sounds familiar

In recent months, I’ve had the realization that the fragility of my ego is at a notable high.

It started with feelings. Odd, unbidden, irrational feelings. Feelings of insecurity, of anxiety. Feelings that, in my life of privilege, I’d not before had much exposure to. I didn’t immediately recognize these feelings as being related to, or caused by, a fragile ego… at first I was confused as to their source/reason. I knew felt overly sensitive and needy, but I wasn’t entirely sure why. After a lot of talking with good friends, with myself, with Sharaun – it became apparent to me that this is an “ego” thing. Let me try to expand.

In 2018 we made a choice to change everything. I left my career of nineteen years, we moved into an RV and traveled the country for an entire year as a family. We homeschooled the kids. We explored. We breathed each other deeply every single day and night. In 2019 we moved across the country. We left old friends. I started a new job, an entirely different animal, something meant to fix all this. In 2020 we quarantined. Oh, and I started a business with a bunch of close friends. That business no longer exists. Thankfully, though, the friends still do. (That’s another thing I need to write about, but haven’t yet had the motivation.)

And while it wasn’t something which was obvious to me along the way, with the benefit of hindsight I can now plainly see a handful of events/developments in the last two-plus years which would have impact to ego (as well as the somewhat toxic notion of “male pride”):

1. The old job had no lack of food & feeders for ego; the new job does not offer such sycophancy
2. The business I started “failed” and I put dear friends in precarious situations
3. The new job pays less and so our discretionary income is under new scrutiny
4. Guilt over the feeling that I took the family away from social connections in California

Full. Stop.

Funny… the simple act of concentrating on capturing the above list clearly in words almost has my brain shouting, “No duh Dave!,” to me. So… while it’s still a developing line of thought, I am coming to understand that the “feelings” I am seeking to understand from above are most probably me experiencing the diminishing of the person my pride & ego had convinced me I was.

My theory, then, is that this unacknowledged feeling of loss has sent me subconsciously seeking to replace the sources of ego-food in my life; you know, to keep that bigger-than-the-real-me persona fed. Because of this, I have over-indexed on, become overly-reliant upon, a narrow set of sources for ego-food. This is not only unsustainable, but wholly unfair to the people who happen to be in that narrow set of sources. To me it is quite obvious that single-sourcing one’s sense of ego and pride, particularly through another human, is a recipe for a fragile ego.

Five paragraphs. That’s what this writing is so far. But man, it has been nearly two years since we left. Writing this, I realize that it has taken me these two years just to comprehend some of the change that’s happening – the change I wanted. And that’s just the dawning moment, the realization that you’re experiencing something.

So, I am experiencing some fragility of ego. Great. Eureka, even. What next? What I find, in retrospect, hilarious (and confirming), is that my first thought upon sussing this all out was, “OK great! I just need to find new sources of food for my ego and I’ll feel right again.” I mean, easy, right?

But how stupid is that? I had the desire to leave because I was chafing against certain pieces of my environment. I’m struggling for the right words here, but it’s almost like my ego was trying to fit a round me into a square hole. And I could feel that, subconsciously. Thing is, I don’t think it was a 180° situation… I mean there was enough of me in there, doing things I truly enjoyed, that the sharp corners just felt like the stuff I had to deal with to keep going.

Feed that? No. Starve that motherfucker out.

A good friend said real change doesn’t come for free. I feel like maybe that’s what I was thinking: Oh yeah, we left our friends and our home and our roots and careers and… and everything is totally breezy man, no big deal at all – 100% adjusted to those changes and thriving over here. But really that’s where I think I was… like that transition was just going to be an overnight thing. No thought of the fire that comes along with refinement.

I don’t know… maybe I am missing “the old life” more than I’ve been willing to admit even to myself?  Maybe I’ve wanted to be the “strong one” in the move, and have been repressing any disappointment I have re: things I like less “now” than I did “then?” I also think a lot of this is tied-up in the various unpaid debts that we as a corporate collective consciousness incurred during the worst of the pandemic in 2020.

Done writing but not done by far. Feels good to work on yourself; to have time to think more than before; to feel a little more deeply.

Peace.

I enjoy cooking. I’m not very good at it but I like to try and make dinner for the family once a week. I like being a little creative, like the thanks that come from folks as the enjoy food, like the way my hands smell like onions for days to come after.

