Seven Weeks Part 5: Free Bird

March 5th: Free As A Bird

My hand raises up and Mrs. Steele, my 5th grade teacher, calls on me immediately. Rare is the time I raise my hand for her. I get a certain perverse pleasure from pushing her buttons, but then she does the same toward me. We have a love-hate relationship. Each of us loves hating the other and making their lives miserable.

I am going nuts. We have been working in silence for 15 minutes and there is way too much time before there is another break. If I don’t start moving soon, this class is about to find out what sort of antics I can do to bring everything to a stop. Mrs. Steele will have no choice but to at least send me to stand outside her door. If I am lucky, I will get sent to the office where the nice ladies will hand me notes to deliver to other classes. At least then I will get to move.

“Yes, Jim,” she says to me, ready for the worst possible thing to happen.

“Can I go out to the field and run laps,” I ask.

Without hesitation she gives me the okay and off I go before she can change her mind. Not only am I about to get the break I need, but Mrs. Steele will enjoy knowing her doctor’s son won’t ruin class.

I begin running the outer perimeter of the field and in no time I am in another world. I am at total peace. My mind has stopped talking to me and the only sounds I hear are my feet striking the grass and my rhythmic breathing. I can smell the grass that has been freshly cut and realize there is no better smell in the world. If I could just be left alone to run and smell the grass, life would be perfect.

I don’t count the laps I run. I don’t think about the assignment we were working on. I don’t think about anything. There is a seriousness to this run, just as there always will be for the decades to come. It is my personal “Do Not Disturb” sign and as long as I am left alone, I am as free as the birds flying above me.

Running is my personal church and this will not be the only run of the day for me. In a few hours, I will hand my books to my sister to take home with her on the bus and I will set off racing it on foot. Then I will spend the rest of my afternoon at my friend’s house where we will do something that involves nonstop movement.

There is no intention on my part to stop running on this day. I will only report back to Mrs. Steele once she sends another student out to get me. If I see the student approaching the field, I will pick up my pace and hope to squeeze in an extra lap before I am told to come back to class. Maybe I will get really lucky and other classes will be out for their recess time and I can pretend I never heard the student calling me in. I will milk this for all I can.

Once I am back to class, I feel relaxed and ready to refocus on whatever it is Mrs. Steele thinks is more important than running.

Over the course of the school year, I would eventually no longer need to raise my hand to ask permission to go run. Mrs. Steele would recognize the signs and quietly come over and ask me if I would like to go run laps. I never turned down the offer.

In junior high, I went out for the track team with the desire to run long distances. I was disappointed when the longest race was the 660 yard run, just one and a half laps around a track. The Lorimer twins and I were the only guys who wanted to run the race and we trained every practice for it. After the first week of practice, we asked the coach what he wanted us to do over the weekend. We had no idea he was joking when he said to run ten miles.

I met them at their house across the street from the elementary school we attended. We mapped out a route and set off on foot. We ran down Happy Valley Road to downtown Lafayette and turned right onto Mount Diablo Boulevard. A while later, we ran past Vallecito Elementary onto upper Happy Valley and then made a right back down Happy Valley Road. We passed the Lorimer’s home and continued back toward town before turning left onto Deer Hill Road. The last three miles over the rolling terrain ended with us summiting the top of the road before dropping down to the parking lot at Acalanes High School where Mrs. Lorimer came to pick us up.

On Monday, we told our coach what he did and it was then he said he was not serious and never thought we’d try ten miles in one run.

As a kid, freedom for me meant running. The more I ran, the freer I felt. This feeling would never leave me.

I turned my sights to serious running after I gave up playing soccer competitively. In the fall of 1982, I would be one of a few thousand runners lined up for the annual Almond Bowl Run which attracted college cross country teams from all over northern California. All I wanted to do after countless hours of training by myself was find out how fast I could complete the six mile run through Bidwell Park.

