tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76452210039202696192024-02-07T19:12:45.805-06:00Travel, Life, and Philosophy Travel Writing and BlogAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-87020377965473904272014-04-14T17:01:00.000-06:002014-04-14T17:01:13.421-06:00Change, Change, Change, is not just a misheard Aretha Franklin Lyric...<header class="entry-header" style="background-color: #efece6; box-sizing: border-box; color: #474747; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Sans', Geneva, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 2.3rem; width: 620px;"><h1 class="entry-title" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 3rem; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; width: 613px;">
CHANGE, CHANGE, CHANGE, IS NOT JUST A MISHEARD ARETHA FRANKLIN LYRIC…</h1>
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Love it, or ultimately despise it, change is a reality we all deal with. Obviously it can have good or negative connotations like everything else on the planet, but depending where you are in life details exactly how we deal with it.</div>
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Recently, I heard Dave Grohl (the former drummer of Nirvana & now front-man of Foo Fighters) explain his perception on this topic, “When you’re young you’re not afraid of what comes next. You’re excited by it.” If you’re older than 35, you’ll know exactly what that means. If you’re younger than 35, well, be patient Grasshoppa! It will make more sense later, long after you’ve forgotten this article.</div>
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At 40 years old, looking at the world through a windshield or an airplane window, leaving everything else behind, limited funds in the bank, fear of change is more real than most of us in the western world can fathom. When we are young, we don’t fear failure, we instead still cling to those loose childhood ideologies that our daydreams can come true, if we just try. As we get older, and inevitably have fallen face first into a pile crap a few times, we become more cautious about how our lives begin to unfold.</div>
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When I was 15, a friend’s father (he was the CEO of ACL in the 80’s before his untimely death) said something to me that I have never forgotten. “If you want something, you need to be willing to risk something in exchange. If you want something bad enough, you need to be willing to risk everything, and that will yield the greatest reward.” I’ve tried to follow that advice the majority of my life. Although admittedly, the older we become, the less willing we are to risk everything. It may seem like a gamble, but in reality I just personally doubled down, and if I win this next opportunity (which starts tomorrow), I get exactly what I’ve always wanted occupationally.</div>
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From the east coast, via Costa Rica, I came to San Francisco with the intent on changing the world. While my lofty ideas spin around inside my head, I can’t change anything without risk, but alas I have opportunity on my side due to having an insane passion for wanting to change how the world sees things. I work in the A/V world now, and we have that exact ability– Every presentation, event, or you name it, occupationally vision can look differently in a myriad of ways. However, I don’t want to completely focus on work in this article. Life is less about work, and more about living out the greatest lottery ever won. Let me explain…</div>
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You sitting or standing there reading this are the aggregate of what Professor Dawkins would call “climbing Mount Improbable”. The number of events that had to occur for you just to exist in the first place, mathematically, is mind-boggling. Forget for a moment what it would be like to win the Powerball (a 1 in a 100 million chance) for example, and think of the improbability it took just for your parents to meet, court, mate, and then out of millions of semen, thousands of eggs, and you’re the one that made it. You have already won the greatest lottery in existence.</div>
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Everything we do with this life, no matter the change we encounter, every step should be one of gratitude. When we were children, our parents asked us, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” The truth, behind each answer we gave, be it garbage man, fireman, or like mom & dad, etc. The real answer is happy.</div>
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I’ve been fortunate enough in my life to see many places around the globe and one of the things completely universal across the board, is everyone has a goal, or a place they would rather be in their life to achieve the position of happy. If you’re not happy in your current position in life, change it. Start today. Make a plan based on your means, and execute it. 90% of us, including myself, were not born into unlimited resources. If you desire something else, somewhere else, what can you do today to get there?</div>
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For those of you in the midst of change, it can be a daunting task to swallow the little things we used to take for granted in our old stations in life. Hold on tight, the world is still spinning. As much as you really want to punch the guy in the face who said, “Patience is a virtue”, buck up buttercup, because once you find your stride; take a moment to look at the positive things you have around you.</div>
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Since I have a goal I need to search out today myself, I am going to leave you with a quote I shared before, but incase you missed it:</div>
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<em style="box-sizing: border-box;">“For the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something…almost everything – all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose.” ~Steve Jobs</em></div>
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I’m not saying enthusiasm fixes everything, but moping around because something sucks, does for a fact make things worse psychologically. I can make you a profound and certain promise; It doesn’t matter how rich or poor you are… Not a single person on this planet is getting out alive.</div>
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Accept love. Accept peace, and above ALL else be grateful. Change is a fact of life, point your arrow toward “happy”.</div>
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~Christian</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-40732896274258488742014-03-26T18:24:00.000-06:002014-03-26T18:24:02.866-06:006 Pro Job Hunting Tips<header class="entry-header" style="background-color: #efece6; box-sizing: border-box; color: #474747; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Sans', Geneva, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 2.3rem; width: 620px;"><h1 class="entry-title" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 3rem; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; width: 613px;">
6 PRO JOB HUNTING TIPS</h1>
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Sitting in your sweat pants waiting for the phone to ring while job hunting is a daunting task. Tossing out your resumes into the wild blue yonder, yielding a myriad of rejections emails, from employer after employer can leave you (a tech professional or any professional for that matter) a bit discouraged at times. The economy crash a few years ago didn’t make this any easier, sadly.</div>
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Lets face the actual truth that many employers, due to the technological age, if they are behind the times, have a “candidate black hole”. You know that place, the mystical, magical place, where your work history, and personal information goes off to die on some server where once glanced over information failed to make the proper impression? Over qualified, under qualified, salary requests too high, equal immediate black hole resumes. It makes you wonder if the magical porridge will ever be “just right”. I can promise that Neil deGrasse Tyson won’t show up in that black hole with your resume/ CV, nor will the 3 bears give a crap about your porridge.</div>
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Being recently back in the job market myself, and now on the West Coast, I have had the ability to see both sides of this amazing process. Some companies have an expedited process that either parses your resume for relevant information, or some Universities, that have the MOST time consuming and atrocious processes for applications I have ever seen. Companies like Facebook, Apple, Google, Microsoft, and EA have very expedited processes, where you can create a basic profile, apply, and move on. Their HR people simply don’t have enough time during the day to process the amount of information they receive, although they have the means to track it fairly efficiently.</div>
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In 15 days, I have had 2 phone interviews thus far, both positions I’m very qualified for, but then the clock ticking begins, and the inner pressure builds as you wait patiently for the next response (if any). Of course, the initial phone call after your first 100 resumes, no matter how quickly it comes, puts a bounce in your step, a beat in your heart, and music straight into your ear buds! It’s happy dance time! Of course, these feelings of emotion spring to exhilaration on the 2<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 10px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">nd</span> call, or absolute despair when the email arrives you’ve been shot down, because somehow you managed to answer the irrelevant question, “What is your inner power animal?” incorrectly. Don’t say squirrel. Seriously. Don’t do it.</div>
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Personally, my favorite interview questions are the technical ones; that no one is prepared to answer. In my mind, if you have solid references, a good work history, the technical side will be apparent in your history. Of course, NEVER say, “I’d stab the guy who logged into the VCS for no reason!” It’s kinda like telling airport customs in Europe, “The reason for my trip today is so I can take a dump in the EU.” It’s just not going to go over so well. The truth is, while you can log into a device, and find out what damage was done, there are a million correct answers to this obvious hypothetical technical question.</div>
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One of the jobs I am currently in the running for REQUIRES 10 years of experience in a specific area. Which is kinda silly. The technology they are using didn’t really even exist in the fashion it does now. Sure, I had experience in working with that technology back then, but I used it to make phone calls home while traveling for a different career. 10 years ago, the iPhone didn’t exist. A blackberry was a separate device than your phone. Flat panel TV’s weighed a ton, and they cost the same amount of money as a cheap car. I’m still qualified, and hope I’m their guy!</div>
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My point is, in some cases, some questions just aren’t realistic, but if your still waiting for the phone to ring, chances are your more worried about your wallet, bank account, family, or the fact you’re staying on a buddies couch because somehow you’re back “in the market” for a new job. You don’t want to sound desperate when the phone does ring, and it will eventually, be sure you let the recruiter on the other end of the phone know how much they brightened your day. I’m sure they often forget you’re shoving out resumes like your kid is about to go hungry, and you don’t always remember which position you applied to where.</div>
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Sometimes it’s not easy, but me for example, if I put all my skills on paper it takes up 8+ pages. No HR person would ever read that crap. Ever. Hell, I have friends in HR that would rather stab you with stapler than actually answer a, “How’s my resume look?” question. They deal with 100’s of people, 100’s of attitudes, and send out 100’s of rejections regularly. Just let that sink in a moment.</div>
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<strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Pro Job Hunting Tips</strong></div>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">Write a solid 1-page resume. If you work in a specific field, highlight the high points, software, hardware, or being able to read blue prints… whatever it is you do. Enter an executive “Summary” where the “Objective” used to be. Drop the “Objective” nonsense. Planning for 5 years down the road is nearly impossible in this economic climate anyway. In 3 or 4 well-crafted sentences you should be able to state, what you do, have done, worked with, and your basic skill set. They’ll call and ask for specifics of you fit the bill.</li>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">List your last 10 years worth of career work. If you don’t have 10 years, then make sure you list your education specifics. Beyond that, its silly, and unless you saved the planet, an HR person doesn’t give a crap. They’ll especially not give a crap if it’s over 1-page. Two pages are a maximum. Even then you’re possibly playing catch with a trashcan.</li>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">An HR person should be able to determine in less than 5 minutes whether you’re qualified for the open position. Don’t apply for things you’re not qualified to do. You’re not only wasting their time, but your own.</li>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">If you do multiple things (like I do), make multiple resumes/ CV’s and also make different formats. .docx, .pdf, .doc, ect. It is not unusual to show that you care enough to tailor your resume to a specific position. Look like you give a crap. It shows! You have to sell yourself on paper to someone who doesn’t know you in less than a minute. You may be clever, witty, and possibly even the best in town, but if you skimp on “the awesome”, someone else already beat you to the job.</li>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">At the end of the day, it can all be VERY discouraging. Even after all this work, days, weeks, sometimes, even months can go by. Rejection after rejection. Be persistent, and don’t give up. Some people may forget you’re human, and going out and waiting tables while trying to find real work is just as tough. Because that temp job knows you’ll leave once something real comes along. I know many IT nerds, and most of them would suck in retail, or customer service. They are better off web building, directing your calls, or fixing your laptop, I promise.</li>