No, really, l love that lingering I-cut-onions-with-these-hands smell. I’ve even written about it before. So much so that, throughout the week, I’ll make my hands into a hollow fist and slowly blow warm diaphragm air into them, you know like you’re warming your hands on the ski slope, because it brings out the smell more.

Last night I made a Julia Child recipe. Was good. Family was happy.

I think I’m more in love with you now than I’ve ever been.

There are times when I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning, but not from some depression. Rather from joy. I’d like to stay there, with you, be lazy together. Watch something, talk, laugh, joke with each other, plan, dream.

I imagine I don’t need to go anywhere or do anything for a day, and we can spend time together, undistracted.

I could do that.

I remember those initial few weeks/months at my out-of-college career.

In those days time wasn’t yet the prime commodity it became in the later years. The days weren’t yet too-short for all the work I had to get done. In fact, I remember looking for work… something to fill the “spare time” I had during the day. I would try to read or learn something job-related, otherwise I would go home, often early, feeling guilty, like I betrayed “the job.” I suppose I have a strong sense of duty.

Today I feel that again – having more day than work to get done in it; having “spare time.” I am quite aware that the fact I am “adjusting” to this is a thing of privilege. I mean, this is precisely why I left my former job (at least, it’s one of the few things you’ll hear me alternatingly say was “precisely” why I left) – I just didn’t expect it to be this tricky to actually “own” the return to the vibe.

But I’m working on it, and I do believe I’m making good progress. Things which I, in my old Silicon Valley paced career, may have scoffed at are now things I enjoy: bringing my lunch to work in a sack, taking a break during the day to walk around the lake or read a chapter in my book or do a corner of a crossword, getting in when I want, leaving when I want, not doing anything work related when I’m not at work.

So I am learning, I just don’t quite “own” it. I suppose maybe I’m a concerned that I’ll go too far, end up not contributing commensurate to my wages. I know this for irrational and at-odds with my character, but again that sense of duty signals.

That first career would end up lasting nineteen good years. From it I learned some great habits and skills, but I also took away some bad conditioning.

Peace.

Last night Sharaun couldn’t sleep, and I always feel a little helpless rolling over and seeing her awake, and awake again, and again.

The light outside is kinda gray and hazy, and the humidity isn’t too brutal. I still sometimes think about the fact that we now live in Florida. The sun is trying to break through and it’s actually quite a beautiful battle, with little straight-arrow arms of sunshine occasionally making landfall through the clouds.

The kids start school in a week. Summers felt longer when I was a kid. It’s somehow August already but just yesterday we were ringing in the end of 2020.

Yesterday I was doing chores outside, wielding a pitchfork, trying my best to turn the soil in the garden beds but realizing it’s been invaded and is basically one big rectangle of roots. No wonder things weren’t growing as I wanted. When it started raining, and raining hard, I just kept working. Thunder, lightning, rain pouring off the contours of my BC hat, pitchfork steadily pulling-up chunks of root riddled soil. We live in Florida, rain is just slightly damper air.

My muscles have been tight at nights. Like, if I stretch as stretchily as I want to I’m afraid they’ll cramp, that kind of tight. I am not sure what it’s from, but I don’t like it. I’ve also been having issues with the pillows – I just can’t get them right. I’ve never been a needy sleeper before.

Peace.

Sometimes I think about buying a pack of cigarettes.

There is something so visually and manually appealing to me about smoking a cigarette. It looks enjoyable, it looks luxurious, it looks like, “I don’t give a fuck about the indefatigable march of time, I’m gonna sit here and spend three minutes smoking this thing.”

But man, they do not deliver.

I mean, I can find them enjoyable at times… when they don’t immediately turn me off with their stink and flavor and headaches and sore throats and morning-after hangover.

Right?

Words are so important.

How you say something to someone is almost as important as what you’re ultimately trying to communicate. After most conversations, particularly important ones, I replay what I said in my head. Sometimes, I’ll realize I could have chosen better words or phrasing, and imagning myself on the receiving end of what I said, that it could have been heard differently than what I intended.

There have been instances where I’ve gone back to someone days after a conversation and said something like, “Hey, on Tuesday when we were talking I used the word ’embarrassed,’ but really what I meant was something closer to ‘regretful’ or even ‘ashamed.'” It may seem small, but, at least to me, there are tiny differences in connotation which can make or break what I’m trying to say.

Speaking without forethought does have value… but most of the times I’ve got what I want to say at least planned to some degree.

And that’s what I wanted to write. Maybe short things like this with no real point are how I get started… get writing again. Done.