Lined up along the front at the start line, I headed out with throngs of runners and just told myself to focus on myself and forget the crowd of runners. By the midway mark, all I knew was my half way split was much faster than anything I imagined running. I remained focused but in the back of my mind knew by mile four, I might begin paying the price for the pace I set.

Instead, what happened was what I can only describe as an out of body experience. I no longer felt the ground beneath my feet. With every stride, it felt as if I was floating. Then I felt as if my soul hovered over my shell and was watching me run. I was in a zone and oblivious to my surroundings. Just as in elementary school or junior high, I was at peace and singularly focussed on the present. When I crossed the finish line, I would soon find out there were only 18 runners who finished before me and thousands of others later to follow. Over the years, I would continue chasing this high, even once I stopped running competitively, I continued to seek my daily fix, either in the predawn hours before work or late afternoon when my workday was over and I needed to right myself before being a dad and husband at home.

As road bicycling took over more of my life, I was amazed how I could disappear for five or six hours and ride alone. There rarely were other riders and never any music in my ears. Just me grinding out the miles, tackling long climbs, and always finishing my ride without any idea of what I thought about the entire ride.

Today, I know some of my struggles are due to my body paying the price for all my time clearing my head. At physical therapy yesterday, I was advised to stop digging holes with a shovel to plant stuff because of how easily my hips fall out of alignment. It is causing my left hamstring to turn into knots, my low back to ache, and most likely is why it hurts too much to sleep on my side. For many seniors, they feel losing their driver’s license means giving up their freedom. For me, it is losing my methods of clearing my head of its clutter that will not just be my loss of freedom, but also my source of warding off depression and anxiety.

I do not want to hear doctors telling me I have earned a break from these activities and to go ahead and relax and just enjoy life. It’s no different than the doctors who told me to just be glad I am alive after my accident. It’s a way of dismissing someone and reminding them they are old and should be content with playing board games and watching reruns of Matlock, or maybe in my case Seinfeld.

Americans put horses out to stud and old farts into homes to rot. We think we are doing seniors a favor by placing them in an old person’s version of high school where instead of graduating, we die. I will not just take quality over quantity in terms of years lived, I intend to demand my doctors to treat me in that manner.

For this to happen, I also must begin changing a few of my old habits. It goes beyond how I deal with my mental health, but it also means incorporating new things like much more flexibility work and that dreaded leg work I hate while stressing my shoulders less and mixing in different forms and intensities of runs and cycling.

If I am not willing to make these changes, then maybe I need to go annoy the hell out of residents and workers in the old folks home and wait for them to call my kids to let them know I need to stop being a pain in their asses.

Yesterday, in PT, I realized a couple of things. The first was that I was able to spot what injuries most of the other patients were rehabbing because I have been through them previously. No wonder I hurt. The other was that no matter how horrible the discomfort I feel while doing my rehab work, it sure beats being in a room full of patients where we are all undergoing chemotherapy. Walking in my shoes is not that bad after all. Like Mother Teresa said, “Happiness becomes easier when you stop complaining about your problems and start being grateful for all the problems you don’t have.”

Still, I am at a point where I wonder who I should lean on most to help me with my journey. My pain specialist wants me to go with a spinal cord stimulator for pain relief. My physical therapist tells me my hips and pelvis don’t want to remain aligned and the way my body keeps compensating is making walking a painful act. My chiropractor helps me feel better with adjustments and decompression, but within a couple of days I am right back to where I was. I am half way through my TMS and can’t say if I am getting relief because my constant pain has made it difficult to gauge my mood.

On the bright side, I got another clean checkup at the dermatologist today and will not need to be seen for another six months. I still have appointments with my neurologist and dentist next week along with my annual physical in early April. With all these appointments and PT to do at home, it’s all I can do to get Bug out for his morning walk. I don’t remember my last aerobic workout and do not see a run or ride in the near future. Strength work (or what I call strength work) is on hold because my physical therapy exercises take an hour and a half.

