Act V, Scene 1

I emptied my office this evening.

After seven months of dithering along, building infrastructure while steadfastly avoiding client-seeking, I decided enough was enough.  Although I’m not shutting down Gillikin Consulting — far from it! — I divested myself of a commercial rent payment that was not-at-all offset by business revenue.  It makes no sense to maintain a 1,000-square-foot office when I’m not being productive and earning business income.

The funny thing is that I’m not at all melancholic about it, given the amount of hope and promise I felt when I first leased the space.  And the story behind my lack of emotion is probably worth sharing, if for no other reason than because I’ve discussed pieces of it in the last few weeks with Jen and with Edmund.  (Frankie, this is your cue to skip to the next post.)

It helps to tell the moral of the story before delving into the details:  I believe, with a sense of certitude that’s fairly strong, that I recently hit a milestone that marks the beginning of a whole new chapter in my life.  Before I get to that event, though, let’s begin with a rough sketch of the Life of Jason.

Act I:  Childhood.  This period ran from birth until I turned 16.  The most noteworthy characteristics were a rural upbringing (no neighborhood and thus less opportunity for youthful fraternization) and a family life marked by a strong mother.  I also enjoyed a special status, being the eldest child of the eldest child and a boy to boot, on the maternal side of my family.  Although I loved my childhood and still wouldn’t change anything, the isolation, sense of privilege, and inadequate early socialization that mark this time would come back for tragic sequels.

Act II:  Independence.  Ages 16-20.  Wheels and a job meant I had a high degree of freedom, and a lack of close parental oversight translated to a lot of opportunity to grow in unstructured fashion.  My later high-school years were not so unpleasant; I had some friends, and I had fun, but I didn’t learn some critical skills (like money management) and I was able to get through West Catholic with a reasonable GPA with precious little effort.  I opted to go to Western Michigan University for no other reason than because my friends Aaron and Jenni were going there, and I was awarded a three-year advance-designee Army ROTC scholarship to pay for it — and while at WMU, I became something of a radical atheist and conservative attack dog.  However, two problems loomed.  The first was my first foray into obesity, which began as the result of a horribly bad date when I was 16; she was 32, and she preyed on me to the point of fondling me in a movie theater, but when she cried about it later, the only lesson I learned was that it was somehow my fault, and I responded by making myself fat and therefore “ugly” so as to avoid any future romantic possibilities.  The second problem was my unconscious belief that I was above the rules, since I never really was held accountable for poor performance or bad behavior during my high-school years.

Intermission:  Quarter-Life Crisis.  Ages 21-22.  Can you say “implosion?”  The mistakes of the prior few years, coupled with a horrific level of arrogance, had to come to a head at some point — and that they did, in spectacular fashion.  In one year, I failed out of Western, nearly went bankrupt, incurred a fair amount of legal trouble, lost two jobs (one, involuntarily) and capped it off by deciding to “start afresh” by just picking up and driving to California without warning or disclosure to friends and family.  This period ended on the beaches of San Francisco; having driven West with so much confidence that I could just hit life’s reset button, I realized that I actually did have obligations, and had to attend to them as best as I could. 

Act III:  Stasis.  Ages 22-27.  I started this period by recovering from my earlier meltdown.  I returned to Catholicism, and I re-enrolled at WMU, and I took care of my legal and financial obligations as best as I could.  This period featured me doing the same thing for five years:  Working, and going to school, in relative social isolation.  And every year, my waistline got just a little bigger.  At 26, I moved to Kentwood and earned my B.A., but other than that, there really aren’t any milestones to speak of.  Just wasted time.

Act IV:  Transformation.  Ages 28-31.  This Act has four scenes.  The first was the “Time of Conflict.”  It began in the summer of 2004, when I first started to really become bothered by the abnormal behaviors associated with my eating habits, and culminated in December, after a rocky tenure as editor of the Western Herald.  Three major things happened in a space of six weeks, at the end of 2004: I left the Herald and my grad program, my brother and his wife had a baby, and I nearly choked to death on a glutton’s breakfast; each of these events was the end-game of a long-running series of conflicts (internal and external).  Scene 2, the “Time of Change,” ran for most of 2005, until my grandfather’s death in September; it featured me learning how to not be busy all the time, and — after figuring out that I was fat because of that one bad date at 16 — I lost a total of 110 pounds with relative ease.  Scene 3, the “Time of Consolidation,” ran from September 2005 until October 2007.  I kept the weight off, and did some exploratory dating for the first time, but I mostly maintained the gains of early 2005.  Scene 4, the “Time of Turbulence,” ran from October 2007 through September 2008; it started with a sense of emptiness that prompted the strategic goal setting (Project 810) that ultimately led to the chaotic thrill-ride known as Jason’s Big Gay Summer [see the stickied post “Summer of ’08” for details]. 