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<li style="box-sizing: border-box;">Most importantly, when the phone DOES ring. Be polite, answer the questions as best you can, stay calm even though you want to climb out of your own skin you’re so happy. When it goes well, be sure you tell the recruiter how much they made your day. They’re human too. If they can make your dreams come true, they are also rewarded emotionally. So, be kind first. Be memorable. If you make it to round 2, you’re doing super.</li>
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Like most of you reading this, I am in the trenches along with you. Fighting for my next chance at where I hope will be my home career for years to come. I am supposed to have a 2<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 10px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">nd</span> phone interview with the huge global company tomorrow. Wish me luck! I need it, but most of all, I’ve learned quite a bit about this process over the last couple weeks from the corporate side of the house. I have hired many people in my life as well, so I hope all of you can learn something from my own trials and failures. Find something you love, not just a paycheck.</div>
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Lastly, and most importantly… DO NOT GIVE UP!</div>
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Cheers,</div>
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Christian</div>
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<a href="http://christianstheory.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/raptor.jpg" style="-webkit-transition: none; border-bottom-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #792d2b; text-decoration: none; transition: none;"><img alt="velocoraptor-free" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-126" src="http://christianstheory.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/raptor.jpg?w=620&h=829" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; display: block; height: auto; margin: 0.5rem auto; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" /></a></div>
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</header>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0San Francisco, CA, USA37.7749295 -122.4194155000000137.373502 -123.06486250000002 38.176356999999996 -121.77396850000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-50779889997525107102014-03-19T13:04:00.000-06:002014-03-19T13:04:35.915-06:00Seeking Redemption (Not Religious)<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Disclaimer- this is NOT a religious post.<br /><br />Seeking Redemption-</div>
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Everyone is searching for some sort of personal redemption. A few weeks ago I left my family in Costa Rica and returned home to the United States. I had received some information that my former employer was ready for me to return to Washington DC. I came home to what inevitably turned into a 1099 contractor limbo. I love my employer in D.C. more than any other career location I have ever had. From the CEO on down, the staff is nothing short amazing. However, the recent snowstorm weather, HR being out of the office, and just overall limbo, I have been forced to go out to look for more steady employment.</div>
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In the meantime, I drove down to Central Georgia to visit my high-school friends whom I hadn’t seen in many months, while patiently waiting for a call from work. I received a call from a friend on the West Coast who has just landed a new job with Microsoft in San Francisco. I rented out my condo in Costa Rica, and I booked a ticket to San Francisco from Atlanta. </div>
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<span data-mce-style="line-height: 1.5em;" style="line-height: 1.5em;">In my life, I can honestly say I’ve lived a pretty charmed existence. I’ve been fortunate enough to see the world and do nearly everything I’ve ever wanted to do. Don’t get me wrong, not every scenario is a winner. However, this past week in San Francisco has been one of the best weeks of my life. I sincerely feel like I have won the lottery, and having a friend gracious enough to let me surf his couch for a few weeks while I work on building a new life is nothing short of miraculous. </span></div>
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Now, let me point out, that starting over is not an easy endeavor. It involves a tremendous amount of wear and tear on the mind, body, soul, and lets be honest—“The worst part about having a job, is finding one.” I must have sent out 100 resumes over the last week, and of course, being a bit of a perfectionist, I’ve redone all of my resumes about 20x each. It is necessary to have several different resumes, and occasionally having to mold it to an actual posted position. My resume, if I actually put all of my skills, and background history on it, is about 8 pages long. Thus, I’ve made a single summary page with the basics. HR managers simply don’t care if you once saved the planet if it’s more than a page long. Chances are someone else did too, and it was only one page.</div>
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I had a great interview with a company yesterday that caught my attention in many ways, but most of all the recruiter herself was Hungarian. What a phenomenal phone interview. Not only because I felt it went well and I was qualified for the position, but I was talking with someone else who came here to this city, and made it her home. She also loved her employer and found joy in what she did everyday. There’s not many people who can say that. </div>
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About the same time I was leaving Georgia, another acquaintance of mine was doing the exact same thing. He had spoke to me on Facebook, a few months back about Seattle. I had told him I lived there for a short time before, so he had plenty of questions. He was looking to escape the great southern stigma against people with tattoos and piercings, among other things. He works in the restaurant industry as a chef, and in our conversations, he told me he was leaving for Seattle the exact same day I was flying out to San Francisco, except he was going by bus. He had no one to meet him when he arrived there, no friends to speak of in the city; only a dream of a better life tucked away in his back pocket, next to a handful of hope. </div>
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We chatted back and forth via text message the majority of his trip, and since I have driven that route a few times, I gave him a few tips of when to keep his eyes peeled out the window. I wanted him to look at how beautiful the countryside is and the mountains along I-90, especially in the Idaho panhandle. The roads twist and turn as they wrap alongside snowy mountaintops as if they were out of a postcard in a roadside Howard Johnson.</div>
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I told him I would connect him with a few friends of mine who live in the Seattle area so he wouldn’t be alone. As I am a firm believer, there is nothing worse in this world than being in a huge city with no friends, no place to live, and having to find a job starting from scratch. Within his first 24 hours my friends came through in FINE style. They fed him, got him a few drinks, and even a job opportunity working under a Su Chef there, in downtown Seattle. I’m not 100% sure, but I hope I helped Chris find his internal redemption. </div>
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Redemption means many things to many people. To me, personal salvation has nothing to do with religion at all. It is finding your direction wherever it points. Like the needle on a compass spinning under a magnet, where the staccato notes are slowly swept into chords of memory making a new resonance that firm us onto a new foundation, now supplanted into our collective reverie.</div>
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Right now, I am living vicariously by the grace and kindness of my friend Dan and a little bit of money I have saved along the way. Wish me luck my friends and fellow travelers. I believe I have finally found where I am supposed to be.</div>
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Life has a way of taking us places we are meant to go, and with kindness in my heart I hope the Hungarian recruiter who made my day yesterday has a new occupational home for me as well. </div>
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<br />Cheers from San Francisco!!!!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-29614867121335959222014-01-23T10:07:00.000-06:002014-01-23T10:07:23.761-06:00Adult Runaways and 927 Union Street<header class="entry-header" style="background-color: #efece6; box-sizing: border-box; color: #474747; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Sans', Geneva, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; margin-bottom: 2.3rem; width: 620px;"><h1 class="entry-title" style="box-sizing: border-box; clear: both; color: #4f4f4f; font-family: Lato, sans-serif; font-size: 3rem; font-weight: 400; line-height: 1.5; margin: 0px; text-transform: uppercase; width: 613px;">
ADULT RUNAWAYS AND 927 UNION STREET</h1>
</header><div class="entry-content" style="background-color: #efece6; box-sizing: border-box; color: #474747; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'Lucida Sans', Geneva, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; width: 620px;">
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In 1997, in prelude to a harsh breakup with a girlfriend, I was in the small town of Brunswick, Georgia. At the time, I was living in the historic district of town in a huge pink, wood chip, and rust colored Victorian pastoral at 927 Union Street. I assume it’s still there though it’s continued existence has very little relevance to my story.</div>
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The house itself was enormous. From the outside looking at the front it didn’t appear to be much, but the house was very long and deep. Once you stepped inside, it was separated into 4 separate flats. Each flat had something unique to it. Mine in particular was a sun-room with 4 full windows in the front of the flat, and an outdoor balcony in the front of the house. My flat in its entirety was likely about 2000 sqft. (The house was enormous and there were still 3 more flats in the house and mine being the smallest of the 4.)</div>
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<a href="http://christianstheory.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/927-union-street-bruswick-ga.png" style="-webkit-transition: none; border-bottom-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0980392); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; box-sizing: border-box; color: #792d2b; text-decoration: none; transition: none;" target="_parent"><img alt="927 Union Street Brunswick Georgia USA" class="size-large wp-image-113" height="405" src="http://christianstheory.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/927-union-street-bruswick-ga.png?w=620&h=405" style="border: 0px; box-sizing: border-box; height: auto; max-width: 100%; vertical-align: middle;" width="620" /></a><div class="wp-caption-text" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 2.3rem;">
927 Union Street Brunswick Georgia USA</div>
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As if it were straight out of a Norman Rockwell print, the exterior gave way to an interior having never been remodeled. It had heavy mud lathe walls with oversized moldings, thick with years and many coats of paint. The once sharp corners were ridiculously rounded by many tenants before us. The hardwood floors were worn with days you could remember the years by. The traffic patterns, in the deep cascading indentions, clearly hadn’t changed much in over 100 years. There were built in china cabinets with glass in the walls that did not close well due to the paint binding the hinges. The windows in the front of the house were small, but on the sides of the house the windows were at least 13’ tall. The ceilings were about 15’ high so that gave about a foot of wall space above and below each window. From what I can recall there were maybe only about 3 or 4 feet between windows. They lined the whole side and rear of the flat. For an apartment of this size it was amazing that there were only 2 bedrooms.</div>
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It was a blustery cold December day with virtually no heat to speak of. The coal fireplace that was there was had a large build up of creosote that could easily set the whole house alight. However, that fear didn’t seem to bother the previous tenet as we found an entire stash quick start logs in the foyer coat closet. I’d wonder around the flat, drink hot cider, and daydream of a life far away from there.</div>
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Being young and broke, I remember not having much in the way of furniture. Our first get together at the house we all sat on the hardwood floors with a single candle. Later that turned into a couch, a coffee table, and a mattress on the floor. However, I saw this entire event in life as a drab adventure. I had moved here with my girlfriend shortly after my music career had come to a close. Looking back on this experience, she was running away from a rather unfortunate legal event that took place while we were back home. Never the less, in my youth, I decided to runaway along with her not considering any consequences.</div>
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We weren’t in this house 3 months before we broke up and I remember being devastated. Young love always has its misgivings and I was certainly no exception to this rule.<br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />During this time, a dear friend of mine named Marty came to stay with me. On the weekends we would drive up to Savannah and visit a co-worker of mine from Russia, her boyfriend from Sweden, and their roommate from Ireland. They were students of SCAD (Savannah College of Art & Design), but their stories of life abroad mesmerized me. It was then, on a whim, I decided I would move to Sweden.</div>