Whatever used to be normal for me activity wise is on hold and I tell myself like everything else, it is only temporary. What I do know is any specialist I see has their own unique perspective and offers their own approach to fixing me. I think I am better off if I treat these people the same way I treat religion. I don’t follow any singular religion which in turn allows me to pick and choose the teachings of all to apply to my life the way I think they will best help. While facts are irrefutable, cures are a crapshoot. I see my specialists as providers of options and I am the one who gets to decide on what courses of action I follow, and which ones I don’t.

My tax appointment is also next week and depending how much blood Uncle Sam extracts from me, I may or may not purchase a hot tub. If I currently have a guilty pleasure, it is my love for a nice long shower. I can save water in other places, but my warm shower is sometimes the only relief I feel, so I figure perhaps soaking once or twice a day in a hot tub might do wonders.

Often I have a sensation that I am floating on warm water when I receive Ketamine treatment. The relaxation of my muscles and the release of their tension allows me temporary relief, even on the days I get treatment when I am in horrible pain.

No matter how my physical therapy plays out, I have decided that I am long overdue for a new fitness schedule and that it needs to incorporate more leg and balance work as well as flexibility training. If doing so allows me to enjoy an active life for more years than if I don’t, it will be worth it.

I have also been incorporating the three sentences my therapist gave me for when I notice my anxiety building up. This morning as I harnessed up Bug for his walk, he began his usual shaking so I repeated the sentences out loud for him as much as for me. It must have worked because today was one of his more relaxed walks rather than constantly pulling on his leash.

When we got home, I read a quote from Remez Sasson, “Your mind is your instrument. Learn to be its master and not its slave.”

Later, I read from Eckhart Tolle, “Get the inside right. The outside will fall into place.” And finally, this Buddhist gem struck me, “Hold company with yourself so sacred that even when you are alone, you are whole.”

Loneliness happens when you are not okay with the person you are. It’s why some can feel lonely even when they are in a crowd. The worse we feel about ourselves, the greater our anxiety rears itself which in turn just makes us turn inward and feel alone. I have been reading more lately that it is actually healthy to be alone if you use that time to clear your mind. Our culture encourages us to stay on the go and move from one thing to the next. We end up so over-stimulated that we can’t sleep. Decompressing is vital for digesting our thoughts and feelings just as rest is important to recover from physical tasks.

March 6th: Pine Cove Awaits Everyday

A haiku I came up with t this morning.

Presence is a goal
Requiring constant effort
If I’m to arrive.

We all fall out of shape from time to time. All too often it is the result of poor exercise or eating habits. Laziness is a form of work that comes too easy and too often requires hard work to change. I have been lazy with my mindset and no amount of finger pointing, victim claiming, or excuses changes the fact that my following the path of least resistance has culminated into a long uphill climb.

However, I also know if I remain persistent and patient, I just need to tackle the mountain ahead of me one pedal stroke at a time. Oddly enough, road cycling is the best way I have found to practice remaining present.

When I lived in Hemet, there was a 26-mile climb from my house to the 6,220 foot peak in Pine Cove. From the base of the mountain, which was at 2,000 feet altitude, to the road’s top, it was a two hour grind taking me from the orange groves up through the trees to the granite top. It was a popular weekend ride for motorcycle enthusiasts, but rarely was there a time I encountered other bicyclists.

Once, I taught with another PE teacher who rode for a semi-pro cycling squad when he was younger. He used to say cycling taught him HOW to suffer and if he had not learned to, he never would have gotten through cancer treatment. On a two hour climb, you can either suffer or master knowing how to suffer.

Winding my way up the mountain road, I never bothered to think about how hard the ride was. It didn’t matter what time of year I tackled the climb, each time was its own unique experience and offered up different pleasures in the form of views. However, those views were always right in front of me and not off in the distance. On a 26-mile climb, it was pointless to look at what was behind me and often demoralizing if I looked too far ahead. The only way to find my peace, or rhythm, was by maintaining my focus on where I was.