Which leaves me beginning Act V, which began — coincidentally — around my 32nd birthday.  I had gone into the summer of ’08 with a strong inferiority complex, much of it related to my utter lack of a social life, dating history, and sexual experiences.  A lot happened over the summer, and by mid-September, after reflection on what the ordeal with Matt really meant, I was hit by the realization that my lack of self-confidence, rooted in a dearth of experience, was utterly upended.  I came to internalize what I was had learned intellectually — that I am a good person, and compared to most, I’m level-headed, intelligent, and emotionally well-balanced.  In short, I could be proud of who I am, and hold my head high above the waves as I tread the water in the dating/socializing pool.  My final key learning was that I can no longer split my energies among multiple objectives, doing many things poorly instead of a few things well [see the post “Dry Powder” for a longer reflection on this important point].

I am consciously aware that the emotional dissonances within have been silenced; the issues I have, from a personal-growth perspective, have all been addressed, with no sources of angst or psychological unhappiness remaining.  I am now a restored to a sense of internal tranquility and good health (with the slight exception of feeling incomplete for lack of a significant other), with my life motivated by achievable strategic goals, and a newfound understanding that the tactics for achieving those goals must result in an advance, not a flanking maneuver.

After Matt, and after fully processing the events of the summer, I felt that the door on a period in my life — Act IV, a time of prolonged recovery from the bad choices of my youth — had come to an end.  My attitude and outlook and sense of responsibility has shifted a considerable degree, and it’s unquestionably for the better.  I’ve finally become an adult in the fullest sense of the term.

So.  Here I stand; I can do no other.  God help me.  Amen.

Halloween! Yay!

I am presently in the middle of a fairly busy time.  Details are as follows:

  • On Tuesday, I went out for drinks with an acquaintance, then met Tony for some conversation at Applebees.
  • On Wednesday, I covered Confirmations at the cathedral. 
  • On Thursday, I ended up at Kava, talking to (Grand Rapids) Jen, and doing some miscellaneous writing work.
  • On Friday, I had lunch with Edmund, ran some errands, did some light shopping, and did a LOT of cleaning — primarily because my planned excursion out on the town with Val and Stash was canceled on account of female instability. 🙂
  • Saturday will be busy.  I’m one of three co-presenters on liturgical art and environment during Advent and Christmas, for a diocesan workshop in Caledonia.  I get to lecture on the parts of a church, sacristy management, people management, and “questions of taste and sensibility.”  Should be interesting.  After that, I’m off to Kalamazoo — presumably with Charlie — to attend the Tracy and Teri Halloween Party Extravaganza.  I look forward to kicking Emilie and (Lansing) Jen into humble submission during the informal costume contest.
  • Sunday, after the post-party brunch, I may do something with Andrew.

Dry Powder

Every now and then, I’m privileged to witness a moment of genuine growth in another.  Today was just such a day.  After weeks of hectoring and prodding by me and by his own conscience, a dear friend of mine took the very significant step of ending a serious — and seriously complicated — long-distance relationship.

The details aren’t relevant; the only salient point about the story is that I’m very proud of what my friend did.  The direct way that he addressed the situation took a lot of guts — it wasn’t easy, but it needed to happen, and he deserves credit for his courage.

I think, on reflection, that the hardest thing he had to do wasn’t to end the relationship, per se, but to close the door on an option, on a Plan B.

I’ve been churning around in my head some of what Tony and I discussed recently, the gist of which is that I’m not “grabbing the gold” with my business goals because I’m too comfortable with my hospital employment.  He said that people only live once, and that sometimes you’ve just got to take a calculated risk — without a safety net, and with the very real chance of epic failure — if you want to win big.

Tony’s right.  His counsel dovetails nicely with the experience of my friend today, insofar as both are pervaded by an interesting theme.

We all know the admonition to “keep our powder dry” — that is, to prepare for any eventuality by keeping one’s options open and declining to commit to a single path until circumstances require such commitment.

My relationship-ending friend found comfort in knowing that even if his local romantic pursuits fizzled, he still had “someone” — even if this person were hundreds of miles away and seen infrequently.  The comfort of having a backup plan is perhaps even more important than the actual person involved, and his breakthrough was in getting rid of the long-distance safety blanket, so that he had to put all of his energy in his current (and local) relationship.

As for me, I like having options.  I like to plan an escape route.  I like having a general knowledge of many things instead of a deep knowledge of few things.  In short, I’m temperamentally inclined to keep my powder dry, to split my energy to preserving multiple lines of advancement, instead of committing all of my forces to one decisive battle.

I think a great parallel is the battle strategies of the Union and the Confederacy.  The CSA, lacking materiel, tended to fight in larger formation, and to commit a larger share of forces in order to win a battle.  The Union, especially under McClellan, didn’t; most generals before Grant split lines and formations, blunting their numerical advantage for the sake of theater flexibility.  But what need is there of flexibility when you only have to defend against one, massive hammer strike?  Hence an early string of Union defeats.