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The idea of being footloose and fancy-free is exhilarating on it’s own accord. Leaving out the gory details of the breakup, she had broken my heart beyond measure. However, I simply decided just to keep to myself, save my money, and dream larger dreams. We later made peace and laughed at our combined ignorance about young love, but our friendship never did regain traction. Marty played a huge role in my grieving the loss of my relationship. To this day, I will always love him for being like a brother to me. He also is a bit of a runner as he has resided in Beijing, China for the last 8 years.</div>
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My memory and backstory in this case is almost cliché. We all runaway from our own prisons we lock ourselves in. It’s more a question of when. Even if it’s only a dream of doing so. We are the very makers of our very own catastrophes. While at the same time the lone builder of our own redemption.</div>
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As I’ve been living abroad in Costa Rica for the last 4 months, I’ve met quite a few “runaways” in all age groups. Here in my little condo community the personalities range from owners, to eager vacationers, divers, photographers, locals, nut cases, tax dodgers, criminals in hiding, prostitution Johns, cokeheads, enough Quebecois (French Canadians) that Montreal must be half empty, and then a lone writer, ME. There are no shortage of people running from failed relationships, job loss, home loss, and even people merely regretting they hadn’t done something in their life much earlier. I’ve been to 22 countries in my lifetime, and in that time that I’ve learned that everyone is on their way to somewhere.</div>
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Consequently when I return to Georgia, the majority of the populous are still the same people I went to high school with. The American South is like a vortex in this regard. The people don’t change much; even some of the homes are still the ones I visited when I was 16 years old. This is decidedly convenient for me. Whenever the watercolor pastels of memory paint nostalgia into my mind, I just go to my teenage hometown. Most of my friends had families early in life. Some are terrified to leave. Some escaped, and I’ve bumped into them across America. The irony being most are on their way back to the South. My point being that even they chose their destination long ago. Albeit, the 3 towns they are scattered against like rocks in a tiny ocean have very few good occupations so the ability to escape becomes even more complicated, however not impossible. Their prisons are mostly stretched between love and money. Their desires remain mostly homeward bound.</div>
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I made a post a few weeks back about “The Trap” by Wilhelm Reich. We build our own traps and prisons. Homesickness is merely a longing for an old prison. Even prisons have relationships we long to return to. While I would never want return to the relationship I had when I lived in that Victorian home in Brunswick. I so loved that house. However, when I lived there it was poisonous to my entire existence, but how I adore the memory of drinking hot cider in that old prison of mine. It was familiar.</div>
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Through familiarity we lock ourselves in perception and hinder our future desire. I’ve watched my fathers friends work their entire lives at jobs they hate to save for a retirement they never got to experience, because they were DOA. I’ve seen people in 3<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 10px; line-height: 0; position: relative; top: -0.5em; vertical-align: baseline;">rd</span> world countries who have almost no chance of escaping their own life in tragedy have more hope than those in the West. Our first world problems tie up our minds so that escaping our known realities to dreams we had as children hold ourselves back. What happened to daydreaming? We’ve built such prisons in our Western lives that people attempting to live their dreams is considered fool hardy. Yet, we cheer those that make their dreams reality. We lose hope so quickly. I’ve seen hopeless people, and in Western life, there is always hope for a different life.</div>
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I refuse to see “Runaway” as a negative term. We all have dreams. A runaway should be commended for thinking outside the trap. Children runaway because they think they can runaway to better life. The grass isn’t always greener, but the grass is most certainly different. This maybe unacceptable as a child, but as an adult, why sit in a prison everyday wondering what is outside the door? Don’t you think it’s about time you stopped running away from something, and start running toward it?</div>
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©2014 Christian’s Theory</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-78776383903485530732014-01-10T14:51:00.000-06:002014-01-11T09:22:33.720-06:00Destination Where?<div class="MsoNormal">
Destination where? <o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s true we all live in some sort of turbulence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The air is not always graced with success,
hope, and satisfaction, but just like basic physics; every action has an equal
and opposite reaction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Choosing drastic
changes in ones life, even if for the better, doesn’t always lead to the readily
seen, or pleasurable results.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t
mean they don’t exist, as with any dedication, perfection comes with a tremendous
amount of persistence, work, and due diligence. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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While traveling this past year abroad, I’ve found and met
many people seeing the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some more
amiable than others, but moreover I’ve met hundreds of people who have no idea
where they are going in life; wherever the wind blows is fine with some of them
and others who require a defined direction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To those people that know me personally, I’m sure I’ve appeared somewhat
haphazard in my travels over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, there’s always been a method to my madness, maybe I’m too
stubborn to look past my own ideologies and find contentment in more simple
happiness’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then again, maybe it’s my
desire for the extraordinary, or the idea of destination unknown…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no question that I’ve had an interesting ride thus far around this globe of ours, and I certainly haven’t
seen enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9yFKW8_0jl-bcK1kQW72r9mufJTBZX58X7QK932iIxEchY-nIFDjOR31tGSezPMvj_ZgBiQ39u1o-GdjpVyInokXI0XnTttRtu7JqQY4JgpI2hA53hbSLpjYNAIIE0PH0AEQgMfqNTFk/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9yFKW8_0jl-bcK1kQW72r9mufJTBZX58X7QK932iIxEchY-nIFDjOR31tGSezPMvj_ZgBiQ39u1o-GdjpVyInokXI0XnTttRtu7JqQY4JgpI2hA53hbSLpjYNAIIE0PH0AEQgMfqNTFk/s1600/photo.JPG" height="221" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Lemme show ya something'!" </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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One thing is for certain though; money clearly does not buy
happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That age-old adage has been
proven true far too many times, from lottery winners, to even myself pre-2008
recession when I went from financially secure and solvent, backwards to
paycheck to 4 days before each paycheck! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I run a forum on Couchsurfing.org called “What am I doing
with my life?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has members spanning
from teenagers to middle aged people in their mid 60’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve personally watched many people
transform their everyday lives into long held dreams as well as others who
remain hopelessly stagnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While
Couchsurfing is predominantly a shoestring budget travel oriented website, it
is an excellent resource for simple philosophical conversations as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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As I do every year, I write an end of the year editorial,
and as I’ve done previously, I poll social media on a couple of questions, and
base my article on the data results I glean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This year’s questions were:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">#1.</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"> If you had only 6
months to live, what would be the most important thing for you to do in that
time frame? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">#2.</span></i></b><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";"> If you could know the exact date of your death, but not how,
would you want to know? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I had quite a number of responses. Well, 5 of which were
anecdotal, or arbitrary responses that had nothing to do with the
questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Surprisingly enough only one
person said he would “go on a killing rampage and murder everyone he hates, and
then go down in a blaze of glory”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Now, personally, I don’t think that blowing people up like a religious
whack job with a bomb strapped to his chest is a quality way to leave the
planet, much less hurting others, but I should have expected that from at least
one or two people. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I doubt he was serious, considering the person
seems to be quite successful, and has no real issues apparent of concern, but
who knows?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he’s a secret nut job, rubbing
himself in peanut butter planning the next big Smucker’s Jelly Plant heist, but
he’s not the point of my story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">From a strictly mathematical position for question #2: 97% of
responses said that they had no desire to know the exact date of their
passing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The other 3% either wanted to
know the exact date so they could use their 6 months as efficiently as possible
plus <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the 1 person who “wanted to go down
in a blaze of glory” (possibly strawberry is his flavor of choice…).</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">The first question was considerably more complex. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>91% of the responses were in regard to making
sure they gave their friends, pets, and family the love they deserve in
preparation before doing anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then the remaining 9% wanted to live their life free of the bonds
fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me reiterate; that 9% gave the
typical response “to live each day as if it were the last”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">A few years ago, a US based movie, called The Bucket List
(2007), starring Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman, portrayed a pair of
unlikely would be friends dying of cancer, who go off on several adventures
before they “kicked the bucket” and died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Short of the movie being fairly well received, I’ve seen more people
actually take a cue from Christopher McCandless (John Krakauer’s non fiction
book “Into The Wild” and later made movie by Sean Penn) where the young
McCandless seeking his own adventure unfortunately proved fatal in the Alaskan
interior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In McCandless’ final weeks,
the only regret he appeared to have was not showing the people he loved how
much they meant to him, and he underlined “Happiness is only real when shared”
in his copy of Family Happiness by Leo Tolstoy, in his final days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">What surprised me, and has surprised me over the course of the
last year while my own life has been in constant flux, is that it’s extremely
easy to say, “Maybe one day I’ll do <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Insert variable here)”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
absolutely baffles me that people assume that money will bring them happiness,
and that time is some sort of limitless black hole that in our daily Western
lives we will always have the ability to “eventually get around to it”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It”, being the variable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It” could be: Visit distant friends, see the
world, get a different job, make a new friend, find something that’s missing,
or find a solution to a problem long ignored, etc. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #2a313d; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I always seem to harp at people and remind them that this life,
is the only one you have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As comic and
musician Tim Minchin coyly states in a poem called Storm: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial;">“I am a tiny,
insignificant, ignorant bit of carbon. I have one life that is short and unimportant, but thanks to recent scientific advances I get to live twice as
long as my great, great, great, great uncles, and aunties. Twice as long…to
live this life of mine, twice as long to love this wife of mine, twice as many
years of friends and wine…of sharing curries and getting shitty with good looking
hippies with fairies on their spines, and butterflies on their titties.” </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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In the last year, I have had many great things to be
grateful for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While, even on grander
days, I still attribute 2013 to be a not so pleasant year overall for me
personally, but what I did do, thanks to a number of amazing people; was leave
the US and relocate to Costa Rica for a time and spend time with my aging
father and step mother, who when I arrived deeply needed my help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been living each day exactly how I
please, in the meantime I write with the deepest passion I’ve ever had, and
