I need to think that I am literally in jail for five years. That I cannot leave Arizona. My mind is so poisoned and fucked up regarding work. I need to de program and re program

4:11pm at work in a Friday afternoon. 9 weeks. That was how long since I was laid off Monday January 4 until Wednesday March 10. When I slowed down and relaxed. Could breathe again after an intense two months. Two months where I almost had a nervous breakdown. The experience has pushed me four hundred miles East to the Arizona desert. I have rewritten my narrative. I was a seeker. Now the new chapter is being written as a leader.

When I finished my calling as a chaplain I became a seeker. I sold my worldly possessions. I traveled. I owned nothing. I worked odd jobs to make ends meet and lived month to month. I lived life open to God’s plan and place. And then I started to write.

For years I did not pick up a pen or a guitar. 12 years of pent up knowledge was now free to race into existence. Now the words flow faster than I can type. Every thought I can think I wrote down. I create a map of my actions and reactions. Find patterns, meaning. I share with others. We compare our experiences. We find happiness and peace together. Collectively we have harmony.

6:11am got up a little early. I was caught in the rain on my morning walk. Went and worked out. Rode the recumbent bike a little, watched sports news. Did pull ups and stretched my back and abs. Biceps and shoulders. On the walk I pondered the question, “What if I changed my narrative completely?” not the facts, not make up something new but change every aspect of how I view my past?

I started with high school. In my old narrative I lamented how I never felt satisfied. That I felt I did not belong. I could not find my place. The new narrative is “Things always came easy to me. I excelled at everything I tried. I was a natural in sports, could get good grades with little effort. I played music in a rock band and the jazz choir. I was popular, had friends and a cute girlfriend.” That second narrative is completely true. But I for some reason always clung to the debilitating first narrative. The old narrative about college and seminary was I spent my time lost and homesick. That I daydreamed about playing music but never actually tried. That I went to seminary to avoid having to get a job because I was still a scared kid. The new narrative is I went to college and played my guitar all the time. I played folk music, ballads, and slowed down favorite rock songs to give them a soulful tinge. I was a seeker. I took religious classes and examined the meaning of life. I went to seminary to study sacred scriptures, examine spiritual life and dedicate my life to helping others. I returned to Wyoming and my first calling out of seminary was to serve at the Wyoming State Hospital. For four years I provided spiritual care and guidance to those individuals dealing with mental and psychological issues. When I was 30 I took a sabbatical to southern California. For eight months I wrote devotionals about solitude and monastic life. My next calling was to Utah. For 7 years I worked as a hospice Chaplain providing spiritual care and counseling to patients and families dealing with death.

I love my new narrative. I love myself in it. The interesting thing on the walk was I hit a wall when I started to write the narrative about my life now. and my life for the past 12 years. When I thought of my first 37 years my energy flowed. How I perceive high school, college, seminary. My first two callings, my sabbatical. But I have had such an unfulfilling and negative narrative since then. It is disjointed. I am not passionate about it. Yet I am the author. I am the main character. I get to write the story! I get to enjoy the story. I get to love the main character. That is what I am working on now.

My first endeavor was to be a spiritual thought leader for all the religiously unaffiliated people in the world. I had more ambition than ability. I actually wrote my final MBA presentation on it 😊

5:58am someone was in the gym when I finished my walk this morning. Decided to come back to the apartment to workout…

“You end up like a dog that’s been beat too much until you spend half your life just a cover in’ up” Bruce Springsteen born in the USA.

I am now almost three weeks into the job. The move is coming to completion. Time is slowing down. I am settling in.

My mind is searching for a winning narrative. I want consistency. Yet I feel uneasy. I anticipate failure. Abuse. The narrative I selected in the past does not work. I am falling into the story that almost killed me. That is the story where I was not good at sales. I accepted that fact. I blessed the time I tried and now was moving on. The narrative worked until the trapdoor sprung in January. Three months after the peaceful closure of the past I was dismissed more harshly, unexpectedly and early than even the most brutal sales job.

Now I approach a crossroads. Do I cleave the experience of the last job and reclaim that narrative or do I construct a new one? Since the failure of that narrative led me to the precipice of mental destruction I am inclined to jettison it. But that is easier said than done. A narrative springs from the circumstances around me. How I am treated. My perceived value. How I naturally do at my responsibilities with the talents I possess.