There were times I would see fellow cyclists pulled over in the turnouts admiring the views behind them. Their bikes were always pointed toward the top but their progress was stopped. I knew what awaited them as soon as they remounted their bikes and trudged uphill — a bigger struggle. Their momentum was lost, lactic acid would flood their legs, and the voice in their head would convince them it was time to turn around.

My first stop was always at the peak of the climb. It was there I rewarded myself with a big helping of fluid and a snack for energy while taking in the view that a few minutes earlier was behind me, but was now my reward before the trip down. Now I could look at what was ahead without worry and know that what just took me two hours to climb took just a small fraction to descend. It wasn’t that I was in a hurry to get to the top nearly as much as I wanted to enjoy the trip on the way back down as much as I did on the ascent.

While descending the mountain road, I followed the same drill as when I climbed it. Looking behind me while perched on top of two very thin tires at 40 mph is not wise. Neither is looking too far ahead. Remaining present and appreciating what was in front of me was far more important, as well as less life threatening.

Whenever I reached the turnouts on the way down, I knew this was the time I could slow down and enjoy the same views others took in on their way up. However, once through the turnout, in a matter of seconds, I was back up to speed with little effort.

I knew every inch of that road. Every bump, every road sign, and even every old rotting piece of roadkill. Depending on the weather and the sensations in my legs, I knew within a minute or two when my arrival to the mountain top would be and as long as my speedometer read 35 mph or faster on the way down, I knew I was following the posted speed limit and could ignore the traffic behind me. All I had to do was go along for the ride.

Unfortunately, I have struggled to maintain those concepts in my everyday life. Unless you are looking to struggle or work real hard, life is much easier going with the flow and leaving the stress, power, greed, and corruption to those hell bent on learning some ugly lessons. Exercise science can tell an individual how much stamina and how much strength they have for any given task, but only a bad experience will tell you if you use them all up in fifteen minutes, you will never get to the top to enjoy the view in Pine Cove.

Our emotional strength and stamina are no different. If we do not use what we have wisely, we pay the price. The same goes for how we handle our finances, personal relationships, work life, and everything else. We might all want to get to the top of something in life, but more often than not, if we fail to appreciate the climb, when we arrive, we will be dissatisfied because we are thinking about arriving somewhere else. In the end, we never arrive anywhere.

I know I am always going to have mountains to ascend. They are called depression, anxiety, and PTSD. There are no cheat days ahead for me like someone on a diet or fitness plan. My mental health does not take any days off so I have a simple, not daunting, choice; either go with the flow or suffer the consequences. My uphill stretches will always require finding my rhythm for the day if I am going to enjoy the breeze, view, and relaxation that comes after conquering a climb. It means releasing any and all unneeded weight for the trip up so I do not end up hauling a heavier load than necessary. It means consuming my energy in a sound and logical way, knowing when to rest, and knowing the hardest parts are just temporary.

I am not sure I have arrived anywhere. However, I know each mistake has brought me greater knowledge and understanding for the path forward. I know that what is done is gone forever unless I choose to add its weight to carry. I know what lies ahead never arrives if I lose sight of what I have to appreciate in front of me. And I know change and surprises are inevitable and I can view them as unwanted annoyances or new opportunities to enjoy.

It’s simple today because I have begun seeing the improvement that comes with TMS therapy. The improvement will never be a cure. However, just like physical fitness, mental fitness, once achieved, it is much easier to maintain than it is trying to get to the top. Daily, weekly, and monthly protocols will need to be climbed by me if I am to maintain a smoother ride in the future. Only time will tell if I maintain the discipline required, lean on the people and resources available to me, and tell myself to go with the flow.

This morning is a nice beginning. With any good fortune, there are thousands of tomorrows that offer me nice beginnings. However, I am not looking at the top of the mountain. I am just going to enjoy what today offers up. Today, Pine Cove awaits.