eventually I will return from whence I came with a deeper knowledge of myself,
my craft, and my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I
regret any of that?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I left the US 4 months ago, my entire life was put on
hold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave the majority of my
possession’s way to charity, moved out of my condo in Washington DC, and due to
my employer being the best company I’ve worked for allowed me to leave
indefinitely till it was time for me to return.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(On a personal note:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
forever be grateful to Tony & Tim for guiding my career path, and their
compassion, and humanity toward me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
employer never treated me like a number. Ever.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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In conclusion, people have told me a million times in the
last 4 months; “I give anything to do what you’re doing right now”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My response is always the same; ‘I gave
EVERYTHING to do what I am doing right now, but you know what? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not a single one of us on this planet are
getting out alive’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We meander,
procrastinate, postulate, and pretend there will always be a tomorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For millions globally, tomorrow will never
come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have a dream, or someone
you love and need to tell them so —What the hell are you waiting for?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It never required a possible death sentence
for a reason to follow through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s 2014.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like to say make your dream a reality
this year, but if you haven’t started it yet, you need to live like there is no
tomorrow today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you think you have
something to loose, there is no greater loss than gaining the regret of not
being what or where you want to be today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Years Eve Sunset on 2013 in Playas Del Coco Costa Rica ©2013 Christian Ernst Photography</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-8214057516293881582013-12-10T03:53:00.001-06:002013-12-10T04:30:24.313-06:00Senses, Memory, and Building Metaphor<div style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'Nimbus Sans L', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px; margin-bottom: 1.625em;">
In our universe, there is an infinite number of possibilities, some filled with mystery, others well known, and again some to remain finite. However, our five senses are majestic in their power to drive our emotions far beyond what is just a simple mindset. As a writer, I often have to dwell on emotions in order to convey them in metaphor, thus what is written becomes a complete memory and not just a simple fragmented thought.</div>
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A dear friend and fellow writer sent me an audio recording yesterday of him talking in his slow southern drawl, about the sound of a slow rain across a tin roof and how it invoked past memories of his mother Pearl and her once notoriety as a singer in early radio. As he continued, he made a metaphor of the sound alone "is like the crackling of a campfire". Anyone who has been camping in their life knows that sound, late at night, when there is the dead silence, where it's only you, the sounds of the forest, and that crackling of a campfire; those who are city dwellers-- or those from the north may not have heard the sound of a slow rain across a tin roof. It is a mesmerizing sound; so loud that it will overwhelm the senses. "A man can get plain lost in that sound" as my dear friend had so eloquently expressed.</div>
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As a young child, I remember my mother taking me across the deep south, across Alabama, into Mississippi, and eventually ending up near Biloxi, on the Delta. We were visiting her old friends, and family members that I haven't seen since. Most of whom, when I was a child were already in their 70's and lived in old Southern, rural homes. I have fond memories of those times, but alas the only sound I truly remember is the amazing sound of rain on the tin roofs. The soft, slow, and steady rain wraps your mind around a peacefulness, and a hard storm, creates a drowning roar, that can consume every worldly thought.</div>
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As a teenager, once moving formally to the Deep South to live with my father and my beloved step mother MK. I had already come to realize how music was more than a dream that I wanted to play professionally, but I deeply loved how the sound of a particular song could evoke deeply held emotions, and a resonating longing toward almost any kind of personal nostalgia. However, at this age is where moving from the city to a new place in the south, I became aware of another sense that became one almost as captivating.</div>
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During the summer in central Georgia, the dusk is an amazing time. It releases all the smells from the heat of the day, as if the long grass were a type of pie in an oven, and just as sweet. It permeates the air, consuming the mind and body, and still to this day, when I return there, the smells instantly fill my mind of that happy youthful time when riding in the back of a truck wasn't considered dangerous, driving tractors (as I grew up on a horse ranch) was a daily occurrence, and sitting on the porch playing blues on my guitar with my next door neighbors in my first apartment I had at 17. I mention that time, because my first apartment was in a poverty stricken area in Warner Robins, Georgia. I was the minority in this predominantly African-American neighborhood, but as people sat on their front porches, I would bring my guitar outside, play some 12 bar blues, and this old man, probably in his mid 70's would play harmonica. We kept our neighbors consumed, singing & dancing, and it was probably one of my most memorable times at that age. Even now, thinking of that smell of the grass deep in my nose reveals so many memories, I wouldn't be able to capture them all here if I tried, but it warms my heart with a whirlwind of all that was at that time.</div>
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It is phenomenal to me that how the slightest sense of one immediately becomes the sense of another. For me, the smells and sounds instantly bring back visual memories of a time that was much more simple, less the digital and wireless leashes that tie us to our occupations.</div>
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In 1991, traveling back to Virginia Beach after being away in Georgia for a little over a year and a half. As I entered the state and began getting closer to the mouth of the James River; I could smell the salt of the ocean as if I were a long time mariner pining for the calm of the still waters, but still weeping the emotions of the amazing power that is the sea.</div>
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It was during this time I had had a deeper longing for my first true love, one that would play a true game of attrition with me over the next 20 plus years of my life. Many people hold dear to their passions for the past, or the people whom have helped shape their life. She was absolutely no exception to this rule. In later years it would prove fatal to many other relationships of mine, mostly due to the jealous nature of others and their propensity in belief that everyone is at heart dishonest. Sadly, that is untrue and jealousy simply distorts reality.</div>
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In the late summer of 1994, I returned to Georgia where I had went to high school, and reconnected with my first love. Her touch was as soft as the autumn winds, caressing each leaf, whispering on the air in a careless flow of acrobatics, and then at last returning to the ground to become stable with only the memory of a time when life was more carefree. Moment to moment we live on the touch of others in our lives. I was fortunate that she impacted my life in such an amazing way in those formative years. Perhaps it was the innocence of the time, but moreover it allowed me to appreciate the other people I have had in my life since and possibly in a more equitable way.</div>
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Love and hope are two of the most under estimated emotions. They both miraculously have the ability to make, or break a persons spirit. We can easily wrap our entire consciousness in our 5 senses. Just like the taste sugar or salt on our lips; our memories glide back and forth swinging from memory to heartbreak like Newtons cradle, exhibiting the 3rd law of physics as if each memory was as physical as the neurons that shift from receptor to receptor in our brain.</div>
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Not every memory we carry is one filled with pleasant nostalgia, but often many memories can swing us to the darker times when mourning the loss of a relationship or loved one is as devastating as the initial grief that created the memory. We are a complicated species after all, but the only one on this planet capable of deeper reasoning.</div>
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Your life is an amazing story, one you control with each of your five senses, even being born with or now living without, another skill will always present itself, and bind your passions into a physical manifestation of neurons in a wisp inside your brain. It will, after all leave an indelible mark on your life. If all the time you had left on this planet was today, would your last thoughts be a memory worth dying for? You have at least 5 senses-- don't waste them or the small amount of time you get to experience what they are capable of.</div>
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The most terrible mistake one can make is to delay what you want to do in your life with the presumption you'll have time to do it later.</div>
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©2013 Christian's Theory</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/-UNT3poCd6U" width="420"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-15328841763260812792013-11-12T15:14:00.001-06:002013-11-12T15:17:55.370-06:00The Trap<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a brief conversation I had today, I was instantly reminded of a post I made 3 years ago, after a dear friend of mine, Mattias, shared a book with me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every single one of us lives inside of our own self-made trap. Our walls can have an indeterminable number of sides, some may even have windows looking into the world we wish to see, or a life we would rather have. The only reality we actually own is the one inside, or outside of "The Trap". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instead of my regular Tuesday blog post, Today I will concede to <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20px;">Wilhelm Reich:</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>"It IS possible to get out of a trap. However, in order to break out of a prison, one first must confess to being in a prison. The trap is wo/man's emotional structure, her/his character structure. There is little use in devising systems of thought about the nature of the trap if the only thing to do in order to get out of the trap is to know the trap and to find the exit. Everything else is utterly useless: Singing hymns about the suffering in the trap, as the enslaved Negro does; or making poems about the beauty of freedom outside of the trap, dreamed of within the trap; or promising a life outside the trap after death, as Catholicism promises its congregations; or confessing a semper ignorabimus as do the resigned philosophers; or building a philosophic system around the despair of life within the trap, as did Schopenhauer; or dreaming up a superman who would be so much different from the man in the trap, as Nietzsche did, until, trapped in a lunatic asylum, he wrote, finally, the full truth about himself—too late. . . </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>The first thing to do is to find the exit out of the trap. The nature of the trap has no interest whatsoever beyond this one crucial point: WHERE IS THE EXIT OUT OF THE TRAP?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>One can decorate a trap to make life more comfortable in it. This is done by the Michelangelos and the Shakespeares and the Goethes. One can invent makeshift contraptions to secure longer life in the trap. This is done by the great scientists and physicians, the Meyers and the Pasteurs and the Flemings. One can devise great art in healing broken bones when one falls into the trap. The crucial point still is and remains: to find the exit out of the trap. WHERE IS THE EXIT INTO THE ENDLESS OPEN SPACE? The exit remains hidden. It is the greatest riddle of all. The most ridiculous as well as tragic thing is this:THE EXIT IS CLEARLY VISIBLE TO ALL TRAPPED IN THE HOLE. YET NOBODY SEEMS TO SEE IT. EVERYBODY KNOWS WHERE THE EXIT IS. YET NOBODY SEEMS TO MAKE A MOVE TOWARD IT. MORE: WHOEVER MOVES TOWARD THE EXIT, OR WHOEVER POINTS TOWARD IT IS DECLARED CRAZY OR A CRIMINAL OR A SINNER TO BURN IN HELL.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>It turns out that the trouble is not with the trap or even with finding the exit. The trouble is WITHIN THE TRAPPED ONES.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>All this is, seen from outside the trap, incomprehensible to a simple mind. It is even somehow insane. Why don't they see and move toward the clearly visible exit? As soon as they get close to the exit they start screaming and run away from it. As soon as anyone among them tries to get out, they kill her/him. Only a very few slip out of the trap in the dark night when everybody is asleep."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From <em>The Murder of Christ</em>, (1953) by Wilhelm Reich. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-16599055198701952192013-11-03T11:04:00.000-06:002013-11-03T11:41:01.157-06:00Leaving the US and moving to Costa Rica<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your mom has Dengue”.