I am used to thinking in terms of months and weeks. Not years. Staying with one job and one company in one place is a reality I can’t grasp. On the flip side. For years I couldn’t grasp working in an office every day for nine hours. I had been so used to being in the field. Now I have adjusted.

Three weeks in I still feel like the dog that has been beat too much. but like when looking for a job. You don’t need to win them all. You just need one. If this job and company gives me stability I will take it. I don’t need stability in the past or worry about it in the future. I just need it for today.

1:07am ten weeks ago was New Year’s Eve. Oh my god. The year is not even 1/5 over. My mind is starting to think expansive thoughts. Beyond tradition and norm. Isn’t that what got me in trouble to begin with? Now that activities are tempering I ask myself “what is possible?” However I have learned the lesson my parents tried to teach me many years ago. Always have a job to back up your dreams. For decades I saw that as counter productive. Wasn’t the point to live life without having to work? The job provides stability and baseline. By connecting my dreams to my work i mixed a recipe of failure that abused my sanity. Decimated me financially. I am going to remove either /or from the equation. Dreaming does not require work avoidance for success. My mind can soar while I lead and provide value

12:53am lying in bed. Didn’t make a post last night. Yesterday everything seemed to slow down. I could relax. Catch my breath and examine the past. I am searching for a baseline. A place where everything was solid before the foundation faltered. I cannot find it. historically things would be going well, there would be disruptive events followed by a return to normal. A lesson would be learned. And reflection on the experience would mark a time of personal growth. I keep digging back for bedrock but don’t see it. Was it before shelter in place? Before the WIL’s husband? Before the last job or the five after that? My body and mind are easing to a softer wavelength. I can rationalize and appreciate. There is no salvation in the past. Now the cleaver cuts off romance. Always forward

6:57am last night after I had gone to bed my daughter face timed me. She asked if I wanted to do math. I said yes so she turned the screen around and we started watching the video how to do it. It was a video we had already watched over a month ago. The whole scene became chaotic. My daughter wanted to go take a shower because she spilled something on her shirt. My wife wanted to set up a joint zoom call so I could see the screen but couldn’t do it right away. I was tired. I asked my daughter to just let the video play for two more minutes and I would remember how to do the lesson. But she said she would do it tomorrow and we hung up. I was frustrated. She is not doing her work and failing. My wife believes it is for the best for her to fail to get more help. I slept restless all night. I want to help my daughter. I want to fix things. I want to make it better. The whole scene felt uncomfortable. My wife frames me as the dad who abandoned his daughter and doesn’t make time for her.

I release the negative energy. I am strong. I am whole. I am at peace.

7pm laying in bed. Long day at work. Good and productive. But I am tired. Landlady wants to show the apartment Saturday. I asked her to do it Sunday or Friday. Saturday is the only day I have to pack and be with my daughter.

When I first moved to California I was drawn to the transient energy. No matter how long you lived there or who your family was you could be easily replaced. After living in utah that spirit was invigorating. I utah it was about how long you lived there and what religion you were. I remember one story a friend told my wife. The concept was so strong it left a mark on me through third and fourth party telling. I don’t remember the context but it was a discussion about alternative lifestyles and one girl told another “that is how utah is. If you don’t like it leave.” That like it or leave it arrogance. The it isn’t for you it is for us mentality. California was the opposite. No one had roots or precedent. But nine years in the energy staled. The tide shifted. Where I once appreciated the flippancy I now feel burned. I wanted to stay but California said I didn’t measure up. I think about the Beyoncé song. “I could have another you in a minute…” coming to Phoenix I have been appreciated. The site was scarred. Broken. So was I. They couldn’t find a leader to heal. I was a leader who could find his charge. I was willing to travel 400 miles into the desert. My skill, my decision is appreciated. In my last job I gave all my energy and did good. And was flicked away with no thought. Here I am strong. Valued. Phoenix might be triple A but I would rather kick ass everyday and enjoy life in triple A than be unappreciated and disrespected. I am where I was meant to be.

My mom made it to wyoming. She is depressed. Wyoming has that effect. She so enjoyed Dana point. I feel like a bad son for basically failing to keep the house she was recuperating in. I feel like an awful dad because the only thing that mattered was getting my daughter through school in one place. And me being there for her. I had to leave and move 6 hours away. I know I had to. I didn’t have a choice. But the circumstance carries a heavy burden. I can only creates space. Open my doors and invite them in. I think once I establish a home they will appreciate it as much as I fi. In the long run it will be great. Short run? Kinda sucks