In 2023, I took up painting as a way to give my brain something else to focus on when I was experiencing a pain-filled day. With the exception of a few cartoon paintings, all my other paintings include the same three components; water, sky, and mountains. Water represents where I have been and where all life comes from. Without water, there is no life as we know it. The sky represents where we are headed. For some, it might be heaven or hell, for others, it may be nothing more than the great unknown, and still some may see it as becoming part of an ever expanding universe. I leave all of that open for individual interpretation. In between are the hills we must ascend and descend throughout our lives. When our lives are flat, they tend to be boring. It doesn’t get much more boring than driving through Texas. Time can’t pass fast enough.

It’s when we climb that we get to experience life and all of its ups and downs. However, without the boredom of the flats, life becomes nothing more than a roller coaster. Just hang on tight and hope to not get sick before the ride ends. It’s after the rollercoaster ride finishes that we digest what we just experienced. The flats in life allow us the same opportunity.

Climbing and descending requires your full concentration. However, when life levels off, if we never take the time to digest what we just experienced, we fail to gain a full appreciation for life’s offerings. Most of my paintings do not offer flats. There are the ups and downs, which for me are my good times and struggles, but not much room for contemplation. Most of the water in my paintings includes pleasant colors, the tranquility that came before my arrival in this world. However, the skies I paint are often dark. It may represent my getting too far ahead of myself and being anxious about the future, but it might also represent the calm I find at night.

My children have always said I am solar powered. Once the sun sets, I am dead to the world. I realize now more than ever that sunrise to sunset exhausts me. There are people everywhere I turn. The only escape I find is in my own private world. It’s why I don’t belong to a gym, a church, or a club. I prefer to shop online than deal with the unexpectedness of people. It’s not that I do not like people or ignore them when in public. I just do not like not knowing what to expect from them and I am not curious enough to want to chat them up.

For me, riding my bike up a mountain road is relaxing. Shopping at Winco, Lowe’s, or any big box store is exhausting. Whenever possible, I look to see who is working the checkout line and not how long the line is. If Kimberly is working at Grocery Outlet, I go to her line. When Laura is working the pharmacy counter, I remind myself Grumpy is on duty. When Jasmine works it, I am thankful for how nice she is. It might save me money if I joined the Lowe’s plan but the only time I can receive any help there is when it’s time to part with my money. Screw them. My local Safeway is well run and easy to navigate but their parking lot requires you to play bumper cars. Why bother shopping somewhere if it is just going to put me in a foul mood?

After I go out in public, I try to take some time to decompress. I’m sure I overthink life, people, events, and just about everything else. I have to in order to make sense of what has gone on. Others just live a life where they go to great lengths to avoid any alone time. They fear their own thoughts to the point they think all they do is have fun or constant adventure, but what they are really doing is practicing a different form of avoidance than what I practice.

Sometimes, a painting of mine will hang from a wall for months before I even realize what was going on inside my mind. What I have learned from painting is it may help me avoid thinking about my pain, but a deeper pain may reveal itself months later. This is why running and cycling are my drugs of choice. They are what allow me to completely close my mind from its past and forget any upcoming worries I can dream up. It is when I am fully present and why when a run or ride is over, I have zero recall of having thought about anything. I am looking forward to getting back on my bike or lacing up my running shoes so I can run again. But now that I am on a flat section of life, I am also thinking of other ways to find that same mindset just in case some hills are behind me. After all, without a good hill to tackle, life can become pretty boring.

March 7th: Cravings Linger

This quote by Marcel Proust struck me, “My destination is no longer a place,  but a new way of seeing.”

Retraining my mindset is hard. It is made more challenging as I still deal with my ways of escaping my worries. I came home yesterday from TMS fully lit up with pain. However, as time passes and I remain in pain, my mind weakens. As it does, I become easy prey for escaping in any manner that allows me momentary pleasure. The problem is, this just adds to my long term challenge of forging ahead in a healthier manner.

Misery may love company but it doesn’t do the individual any good. Neither does beating myself up when after I make two steps forward, I take a step back. Knowing I am my own worst enemy is a wonderful form of self-awareness. It teaches me I am the one most capable of standing in the way of my own progress, but I am also the one most capable of helping myself move forward.