A set of sobering words from my father via Skype in Costa Rica; I had
already been well aware of the flu she had previous, but now suddenly the
situation was more serious as she was already sick before, with a now crippled
immune system. In less than 3 weeks
time, I would be sitting on a plane to give my parents a much needed hand in
what many people see outwardly as a 3<sup>rd</sup> world country. </div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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My parents had moved to Costa Rica 3 years prior to live a
bit easier as permanent resident “pensioners”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That said, Costa Rica has some of the most consistent weather patterns
in the world, beautiful beaches, socialized and for profit medicine, and most
definitely there is no shortage of North American expatriates living out the
remainder of their lives here abroad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The medical systems in Costa Rica are more than adequate, but if you’re
from anywhere in the Western World, as with nearly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">everything</i> here, much of it operates significantly differently, and
learning the ropes is better done in advance vs. learning by necessity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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After arriving here in early October, which is the last
month of the “rainy season”, my longing for the dry days ahead in November
through April is now slowly becoming a reality, and the North American &
European tourists are now arriving in droves to the province of Guanacaste; the
North Western Coast line that follows the Pan American Highway all the way up
to the Nicaraguan boarder.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbiErVSYEBB34mTO-acL7xXIO8K0VpWUTHfvpVLYq_4Ttt249o4S_gGithtDkZvmBsrqeNn9FyId7JeXKT6pFzdNfKDvj97WL5gOVeS7PkkZIZZB_cfZV7dPaJDxOf4-ZzZ0BN7ahnWeC/s1600/Guanacaste.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbiErVSYEBB34mTO-acL7xXIO8K0VpWUTHfvpVLYq_4Ttt249o4S_gGithtDkZvmBsrqeNn9FyId7JeXKT6pFzdNfKDvj97WL5gOVeS7PkkZIZZB_cfZV7dPaJDxOf4-ZzZ0BN7ahnWeC/s320/Guanacaste.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">North Western Costa Rica</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I found out quickly, that securing a long term residence
here in Costa Rica literally gets harder by the day (if you plan to rent close
to November). As the tourists arrive, the thousands of rental
properties that remain empty all year, which can normally be rented for a few
hundred dollars a month (depending on the size & need of course) in the
off-season, can command upwards of a few thousand a week based on location
& size.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I personally went from
searching for a place, finding a rental, and it being already rented by the time
I drove 15 minutes up the road to view the property!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Needless to say, once I found a place (a
small studio apartment across the street from the beach) that was actually
available; I immediately decided to go back to the rental office to discuss
price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This small studio apartment (less
than 500sqft), rents for $500 USD a month + utilities long term, or if you’re
willing to spend the cash up front (I do mean CASH literally), you can get a
smoking deal as everything rentable can be negotiated easily, but during the
high season the rates are not so easily affordable for some. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The flat I rented dropped down to only <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>$350 dollars a month if I paid the entire 6
months in advance in cash, plus the security deposit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While to some this may seem like an
exorbitant amount of money to pay out considering I don’t know how long I plan
to be here, there are many who will pay 5x what I am paying total to stay only
a few weeks in a similar space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
certainly don’t have that kind of money as a writer, but I’m far from destitute, and still living on the cheap in one of the most popular beach towns in the
world, Playas Del Coco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take into
account, a North American version of “cheap” is considerably different than the
local “Tico’s”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My studio apartment maybe
small, but it is fully furnished, pots, pans, dishes, sheets on the bed, cable
TV, and is actually better than most of the efficiencies I’ve stayed in
throughout Europe, or even on the eastern seaboard of the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I mention I am directly across the
street from the beach and Pacific Ocean?<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp23ym4Ia73VVIBGYWtiX530ODbG3VVTX9tNTtcAOfjKkG9IwkCvQHMO6BlrZ3vneBWAh37Nko3-dW_89PLAsO4wPiRyw2bBRV2jwKMRh4fPN1ceMmX0uC4HNPlet0QIhyWOEseDmb_vG3/s1600/Playas+Del+Coco.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp23ym4Ia73VVIBGYWtiX530ODbG3VVTX9tNTtcAOfjKkG9IwkCvQHMO6BlrZ3vneBWAh37Nko3-dW_89PLAsO4wPiRyw2bBRV2jwKMRh4fPN1ceMmX0uC4HNPlet0QIhyWOEseDmb_vG3/s320/Playas+Del+Coco.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new home in Playas Del Coco</td></tr>
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<o:p></o:p><br />
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I relocated here from right outside Washington DC, and I
have previously been here to visit my family; so I had an idea of what to
expect when I arrived, but I’ve only been here a month, and still have much
more to learn!<o:p></o:p></div>
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The locals are polite and kind beyond measure compared to
many other countries I’ve visited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
said, I’m not entirely sure that “no” is even in their vocabulary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would rather bring you anything, but
“no” as an answer… So you can completely expect random stuff occasionally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Even at the local </span><o:p></o:p>grocery store I came across this "complete" cooking seasoning. Not only is it the only one you apparently need, but judging by the size of the container it's the only one you'll need FOREVER! </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQINb1pj55PG5hqdChout4S3f9UiYftSKN7po8UlLVreZd_XM2VYV6mI6B0vcwY9eJYSsHg3n7UhdD-S4plUe6C2Zp9jFoES2NpJntOszl6XKzcb9c_Dz6Q9PGOYLzIBNJu8kang0TqIEv/s1600/Complete+Seasoning.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQINb1pj55PG5hqdChout4S3f9UiYftSKN7po8UlLVreZd_XM2VYV6mI6B0vcwY9eJYSsHg3n7UhdD-S4plUe6C2Zp9jFoES2NpJntOszl6XKzcb9c_Dz6Q9PGOYLzIBNJu8kang0TqIEv/s400/Complete+Seasoning.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top Chef never had it so easy! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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One thing that stands out for me personally; I am constantly
trying to better my Spanish and speak their language, but the locals at the
same time desperately want to practice their English. So, what happens is, even ordering a drink, or
meal can turn out to be a mixture of English, Spanish, Spanglish, but however
the majority of the young people in bars and restaurants speak FAR better
English than my Spanish, and when you compliment them on how good their English
is, they are always very flattered, say that their “English isn’t very good”,
and then say “thank you for saying so”.
My 2<sup>nd</sup> week here, I met a local “Nica” (slang for Nicaraguan)
tour guide in a bar who prefaced his spontaneous conversation with me with, “I
have a question for you, but please bear with me, as my English isn’t very
good…” and then while I’m expecting some Spanglish; instead his vocabulary and
correct grammar blew me away. I have
never met anyone in my life that says his or her English isn’t very good, and
in that first sentence use the word “reciprocation”!</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Needless to say, my adventure here in Costa Rica has only
just begun. My mom is now mostly recovered from her Dengue Fever, and my father
is back to being just as ornery as he’s always been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way, I’m still around to help them out
and enjoy a journey that is still very much my own to create.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I </span><o:p></o:p>certainly have plenty to write about! </div>
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Pura Vida! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0Coco, Costa Rica10.54437 -85.69566299999996810.513149 -85.736003499999967 10.575591000000001 -85.655322499999968tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-74961841141200859012013-10-28T12:45:00.000-06:002013-10-28T12:52:12.582-06:00Escape to Alaska via Motorcyle<style>
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It’s June 3<sup>rd</sup>, 2010 at 5 o’clock in the morning,
my hands hovering over my keys as I take a moment to reconsider my
actions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this exact moment, I am
thinking about all of the emotionally catastrophic events over the previous 2
years, how they shaped my decision to escape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To the average eye, I had a life most every American would want, but in
reality it was all just a façade.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
most didn’t see was that I had just lost an almost 10 year career due to the
recession, was bankrupt after 2 years of trying to save my home, my savings was
nearly completely liquidated, a now failed marriage, and besides a few items I had
tossed haphazardly into a storage shed, my life’s possessions now firmly
resided between the two inline wheels of my Harley Davidson motorcycle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOf0Pw7w-XVGb2RFeoEul-emgzGq_OuwTs8xBOmstb-n4zKq6indcItGNcQ-fxPFRLDw4GexsbYecSF1xClhQ-WzJk30oPWBKpAUA2nA0sW1j3Ucut7mC-HK67V03QbgM3LFgFq3Nu5dLG/s1600/bike+packed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOf0Pw7w-XVGb2RFeoEul-emgzGq_OuwTs8xBOmstb-n4zKq6indcItGNcQ-fxPFRLDw4GexsbYecSF1xClhQ-WzJk30oPWBKpAUA2nA0sW1j3Ucut7mC-HK67V03QbgM3LFgFq3Nu5dLG/s320/bike+packed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preparing to leave</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Have you ever heard the anecdote about the man who one day
steps out to pick up a pack of cigarettes, and no one hears from him for years?
In my mind, in less than 20 minuets this was about to be me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reaching down, I snatch up my keys, walk into
my garage, press the button on the opener, and proceed to manually roll my bike
into the driveway, as starting it is anything but quiet this early in the
morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I took a quick photo of my bags piled high on my bike, zipped up
my leather coat, and I, in that very moment, chose an adventure I had only
dreamed about since childhood, but never thought I’d have the “time”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, in my choosing, all I had was time, an
emotional emptiness that needed to be filled, a desire to be free of all the
sadness that came with sitting amongst the possessions that now owned me, and
starting from Chesapeake Virginia, I squeezed the clutch, pressed down into 1<sup>st</sup>
gear a new life as I headed off across North America without a map, later into
Canada, the North West Territories, the Yukon, and then back into Alaska.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alone. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">However, at that precise moment I only felt REAL freedom, and
while I thought I was leaving my past behind me, I had no idea how much of it
was soon to become my very real future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I’ve always been what one might call a dreamer, most definitely
an artist, musician, and writer. I have always been rapt in my desire to
travel, to see places, and marvel at things with childlike wonderment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though, I can place my first personal desire
to travel back to 1984, and a conversation I had with my mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1984, I told my mother; ‘what an awesome
trip it would be to drive to Alaska! I mean just to think about it… that long
epic highway out there’, across the continental divide, and just like opening
up a can of reverie, it was this conversation that fueled the beginning of what
became my motorcycle journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">Just as most of us in life, myself included, feel like we wander
from tragedy to tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somewhere
amidst this wandering we most often neglect to revere the good moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is that? I like to think it’s because of
a tragedy's ability to make us change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Change; some are more open to it than others, and then again, all of us
will experience it whether we want it or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s in what we do with that change that makes our paths
illuminated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my case my feet always
carried me where the wind blew, back and forth, between safety nets, and thus old
habits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">I have always sought out the extraordinary things in life.
