..you start writing about dreams. So I’ll sidestep the part where I woke up thinking we lived in Europe and the crushing realization that I had been awoken in the middle of a Europe dream by my son’s wailing.
A good friend came over for brunch yesterday and spread wide his map for travel, relocation and getting rid of “stuff”. He had collapsed his company and was eschewing the traditional business growth plan of hiring some consultants and managing a team who would take over doing all the things he enjoyed doing himself. That plan would have freed up his time to do all the things he didn’t enjoy doing, which included running a team. So he stopped following that path.
We were on opposite ends of the spectrum as we recounted our tales. I was all impending mini-vans and drowning in a personal Pacific Garbage Patch. Having just come back from a month in Europe to a full, empty house of stuff, I can say that I wouldn’t really miss too much of it. To my expanding violet, he was the red of adventure and freedom from client demands (save the odd billionaire who he works for) and time and space to work on his musical. And learning to ski.
My life under the microscope of my ever present over-analyticism (made up word) was thrown into stark relief. Not just the relief that is useful in brass rubbings, but the kind of relief you get from bloating and abdominal discomfort by eating pucks of chalk. So that you can draw out your indigestive demons. On a blackboard. In your throat.
Now is as good a time as any to put the wheels into motion to design the life I want (the one that doesn’t involve answering my phone on the weekends). Well the best time to start was probably yesterday, or in the case of planting trees, forty years ago. To that end, I got Fertile Grounds Gardens to come around to give me a quote to plant some fruit trees today, with the understanding that someone else will probably enjoy the fruit of their labors. I’ll be in Europe. Without my phone.