Yesterday, I was sitting on the stool next to my bed about to remove my shoes and replace them with my comfortable slippers. I just took some pain medication and was wanting to relax and wait for it to help when I paused, realizing I had just enough energy in me to walk the two blocks to the minimart and purchase some alcohol. A beer or four would really do wonders mixed with my Norco. It also meant I would be quitting on the day and any progress I made while lying to myself that tomorrow was another day. The fact is, no one has a guarantee of tomorrow. However, if we do, it is in our best interest to set ourselves up for success and waking with a hangover is not likely to do that.

My slippers replaced my shoes, then distracted myself by texting a friend I check in with every day. Then it was on to reading and writing down more quotes before my roommate told me she just dropped and broke her phone. She just had an unexpected car repair and earlier in the day found out she needs another. Now her phone was broken and she had no way to finalize work and transportation plans for today.

Had I checked out for the day, she would not have shared with me her dilemma and her anxiety, which was already pretty high, would have gotten worse. Instead, I was able to hand her my phone with my access code so she could make a few calls and send a few text messages. By doing this, her mind relaxed and she was able to sleep without worry and I was able to feel good about helping her rather than hurting me.

There is no reward that comes from helping another person other than knowing you helped them and they are appreciative. I still woke this morning feeling like crap. My head, my spine, my arms and fingers, my hamstring and my foot all were telling me to fuck off. In other words, nothing new. When we give with the expectation of receiving, we are not giving. I learned that early from a father whose love was always conditional. However, I also learned from a mother who had multiple challenges every day to face by giving freely.

I’d like to say I won’t do something stupid today that sets me back. It’s not even 8:30 in the morning. What I do know is I have set myself up for more success by the choices I made yesterday and because I did, yesterday is behind me and today is clearly my focus. I have another 90 minutes of PT later this morning before heading out to TMS.

There is a very high likelihood I will arrive home in the same pain as yesterday. What I do not know is how I will handle it. Consequently, I remind myself not to think about what I might do because that’s too far down the road. Eight hours or eight years down the road is still the path toward anxiety. I know this so my focus first is on PT.

After being put through some horrifically painful range of motion exercises while my physical therapist was cupping my hamstring, I rolled onto my back and said to him, “You know, right now I really hate you for what you just did. Thank you.”

He laughed and told me he didn’t want me to know in advance how much it was going to hurt because I might hold back on the exercise. I have no idea what hell women go through when they get waxed, but I bet this topped that experience. Like everything, the pain was temporary and a few minutes later my legs were zipped up inside compression sleeves and I was left alone for the final ten minutes.

Just like with a good run or bike ride, when the ten minutes ended, I had no idea what I thought about. I tuned out the music playing, the patients rehabbing, and the beepers going off. It served as an opportunity to clear my mind rather than think about what else I needed to do. I only wished I learned to do this when I was in elementary school.

By the time I returned from TMS, I was running on empty. I just wanted to sleep, but a nap at 2 pm is too late for me. I’ve now been through twenty of my 36 TMS sessions. I have had four weeks to also refocus my mind more toward remaining present. Both are helping me, but at the same time I fight the constant feeling of needing a break to forget life.

The reality is, my need is actually a want and the more I lean on escaping myself by relying on methods that are not in my best interest, the less I am apt to succeed with growth and letting go of things.

Our culture preys on our struggles. After we are made to work to scrape by, we are encouraged to escape our worries. Alcohol, food, and drugs are far too profitable for our government to ever consider banning them. Cell phones, gaming systems, and the internet are as well. Gambling, once a major vice, is so prevalent that no one thinks it’s a danger like it was thought to be 50 years ago.

Alternative lifestyles, friends with benefits, partner swapping are more commonplace. We can binge watch television shows or binge drink to forget our day, our week, or our lives. We can even create our own alternate universe where we are, and have, everything we lack with one exception, peace of mind.

