a growing trend of employers refusing to consider hiring the unemployed.

The practice has surfaced in electronic and print postings with language such as "unemployed applicants will not be considered" or "must be currently employed."

...Several examples of such help-wanted ads were offered: A Texas electronics company said online that it would "not consider/review anyone NOT currently employed regardless of the reason"

Full Seattle Times article

Working on the farm

So I'm digging holes and pouring concrete in December, but that really isn't all that unusual. I built decks for about seven years in Seattle, and in good years we had work into December.

No, the unusual part is that it is 75 degrees and I am surrounded by Alpacas.

We are working in a town east of us, and the homeowner raises Alpacas. He actually has a webcam so you could look at them online, but it was mounted to the patio cover we tore down. He sheers off their coats for the fiber, but I get the feeling that they are mostly kept for pets. We moved all the dirt we dug up into their pen, and each time we went in they would walk over to check us out. They are pretty curious creatures and I have to say kinda cute.

The one cool thing about working outside in December - quitting time comes early. You can't go much past sunset.

Working toward bliss

There was a discussion recently about finding your bliss, how that ties into what you do for a living, and how your obligations may hold you back from your pursuit of bliss. We started with a white board with a vertical line down the center (No bad ideas people!). On one side of the ledger were your talents, gifts, and desires (bliss). On the other side were your obligations - house payments, car payments, food, bills, spouse, children, buying and maintaining all your stuff.

The discussion opened with differentiating your gifts vs talents. You may be good at something (a talent) but it may not bring you fulfillment like making use of your gift. The discussion moved on to the question of how our obligations might hold us back from going after our "perfect job". Some of us would work for less if we could get a job related to our pursuit of bliss. But then we bump up against those obligations. We start looking at the expense side of the ledger, it seems to limit our freedom to make these choices.

There are of course things you can do to make that obligation side of the ledger a little lighter. No you can't get rid of your children and shouldn't get rid of your spouse. But many folks are trying to do with less - spending less on luxuries, keeping their car instead of replacing it every few years, eating in instead of out, and curbing the endless pursuit of stuff. Through necessity or a new focus, many people are ending their habit of piling up debt to increase their pile of stuff. That pile of stuff takes a lot of time, energy and mental space to maintain. Time and energy that should be used in finding and pursuing their bliss.

It was an interesting discussion, and what I came away with was this - So very few of us get paid to follow our bliss (maybe 1%) or even work in its general neighborhood. If you are lucky, you enjoy your job well enough, even if it isn't what you'd call "pursuing your bliss". For the rest of us, our jobs are a means to an end, and we should be pursuing our bliss outside of what we do for a living. And it is possible that you will make unexpected connections and find new pathways in that unblissful job.

Some of us who are unemployed or underemployed are reevaluating what we should be doing with our lives. We (myself included) are thinking "This is my chance to start over. What would be my ideal job, and how can I get it." I don't want to discourage people from this line of thinking, because finding a dream job is a noble pursuit. But I think trying to find your bliss in what you do for a living might be a long shot (especially in this economy), and it limits you unnecessarily. A more realistic option would be to find something that you at least enjoy, that pays the bills, and keep pursuing your bliss wherever you can - inside and outside of work.

More on a related topic tomorrow...

Knocking a screw loose

Sometimes it takes a smack upside the head before you will make a change. Sometimes that smack upside the head is an all too literal one.

I have worn an earring for about 15 years. My girlfriend at the time and I went to the mall the day after Christmas one year, and I left with my ear tagged. Turns out I ended up going to the same mall chain that Harrison Ford went to when he got his earring. Really butches it up, don't you think.

After whatever the healing period was, I replaced the silver stud with a silver hoop. It was a small hoop with a couple darker cross hatches. It was pretty simple, and some people didn't even notice I had one for a couple years. I didn't think too much about it, and would often forget about it myself.

And I never changed it. The same earring for more than 15 years. The only time it would come out was when I was getting X-rays at the dentist. Until last week.

I was at work and we were putting up an aluminum header for a cool, peaked roof cover. I was up on one of the top steps of the ladder, and I guess I shifted my weight the wrong way and suddenly the ladder shot out from underneath me. As I was falling, I managed to catch myself by grabbing one of the lower beams, so I ended up dangling just a couple feet off the ground rather than hitting it hard. But I smacked the left side of my face on the way down. As I was falling, I let go of the header I was holding above my head. It landed on the same lower beam, and that is probably what I hit on the way down.



I didn't notice it until I was home, but when I smacked my ear I knocked the earring out. I looked around the jobsite the following Monday, but I wasn't able to find it. So it was finally time to replace my 15 year old earring. I went down to Old Town and wandered around the shops, but of course most all of the earrings were shiny, dangly ones. I ended up finding some simpler ones at the Five and Dime shop of all places. I bought another hoop and will probably get a simple silver stud for those black tie events I never get invited to.

Since they were only about eight bucks a piece, I got a couple of fun ones. This is the current one.