The only times in my life that I have stood still, accepted the ordinary, or
wasn’t constantly fighting to see something new was when I was “in love” or in
love with the idea of success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Otherwise, it would seem I spent my time running away from
some kind of heartbreak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, these are only the
things that shaped my way of thinking, and how when I was at my lowest is when
I began my greatest of journeys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will
say there is one person in my past that started me on this way of life, and how
if it weren’t for her, good or bad, I may not have ever known all this beauty
in my life, or the ability to appreciate it the way that I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve learned that when people discuss love,
they talk about heartbreak, or if they discuss desire, it’s only importance is
that it remains simply a desire, because once we obtain the desired, that gold
can quickly lose it’s beauty. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">As I pulled out of my driveway and on to Quailshire Lane, every
foot and turn I made had not one single plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even before I left, I only had a loose idea of heading to Alaska, but
even then I didn’t have a route plotted, no destinations set in stone, nor did
I even know where I’d ultimately decide I’d be finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though, I will say, this was the first time
ever that I didn’t care about money, what people thought of me, my career that
I just lost, or even my failed marriage – in that moment I
stopped caring that my soon to be ex-wife ever even existed in my
life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That may sound cruel, but I had
worried about her stability for many years, and I had a deep-seated fear I
would come home to her having hurt herself, or gone, but now she was
resolved to leaving me regardless. This left me free from the possibility of
guilt and it began with the wind in my hair as I literally road off into the
sunrise to begin the greatest change I could have ever anticipated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">Many people choose to “run away” at different points in their
life for different reasons, in the Western World be it because of fear,
responsibility, over bearing parents, curiosity, but moreover I believe it’s our human consciousness that is apprised of the same emotions we all share and we all crave adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, it’s in how we deal with these
emotions that makes us the people we are to become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">When I was young, a teacher of mine; told me “that
no matter where you run, or why, your problems will eventually catch up with
you no matter where it is you go”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Though, I can say with absolute certainty that that is true, but you can
for a short while ignore the past and fill your life with such beautiful wonders
that it is hard to dwell on former ails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Make no mistake in this thought process, as it is only a matter of time
before the past will come back and kick your door in. When this occurs we are
seldom prepared for it. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like many people in the US, November of 2008 was the
beginning of the 2nd worst recession in US history, the first being “The Great
Depression” in the 1930's, and for me it may as well have been called that again except add
the number 2 after it and call it "The Sequel".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I, like many other people lost nearly everything, but my story isn’t
really about the recession, but what I found along the way on this new road I
began. In that month, America elected the first black
president amidst the beginning of a deeply burdened, war tanked, and declining
economy. A month after President Obama’s election, on December 5<sup>th</sup>,
my now estranged ex-wife lost her job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A year and a half later, I had a decent little stash of money in cash, (roughly 12K
dollars which I had acquired by selling some of my music equipment). I then
gave my ex-wife a 1/3 of it on June 2nd, 2010, a nearly paid for truck, and asked her to take whatever she
wanted in our home—I emphasized I wasn’t sure I’d be back before the bank came
to throw her out of our dream home I had had built 5 years prior. She was still deciding where she wanted to go anyway. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That morning of June 3<sup>rd</sup> of 2010, just before I
pulled out of my driveway, I had told a few people I was going to drive my
motorcycle alone to Alaska on Facebook, but honestly…. I had no idea where I
was about to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only really knew that;
I had just lost my marriage, my career, my home, 10 years worth of work, all my
savings, and short of that small storage shed I had paid in full for 6 months
with some of guitar equipment in it and I was beginning anew. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although, I had no illusions of how dangerous my steps may
become; within my first 24hrs of leaving my home, I wrote my last will and
testament in a ramshackle hotel somewhere in West Virginia and I emailed it to
my mother. I sincerely believed in my mind, I probably wasn’t going to make it out of
this alive, but as low as I was honestly feeling… I didn’t even care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I truly felt completely, utterly alone, but I
at last felt as free as the wind blows. I learned quickly freedom often is accompanied by alienation between lifestyles. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple of friends I had made online, but I had never
physically had met, saw that I was on Interstate 64 heading west, and they
asked me if I was going to pass through Louisville, KY, and while I was
reticent at first, I agreed I’d stop by and say “hello”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a feeling they knew where my head was,
but at this point what did I have to lose?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfPqb9Drdlng6Rm9hec40CvPtGEFQ_Bf9S_RboTizWjrrjJziOXwX8eSzf9w0xSOd7gzFoQj-JgpGEalQzSlpnL0G6l0dXcXMjNZ8wdsJveR9_Z9YBDHXfE0lXIic2Mvn89TrQ7wQM4oR/s1600/Louisville.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfPqb9Drdlng6Rm9hec40CvPtGEFQ_Bf9S_RboTizWjrrjJziOXwX8eSzf9w0xSOd7gzFoQj-JgpGEalQzSlpnL0G6l0dXcXMjNZ8wdsJveR9_Z9YBDHXfE0lXIic2Mvn89TrQ7wQM4oR/s320/Louisville.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got some wood!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Several hundred miles later, I stopped and visited Jeremy
& Misty there in Louisville. After I humped the Louisville slugger bat
downtown, Jeremy & Misty asked me to come on over stay. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>In fact, they practically begged me to stay
awhile till I figured out what it was I doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At this point, I still had nothing plotted, only a vague destination in
mind, and was so heartbroken I would just breakdown into tears if I studied on
my situation long enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agreed to
stay 1 night. Jeremy (who had just returned from a stint in Iraq) had me bring all my stuff inside, and he began a very
military process of “shaking down my gear”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Admittedly, I was under prepared for my current journey, much less the
journey I was about to embark on, so he gave me his United States Marines first
aid kit, a Marine arctic sleeping bag, a LED flashlight, some eating utensils,
and a real hunting knife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was blown
away by their kindness and generosity, and they asked me to stay at least a 2<sup>nd</sup>
day, noting I still had not one defined route, or plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I also think secretly Misty wanted to make sure I ate so well, I'd never eat another meal in my life! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I need to interject here—That at this time in my life
previous, I always tried to be a very generous person, so I was never good at
receiving gifts or help from anyone (and I still suck at it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Prior to this journey for many years, I was often told I was “the guy
who had it all”, so I seldom would receive, or accept gifts, and if I did I
would give them to someone who needed them immediately upon receiving it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am absolutely terrible at gracefully
saying thank you, as I would rather say, “you’re welcome”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As there is NO greater gift in this life than
to give to others in need.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeremy KNEW I
needed some things, but more importantly, he knew at the second he saw my eyes…
what I needed at that precise moment was compassion, and maybe even a little hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeEIBt4yRvHBgiXSI0bj-XxE3LZP3BQSOlYKMsxChGfTajHdvHmbHu-L2WkMdM7_1XCDOlkMrb2k-w5DvC91n01RS_man59EtXYlsZgRJ6VKZimqdfiLtkH1Q_wiOUkf_0Zw32fP1Uo4B/s1600/Just+this+trip.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMeEIBt4yRvHBgiXSI0bj-XxE3LZP3BQSOlYKMsxChGfTajHdvHmbHu-L2WkMdM7_1XCDOlkMrb2k-w5DvC91n01RS_man59EtXYlsZgRJ6VKZimqdfiLtkH1Q_wiOUkf_0Zw32fP1Uo4B/s400/Just+this+trip.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everywhere I used my phone in 6 months during and shortly after Alaska.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The 2<sup>nd</sup> evening I was there we began plotting a
course on a road map, he asked me if there was anything in the US I wanted to
see while driving toward Alaska.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told
him, that I had always had had rambling feet, and had already seen 46 out of
the 50 states, and then I quickly interjected that I had never seen Mt.
Rushmore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, we plotted a basic course
that took me through St Louis to Kansas City, and then North to Sioux Falls,
South Dakota before heading west again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The next morning, I loaded up my bike at 4am, and drove off into the
dark, feeling a little more grounded than before, and he asked me to make sure
I continued to “Check-In on Facebook”, so they both could follow where I was
online, and if I didn’t check in within a certain time frame he could call the
authorities to look for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They clearly
knew, I wasn’t stable in my current mindset.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I mean after all, I was a 37-year-old man running away from
himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I posted on Facebook again which direction I was heading,
and sure enough, I got another private message.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This time it was from the wife of an old British friend of mine, who I
had not seen since I was in London England in December of 2002.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Kelvin, married an American girl and had moved to Jefferson
City MO and she asked me if I would like to see them both in Columbia MO, a
quaint college town in the middle of America, where when I had last been there
was in 1992.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They put me up in a cheap
hotel room, when I kept insisting I wanted to camp outside of town, and didn’t
want to spend money frivolously as I didn’t know when I have any income
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Here I was again, people being
generous and kind to me, and I felt guilty for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They convinced me also that I should stay a
few days and take it easy; after all, this will likely be the last time I see
any friends till I get to Edmonton, Alberta, and see my boy, Jamie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was where someone had referred me to John Krakauer’s
book “Into the Wild”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew it was about
a kid who ends up in Alaska, but that was about all I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My 2<sup>nd</sup> day in Columbia MO, I left
my hotel once, I went to the book store, bought the book, and read the whole
thing in 8 hours, before I did anything else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I said my goodbyes, and hit the road again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From here it took me 3 days to get to Rapid
City SD due to weather, where I spent another 4 days stuck in a hotel. I’d
venture out in between the spells of heavy rain. In my previous occupation
prior to being a modern day adult runaway, I was a fulltime business traveler….