While all of this plays out, we also live in a culture that teaches us to point the finger of blame at others. Our lives are the fault of our parents, schools, friends, bosses, enemies, and the all mighty dollar we can never get our hands on enough because we lack the impulse control to save. We live in debt because we want it all and advertisers are happy to make us believe we deserve it.

My dad made lots of money as a doctor in Lafayette, California and through investments. He and my mom traveled the world and there was never anything he lacked or was not able to provide for my siblings and I. We grew up in a neighborhood where there were lots of adults with lots of money. I was warned repeatedly by my old man I would never make much of an income if I became a teacher. I worked in a profession that has succeeded in promoting itself as horribly underpaid despite the average work year for teachers only being two-thirds of most professions. If I understood over 40 years ago I was going to be underpaid and underappreciated, there’s no reason for anyone else who goes into teaching today to not know this.

There is no way I can explain when it became my way of thinking, it was long before I entered high school in an affluent community, but I’ve never really valued money. My father was more than well off, but he sure as hell was not a happy person. My happiest times were when I was living on the financial edge in college, having to hold off on groceries or gas because rent was due. My friends were all in the same boat and no one was trying to keep up with the Jones’. We openly shared what we had, traded our abundance for someone else’s. Today, I realize better than ever that in those times, I was happy because I lived each day for what it offered and did not worry about what was in store.

Now I live in the same college town as in those days but see few college students working in town. Maybe they are relying on college loans. Perhaps they are trading stocks on-line. I am sure there are some who sell their photos to perverts too afraid to talk to a real person. There are bound to be several who deal drugs or sell bitcoin. It’s as if all their energy is going toward ways not to work an actual job. Whatever it is they are doing has yet to stop the constant rise in mental illness. I could easily fall into a funk if all I wanted to dwell on is how we are not making progress as a society because we are too caught up in get rich quick schemes. As a result, we have not fallen backwards nearly as much as simply gone off the rails.

My two divorces did not improve my financial well-being. I would still work a part time job if I did not think it would cause my physical pain to sky rocket. However, it would not be for the money nearly as much as to just be in contact with other people. I do not place myself on a monthly budget. Some months I spend more than others because some months are more expensive. The winter holidays are expensive. The new year means it is time to pay deductibles before I enjoy whatever health benefits I have. Next week, I will meet with my tax person and see what my free and uninhibited spending government wants in the form of taxes. Then, and only then, will I consider purchasing a hot tub to ease my aches.

Other than my desire for expensive forms of exercise, my road bike cost me three grand and running shoes are no longer cheap, my most expensive vice is beer and I have stopped drinking it. I do not enjoy travel, my injuries won’t allow me to golf, and I have no interest in owning more than the car I have. I do not want a boat, RV, or bigger this or better that. Still, it is entirely possible I outlive my savings, but it is just as possible I leave money behind for others.

The only people who need to worry about money are the ones who live in poverty and struggle to meet their basic needs. After that, the rest are killing themselves because their pursuit of greater wealth is more likely making someone else much richer and them more miserable.

We have much more than a problem with the distribution of wealth or too much wealth in the hands of too few in our country. We have been hooked since an early age to believe hard work equates to a better way of life and more happiness and the end result is an increase in drug overdoses and suicides. There are more murders, acts of domestic violence, and hate crimes all because of the anxieties we have developed from our need for more of everything and the emptiness, anger, and frustration that comes from our disappointment.

Are my cravings a sign of me having a drinking problem? It all depends on your definition of a drinking problem. Do I have an addictive personality? Absolutely. However, find me someone who is not addicted to something.

Our addictions are what we lean on too often to escape the worst of ourselves. Some folks are not designed to find out who they are. I happen to be wired to need to find out why I am the way I am, who I am truly meant to be, and to find a path forward that works better than the one I have been on.

In the end, it will be the same path, for that path will reflect the person I was at the moment of every step I took. Growth, changes in direction, falling down, moving on, and fatigue are part of our life journeys. The only difference — success from now on will come about because I learn to remain fully present.