It takes time, energy, and resources to keep multiple options open.  In life, as in warfare, the strategic price for this thoroughgoing flexibility is a slow advance, and in an emotional sense, it’s a great inducement for excessive caution.

I’ve advanced slowly.  I’ve suffered setbacks.  But, I’ve always had a Plan B.  And oh-so-coincidentally, I’ve rarely won a major victory on life’s battlefield.

Today, I did something a little different.  There is a person whom I know, and admire, for whom I feel a not insubstantial attraction.  So, I made a point of disclosing this information this afternoon — an act which was respectfully received, even if not entirely reciprocated.  Instead of keeping my options open and admiring from afar, I acted with more decisiveness than usual and put the issue on the table.  I feel good about it; I set aside the ambiguity and reduced my options, but secured an emotional victory that was worth it.  And even if my disclosure were rudely rebuffed (which would have shocked me), it still would have been worth it.

Tony’s point is well-taken:  When life gives you but a single shot, it’s foolish to live in so guarded a manner that the best one can summon is an uneasy stasis, with no real progress but no real regress.  The bold sometimes lose — and lose big — but they’re also more likely to win big, too.

Starvation

Tony said something to me tonight that resonated.  He said that he regrets that I’m not starving, because my foot-dragging with my business-development work is made possible only by virtue of a steady check from the hospital.  Were I unemployed, I’d have to sink or swim without recourse to a safety net.

He’s right, of course.  He succeeded in establishing his law practice because he suddenly found himself as an unemployed young attorney with bills and no revenue stream.  He worked, because not working was not an option.

It makes me wonder whether I should consider the nuclear option.

Forgetfulness

Once upon a time, I had a boss who couldn’t believe the awesome power of my mind to retain information.  I never carried a planner or calendar, and I knew all the phone numbers I needed and such — just from simple memory.

Long (and boring) story short, I agreed to her demands that I use a day planner for six months.  So, on the company dime, she bought for me a deluxe Franklin planner, and I dutifully used it for just about everything.

Well, hell’s bells — her disbelief in my mental acuity became a self-fulfilling prophecy.  After six months, I couldn’t remember a thing, which is why my most essential piece of property is my Blackberry.  To this day, if I don’t write it down — it’s gone.  And if I do write it down but forget to put it in Outlook — it’s gone anyway.

The mind is a wonderful and mysterious thing.  It can be trained to perform great works of beauty, to ponder complex ideas, to calculate difficult equations.  But it can be trained negatively, as well — especially through chronic disuse.

I’ve been flirting with testing for Mensa.  Not sure if I want to try the exercise only to fail by a point or two because my brain got flabby.

Moral of the story:  Brainpower, like cardiopulmonary endurance, is a “use it or lose it” thing.  Be careful to not let too much of it decline!

Partita No. 3

I was driving around town today and I kept forcing the same track to play on my CD player — track 37, the final movement of one of Gould’s performances of Bach’s Partita No. 3 for piano.

This is a complex, ornate, sublime experience encapsulated in a mere 2:15.  Both hands fly across the keyboard, with harmonies and dissonances blending into a wall of sound that is so intricate that the ear requires training just to make sense of it.

This piece has always been one of my favorites — fast-paced and intense piano and organ music will not fail to lift my spirits.  It made the perfect compliment to a gorgeous too-warm autumn day.

Becca and Jen and Duane

… just so you know, I wish you all the very best as you deal with all the mindless horseshit that gets shoveled your way.  Y’all are great people, and I’m privileged to consider you each as a friend.

Thursday

Yesterday was interesting.

The festivities started in earnest not long after 6 p.m.  I met my friend Charlie at the Beaner’s in McKay Tower.  We sipped and chatted for about three hours.  The conversation was quite pleasant; of all my new friends, he’s the most emotionally stable, with a respectably mature outlook on life, and I really enjoy his company.  I think he’s a “keeper.”  Oh, and Beaner’s has a scrumptious double-dark hot chocolate, as full of calories as it is of sweet, delicious taste.  Highly recommended.

After parting company with Charlie, I spoke a bit with Andrew.  He had to head to an urgent-care center after getting cut at work by a rusty razor blade.  Fortunately, all is well with him, and I am looking forward to drinks or something with him this weekend.

I headed home, only to get a call from Becca when my hand was mere inches from the garage door.  She needed a drink, and I was quick to comply.  I turned around, drove to her apartment, and ferried her to Cambridge House, where we shared drinks and some tasty hummus.  As always, conversation with Becca is elevated and enjoyable, even though I had to spend a fair amount of time defending Sarah Palin’s right to draw breath.

I got home after 1 a.m. and on a lark, I logged into WoW and let Elianna (undead affliction lock on Misha) ding 32 — the first time I’ve played her since February.

Went to bed around 3 a.m. and slept like a pretzel, again.  At this rate, my spine will be shaped like a Mobius strip by Christmas.