I had so many miles that once you go beyond Platinum… there’s Diamond
status.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never had to pay for hotel
rooms while on my own travels, and this excursion was no exception. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoNQnO1VVs2UNHJdrT-Y5B7MxAlA9mQQaON6kNnOQ2kdKzlJ9U6nBQBTT6WZTIJVvLLaXgAiKkwo5NAxmhC945d3v4NYbQqQl2LlRGGODAIJt-hClomzd0evlJIa6gdfAEgW1MpIGtQCJ/s1600/Deadwood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoNQnO1VVs2UNHJdrT-Y5B7MxAlA9mQQaON6kNnOQ2kdKzlJ9U6nBQBTT6WZTIJVvLLaXgAiKkwo5NAxmhC945d3v4NYbQqQl2LlRGGODAIJt-hClomzd0evlJIa6gdfAEgW1MpIGtQCJ/s400/Deadwood.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deadwood, South Dakota</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In South Dakota, after being there for 4 days, I visited
Deadwood, Sturgis, Mt. Rushmore, and the National Black Forrest, but one
reality became clear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a reason
they call it the windswept plains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On a
motorcycle, wind gusts in excess of 20-30mph are not normal. 50mph gusts happen
frequently in early June there, along with the rain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For a biker, this is very fatiguing keeping the bike upright and
yourself off of the pavement in one piece.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided
I needed to continue my journey to get out of the constant rain, wind, and even
hail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I went to U-Haul, rented the
smallest truck I could find, some ratchet straps, and decided to haul my bike
for a little while till I could plain escape South Dakota.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, for the record, I have NEVER hauled my
bike anywhere before, but this time I needed to keep moving North West, through Wyoming
briefly, and on into the land of the Big Sky Montana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pretty much assumed I would ditch the
U-Haul in Edmonton Alberta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which for
the record-- I was wrong about that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When I booked the truck, I told them I would drive it to Alaska, simply
because I wanted to make sure I wouldn’t experience any further weather that would
slow me down, and when I felt safe again I would just dump it off early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lets just say, if you book a truck to a
Canadian city, no problem, book it to Alaska and change your mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re not too hip or cheap about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I stayed one night in Edmonton, Alberta, and the next
morning I began my long haul to Dawson Creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, it is really a place in British Columbia.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is the beginning of the ALCAN
Highway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ALCAN Highway, originally
constructed during World War II is 1387 miles long (1700km) by itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8hZHldCV5Ausj0HvxWwMe-0dALAC0wkyB2bghYiL66BN1D9Km1ZUm3-qBHxMp0B4c25ofQaEe7DCUQVB8yyBPkV6IlkkKLzYs3TrM5N0JFq_l2Wy14hL33Zh21uXtIprXsEJpJfTURVj/s1600/alcanhwy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8hZHldCV5Ausj0HvxWwMe-0dALAC0wkyB2bghYiL66BN1D9Km1ZUm3-qBHxMp0B4c25ofQaEe7DCUQVB8yyBPkV6IlkkKLzYs3TrM5N0JFq_l2Wy14hL33Zh21uXtIprXsEJpJfTURVj/s400/alcanhwy.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ALCAN entry point</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone has a different reason for wanting to do this
journey, be it the challenge, the desire, a running away, whatever you want to
call it—there are no shortage of people who have childish romantic ideas and
let me be 100% clear on one thing, this is not an easy drive for an experienced
rider even though the road is completely paved the entire distance on a bike or
in a vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alaska holds a tremendous
amount of mystery for many people, just like it did for me as a boy from the
east coast wanting to REALLY see mountains, but Alaska seems to hold a gigantic
allure for many people wanting to see the summer solstice, climb, live off the
land, or whatever you can possibly imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However if you’re on a motorcycle, first remember YOU are a meal on
wheels!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wildlife on this highway is
everywhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s beautiful without a
doubt, even more so in the North Country, but you are the minority on this
road.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You WILL have moose run in front
of you, mountain goats, bison, and there are no shortages of bear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small townships, or sometimes only gas
stations are few and far between; occasionally even 180 miles apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be prepared for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will see signs that say 120km to the next
stop, but you can get there, and the place is either closed, or closed down
indefinitely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are a few inns to
stay at along the way, you can grab a room key and pay in the morning, but I
chose, once I started, to drive all the way through till I got to the ALCAN
border port where the Yukon, and Alaska meet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My adrenaline was pumping the whole drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, around 1am I began running low
on fuel, my spare gas can was already empty, but I was only about 50 miles or
so from the Yukon border.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decided to
stop and take a quick nap, knowing, any gas station I arrived at would be <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">closed anyway, and I found a beautiful spot to stop where a few other campers
and RV’s were, I balled up my leather coat as a pillow, and I took a brief 3
hour nap. </span>After all, I had already been
driving since Edmonton Alberta (an additional 360+ miles or 590km)! I was
awoken by a heard of passing mountain goats, and it took me a moment to
scramble for phone to snap a quick photo, but they were un-phased by my
presence; so close I could easily touch them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf87JFq7_NMciUiZ0XE4fCTbq6JjWHL27BHCWwXgtp9mu5fQ0BBVYSs3An-KO10ZFSjOFgTUUOJJO49uYAI07GwsKZ6WtqgZ5m4iACiD4hiZGsUYLhkjXlGO-XEa4HVYDaq18jufLziOFN/s1600/nap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf87JFq7_NMciUiZ0XE4fCTbq6JjWHL27BHCWwXgtp9mu5fQ0BBVYSs3An-KO10ZFSjOFgTUUOJJO49uYAI07GwsKZ6WtqgZ5m4iACiD4hiZGsUYLhkjXlGO-XEa4HVYDaq18jufLziOFN/s400/nap.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The 1 am midnight sun and my nap location in the rocks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was about 5am, and I headed off into the Yukon Territory
searching desperately for fuel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once I
crossed over the border into the Yukon that was an early easy find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man running the station was jovial and
polite, he gave me a free cup of coffee, and also told me of another station
almost 200 miles away where he knew the owner, and he’d give me a deal on fuel
if I mentioned his name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is what I
most certainly did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Yukon, was
breath taking, gorgeous views in any direction, although this is where I began
having my first introduction to “Frost Heaves”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Frost heaves are places under the tarmac where the permafrost has
melted, the asphalt has unraveled, but is generally patched quite quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Making the road drivable, but just
barely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The road is so bumpy that 35-45
mph is about the best one can handle in any vehicle, and it only gets worse
after the town of Whitehorse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFMxVQBg6YVI-z6n3rfsBHFiaWCQC2-BR-1nmoBOwYVEcnwnacEEY2VdKhU6Ut5HYtfJbs30O8j3M1VoaEuLAYO1gffW5-cLCm_ZcXA6hiCpgRhBXdi4PphfDIpvi9Bc2SUhJH2zarc04/s1600/Yukon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFMxVQBg6YVI-z6n3rfsBHFiaWCQC2-BR-1nmoBOwYVEcnwnacEEY2VdKhU6Ut5HYtfJbs30O8j3M1VoaEuLAYO1gffW5-cLCm_ZcXA6hiCpgRhBXdi4PphfDIpvi9Bc2SUhJH2zarc04/s320/Yukon.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At this point I was somewhere around 4700 miles from where I
had begun in Virginia, and at every corner I parsed, I waited longingly, and
lustfully for just a view of that border crossing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my minds eye, while constantly searching
for the ALCAN port guards, the mountains were surrounded by lakes of snow
runoff of crystalline clear waters that just made the sky seem to sing of the
lightest pure blue I’d ever known, and then—after climbing a small hill, I saw
it; the brightly painted “Welcome to Alaska” sign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had driven nearly 2000 miles on merely a 3-hour
nap to get to that damn sign and I wanted my photo taken with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I first made it to the sign I wept.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sobbed like a small child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told myself to buck up, and I stood there
and patiently waited for 15min or so for someone else to stop, so I could ask
them to take my photo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly no one had
stopped, and personally I was a bit too excited so I didn’t even think of doing
a “selfie”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took out my large SLR
camera snapped a photo, and continued on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I passed through border port, received an ALCAN stamp in my passport
book, and continued my drive of the last few hundred miles into the Alaska
interior.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually arriving in
Fairbanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two Moose ran out in front
of me on that section of road, and I even saw a Harley Roadking Motorcycle in a
ditch, but the roads overall were much better in Alaska, having been recently
repaved in entire sections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON7hPaiq2aLmW8mIVhQy_g872Nk_fQev380Gvj5Ah6R5aeh5K95LBN8RL0eUT5w_aCD1b9NVeNFFXEDIC-wu5nuK784N0M5AkjmSte3z_uAtulHuhjgK6M0sOwnVGeIzU1xgSDzHp_lMn/s1600/alaska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhON7hPaiq2aLmW8mIVhQy_g872Nk_fQev380Gvj5Ah6R5aeh5K95LBN8RL0eUT5w_aCD1b9NVeNFFXEDIC-wu5nuK784N0M5AkjmSte3z_uAtulHuhjgK6M0sOwnVGeIzU1xgSDzHp_lMn/s640/alaska.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made it!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All told, I spent approximately 45 days on this
journey (although I spent well over a year traveling).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stopped taking pictures (save
a small few of me in Denali national park), because I decided that that beauty
I saw there, I had earned EVERY single bit of, and I wanted to keep those
memories for myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhJXlFwDAAcO8vtOoh14g7g8vN1ZI_9wGe8SsTvC6glLbTK1xk4S4TLg3p8Fiuj-Lm-R3VfiklUV9oJTmmE3Xccj_40aIZfolv0QTF9QznapvrSfY9QFzSKw0AmrSzRHbu0Vct6rXgyn5/s1600/me+and+denali.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhJXlFwDAAcO8vtOoh14g7g8vN1ZI_9wGe8SsTvC6glLbTK1xk4S4TLg3p8Fiuj-Lm-R3VfiklUV9oJTmmE3Xccj_40aIZfolv0QTF9QznapvrSfY9QFzSKw0AmrSzRHbu0Vct6rXgyn5/s400/me+and+denali.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me w/ Denali National Park behind me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
During this entire journey, I fought some very hard
emotional battles within myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After
all, running away certainly didn’t solve any of my real problems, but for 45
days I escaped a trap, that emotional prison that tells us we must conform, and
follow some sort of daily routine that others do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On this journey I never felt as free than I
had been in my life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I received
encouragement, from the most unlikely of places, even when I didn’t think I
could continue; as there were a few times I considered giving up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself in Alaska, in more ways than
one, but most importantly I found strength I never knew I had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #262626; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande";">"I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I
wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I
felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet
life". <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-Leo Tolstoy</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
©2013 Christian's Theory<br />
<br />
www.christianstheory.com<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-36219222653323023112013-10-19T10:25:00.000-06:002013-10-19T13:00:54.648-06:00Machetes galore! Costa Rica prepares for 5 months of Beach Tourism!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br>
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Machetes galore! And no... That's not a euphemism for Halloween! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In North America winter is on your heels, but toward the end
of October here in Guanacaste, Costa Rica, it means that the rainy season is
coming to a swift close. The locals, who
call themselves “Ticos” are wielding their machetes and cutting away the excess long
palms, loose coconuts, and clearing fields that will soon begin to dry and
wither way. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3K4bhdCmgqTfG7ZXDUv2cWhvn1zpeBOkCjJfjEVy-rZ_HE8K1zI3bRlgLT4I6Vbubl-Iw_64H6l_nroSqdeRKc0TLOxNMWcMyegCQc8lBiW8m6maPxECZx8QAPRX9dnxICyc8Z1wQ8ZT/s1600/CR+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS3K4bhdCmgqTfG7ZXDUv2cWhvn1zpeBOkCjJfjEVy-rZ_HE8K1zI3bRlgLT4I6Vbubl-Iw_64H6l_nroSqdeRKc0TLOxNMWcMyegCQc8lBiW8m6maPxECZx8QAPRX9dnxICyc8Z1wQ8ZT/s320/CR+post.jpg" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking out over Playas Del Coco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Within the first few days of
November, the rain will come to a complete halt for the next 5 months; The sun
& sand will become a soft haven of sun worshipers, those looking to enjoy a
location filled with local western ex-pats, cheap drinks, a different outlook
on long term vacationing, and for a few, the opportunity to consider a new home, escape from the typical “western life”, and put some paradise in their pockets. <br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Myself, a recent ex-pat import who came here on a slightly
different mission initially to help a sick family member, but also I’ve been
here before & am enamored by the culture, the dry season, and all the
joyous things the weather this time year affords us. For local expats it’s a time to see your
friends return south from the north, for the local businesses it’s time for the
tourist dollars to return the scales into the black, and for the surfers, the
waves & winds don’t get much better than this time of year in Costa
Rica. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Pura Vida!” A common chant touted by almost all locals and
westerners alike. The direct translation
as you may have guessed means “Pure Life”, although it has a more fundamental
meaning to the locals. The local Ticos
and Ticas are most often joyous and happy, huge smiles on their faces amidst
almost rife poverty and most live in shanties hidden amongst the western style
condos & hotels. The local people are
gracious, kind, and full of gratitude at nearly every step. Being a westerner myself I can say with certainty our first world problems wouldn’t even be a
concern to them, but I could write another article on that topic alone! “Pura Vida” means more than I could ever fit into one page, but a short summary would be that everything happens at it’s own
pace, be happy in the now, be gracious for what you have, and most importantly
live free of worry. Stress, after all, is a huge killer in western culture, and it's no wonder why Costa Rican's have the 2nd highest life expectancy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSpcce_78WP0huZUVF9f-LV6wI8yGBUdTFZGQwE87e7ebDRVYsEk8eWpOu0jHx7gEJ3fKIRyO2rJ6tT4Tl34FQO7439zQlmGjEjeGksCjMDrt7EBIeJJn9ozz1JqrRKC_iCMBpS8d1PFc/s1600/CR+Sunset.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigSpcce_78WP0huZUVF9f-LV6wI8yGBUdTFZGQwE87e7ebDRVYsEk8eWpOu0jHx7gEJ3fKIRyO2rJ6tT4Tl34FQO7439zQlmGjEjeGksCjMDrt7EBIeJJn9ozz1JqrRKC_iCMBpS8d1PFc/s640/CR+Sunset.JPG" width="640"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset over Playa Hermosa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The beaches here on the west coast of Costa Rica are clean,
the food is a mixture of Latin, and Caribbean styles, although American & Canadian fare is easily found as well, not to mention the sunsets so beautiful
that they’ll take your breath away. The
weather is warm, humidity is low, and the country in general has some of the
most consistent temperatures in the world.
