7am in Dana point, finishing last of loose packing. On the walk this morning I was thinking about my personal narrative. Especially the Dana point years. The first five and half have perspective and a clean line of ending. June 13, 2017. I did the job tried the career and put it in the past. It is the more recent past. The last almost four years I don’t know what to do with. The undercurrent was I wanted to take the next step, make more money, have more control. The reality was I studied real estate, for my license but never activated it. I looked into insurance and financial products. I sold business consulting in straight commission. I got a job selling healthcare learning management. Then back office skilled. That is the seeker part. I actually don’t mind that. I am not sure what to do with the last two jobs.

The first one in some ways continues the odd sales jobs. It was below my skill level and pay grade. It was front line sales. But it was different in that I had access to company stock, a 401k, a company car. And it was hospice. It opened doors back up for me. Not sure how to frame that. The last job is even harder. On the walk I called it the “murder hornet” of my story. In 2020 with the pandemic and shelter in place there was news of a murder hornet infestation. Many jokes that it was too many bad things happening in one year. that god, or whatever cosmic director is overseeing the plot, should remove the murder hornets from the script. It was just too hard to find a cogent place for them.

I will work on it. It doesn’t stress me out to think about.

The other interesting narrative is Arizona. I am looking at it like a prison sentence. I know that sounds not good but by actually feeling I have no choice. That I am “locked up” it relieves me of the stress of scheming to grow or worrying about how I am perceived. It covers me both ways. It is the same energy as the lease. Signing the lease locked me in where I feel I can’t leave and they can’t get rid of me.

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.