There is absolutely a reason so many westerners flock here to consider a
new life abroad.<br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are plenty of bars and nightlife if one so desires,
and overt crime is nearly non-existent, however that doesn’t mean be foolish
and leave your iPhone siting on the bar while you go to the bathroom. <o:p></o:p><br>
<br></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXX-B5Inb8I3BikTjhyr4rpjyMlhkqf6xqw59ecW54mmp_wL8aqO6wXXy4IJzW7TRqSK9X-fCLHGor_g2nQgpmwqgIfDU-ZTubvlzxY2aTdLlPAHT9wAMKuKraxkvIiJEy70R7ZNCv_3T5/s1600/CR+Coconuts.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXX-B5Inb8I3BikTjhyr4rpjyMlhkqf6xqw59ecW54mmp_wL8aqO6wXXy4IJzW7TRqSK9X-fCLHGor_g2nQgpmwqgIfDU-ZTubvlzxY2aTdLlPAHT9wAMKuKraxkvIiJEy70R7ZNCv_3T5/s320/CR+Coconuts.JPG" width="320"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cocanutz Bar & Grill in Playas Del Coco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br>
Common sense goes along way anywhere in this
world, and Costa Rica is no different in that regard. <br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year, if you are looking for beautiful place to
vacation alone or with your family, where beautiful people, and the charm of
the area melt into your hands & heart, consider Guanacaste, Costa Rica near
the Gulfo de Papagayo. Playas Del Coco
& Tamarindo are calling your name.
There are daily flights to Liberia (LIR), Costa Rica on Delta, American,
and Lufthansa. <br>
<br>
<br>
If you're looking for a cheaper ticket, Spirit Airlines out of Florida can get you to the capital of San Jose, but you'll need to take a bus west to Guanacaste for about $10. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After you arrive, feel
free to look me up, we'll get a beer! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Pura Vida!!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
©2013 Christian’s Theory <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="mailto:christian@christianstheory.com">christian@christianstheory.com</a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No part of this blog or photos maybe reproduced without permission from the author, as all travel articles are available for sale globally. Thank you. </div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-10498887182870699762013-10-13T15:36:00.003-06:002013-10-19T12:59:48.809-06:00New start, New Blog, & beginning a New adventure<br>
<div class="MsoNormal">
October 13<sup>th</sup>, 2013</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Many people
over the last year asked (and wrote) me; “what happened to your blog?” and “Why
aren’t you publishing any articles?”, additionally “Why has it appeared that
your writing suddenly stopped after New Years day in January?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There were many reasons for this, but most notably I began a
new job that required a very involved government background check, so to avoid
any additional pesky questions, I was told that it might be wise to take my
work off the internet for a little while.
In the process of this, I deleted an email address tied to my blog, and
little beknownst to me, (I thought I had all of my work backed up anyway), it
deleted 10 years worth of my writing, and also my YouTube account. Now, it can be said that it’s crippling
enough when you lose subscribers, or the number of views your work receives has
slowed down to a trickle, but inevitably I lost everything that I didn’t have
saved in a MS Word or Pages (Mac) document. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Losing nearly all of my work was utterly devastating to
me. Most of you know, that I have now
built a new website, and a new YouTube channel, although the YouTube channel
has mostly old or benign videos up just to keep it alive till I was in a
position to begin writing again, and put my best public foot forward. However, I could only find a handful of
random articles I had written, and to post those wouldn’t have made much sense,
as some of them were related to current events from several years ago. So first, let me apologize to my avid
readers. I definitely miss your views,
comments, letters, and kindness. Some of
you give me great strength to continue to do what I love, and I am tremendously
sorry for my absence. Additionally, at
the end of last year I lost a personal relationship that alienated me from my
significant other & child—which led me into a tragic bout of depression
that took me about 6 months to overcome.
My physician had put me on an anti-depressant, which let me tell you, as
a writer, totally sucked. It stole all
of my emotions, which made it nearly impossible for me to write. I finally stopped taking the medication, took
root in my new job, moved into a new home, started a new relationship, and sure
enough, as soon as things became settled, a new drastic change comes sweeping
toward my door. This time, it wasn’t a
giant kick in the stomach, actually this time it was something I had desperately wanted for years, but I realized that while not all of the
circumstances could be considered “as good”, I had made a resolution at the
beginning of the year & now the stars appeared to be aligning themselves in
that exact pattern, and no I don’t believe in Astrology. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the beginning of the year, I was still residing in
Baltimore, and previously had been commuting to Northern Virginia for work,
which equated to an 87 mile 1 way round trip, but my company for the first 14
days of the year was based in Baltimore, and they decided to put me on to a new
project. Which did not last very long. On January 14<sup>th</sup>, a very rainy
morning, I had a minor fender bender on my way to a meeting, and the owner of
the company fired me 2 days later for “not documenting the accident
properly”. The truth of the matter was much more
simple. The 2 year contract in which I
had been hired for ended on December 31<sup>st</sup>, 2012, and the company
owner simply didn’t think he’d need me anymore, and proceeded to stab me in the
back a few times. (The deeper irony is
they asked me if I wanted my job back 7 times over the next 10 months, which I
respectfully declined.) I was already in a fairly deep depression, now I was
just wrongfully terminated from my job, but on the bright side of things, I had
tickets to visit my family in Costa Rica toward the end of the month, and a job
opportunity working for my previous competitor where I already had a few
friends when I returned. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a lovely time in Costa Rica with my family, and
returning to rainy, cold, stressful, and lonely Baltimore was a bit hard to
swallow. Apparently, my body thought so
as well. I wasn’t even home a week
before my body had a tremendous anxiety attack, at the hospital, they believed
I had had a heart attack, so with only 3% juice in my phone & 0 bars of
signal, I laid there on a gurney. I
began thinking – I was all alone. I had
no one local to call, and the only person within 50 miles of where I was wasn’t
even returning my emails. I don’t think
there were many times in my life where I felt truly isolated, but this was
it. I looked at my iPhone 5 one more
time before I shut it off and I noticed the hospital had free WiFi. I made a quick post on Facebook—“I’m at
_______ hospital. They think I may have
had a heart attack. My phone has no
battery life, and I am alone.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mentioned the fact I had an iPhone 5, because, I asked a
few nurses if they had a charging cable.
The fact that the phone was a relatively new product, and Apple had
changed their charging cable with this product meant I was basically
screwed. Anyway, it wasn’t 10 min after
I had made that post on Facebook, my father, who was all the way in Costa Rica
found me. I have no idea who he spoke
to, or how he got them to bring me a phone, as I was still in the ER, but he
did. I wept like a little boy. We both did.
Only one other person found me and called me while I was in the hospital
alone; This is just for you. Thank you,
you have no idea how much it meant to me just to hear your voice on the other
end of that phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After about 40hrs in the hospital I was released saying it
was only a severe anxiety attack, and I went home to my empty house. I had landed the new job, but now I had to
resume the 87 mile one way commute, but that only lasted about a month and I
successfully moved back to Virginia. I
absolutely adored my new company. They
were hands down the most caring company I had ever worked for, and the CEO
himself, was a kind & brilliant man.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In early March I met my girlfriend Barbara. For the sake of privacy I will only use first
names. She is an amazing girl, a great
friend, and has made a tremendous impact on my life since then, and in the
myriad of ups and downs we all experience in life; big changes were incoming. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short my Step-mother became sick. She and my father are quite dependent on each
other, and I knew they could use my help. With my contract at work having ended
in July, I soon was going to be placed in a cumbersome situation regardless to
stay in DC for the time being, (not to mention the government shutdown
fiasco). For legal reasons, I am not
going to post the specifics on my layoff, but I can say I am on good terms with
everyone involved, and in a few short hours I leave to help my family in Costa
Rica, and begin a new chapter of giving, writing, and starting a new. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wish me luck! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
©2013 Christian’s Theory<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645221003920269619.post-64361503721894476932013-02-11T11:57:00.002-06:002013-02-11T11:57:23.808-06:00Change of blog and site!Hello all.<br />
<br />
I am currently changing my blog and it's location to reflect my new work and tie all of it correct components to the right locations. Please bear with me through this change. I will have new and old posts back up soon. As you can imagine this is a lengthy endeavor.<br />
<br />
Regards,<br />
<br />
ChristianAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11205097451485851404noreply@blogger.com0