My Vision is Clear

I’ve not been able to say that much in the last 7 or 8 months.

But something’s changed in the last couple of months.   7 or 8 weeks.   This slow advent of Spring has, as it always does, renewed something in me.  Reawakened something elemental.  Something definitely missing.   I’ve been looking for it, been expecting it. But like the proverbial pot of water, the watched-for clue never appears.

But it did today.  A day of making decisions and putting myself out there.  Of sitting and waiting.  Of being looked at and evaluated.  Of having people listen to your story.  Of telling your story.  A day of reminding myself why I chose to change my life almost exactly two years ago.

It wasn’t until I explained my day to Matthew that it became apparent what these last six months have done to me.  To my rather myopic self view, it’s been a whole lot of killing time.  A whole lot of nothing.  Of sending resumes out into the vast ether that is the internet.  Of networking with caring friends, who, at the same time, don’t understand me, my goals and what I’m all about (my bad).  Or who are too busy with their very own lives and growth and issues and insecurity, change, etc to tend to mine.   It’s been a a lot of self-doubt and questions.  Of boredom and disengagement.   The last 6 months have consisted of licking my wounds and trying to back down into to the hole from which I made a conscious decision to escape.

That ain’t gonna work.

So as I stood there explaining to Matt what I had done today, a lot about myself suddenly made sense.  And it made sense relative to the decisions I’ve made that even I’ve not quite understood.   A + some number = C.

I think that “some number” is in sight.   Not in the shimmering calm waters of the Cape but right here, under my very nose.  Right here.  At home.  So things didn’t work out in Provincetown?  So what?  Why can’t they work here?  Why can’t you swallow your fucking pride and concern and ego right here in the open instead of a thousand miles away?   You’ve made the break.  You’ve found a way to make it work.   But my friend, you’re dangerously close to indefinitely extending this malaise and quickly ruining what gave you these opportunities in the first place.     What the hell are you doing, Brown??  It’s not all that different.   More opportunities.  Better network.  Not as scenic….so what.

Enough.

Let’s move on, shall we?

Hero Worship

It’s difficult to come back to your former home, questionably successful in your venture, your quest.   It’s hard to face some stone cold realities:  financial, familial, emotional…It’s hard to shift gears again.  It’s hard to rejigger your dreams.  It’s hard to tell friends you’re leaving or that, “hey, I’m back.”  And it’s hard to look back and see the influences and the Sirens you thought were your friends, so true, honest, real and sincere.

Make no mistake, the choices I made were mine and mine alone.  I have no regrets.

What’s interesting, is that there were friends to encourage me along.  Friends who had reached the same place in their respective careers.  Friends that I loved and still do.  Friends who were smart, talented, motivated and love P-town as much or more than I.   Friends that weren’t necessarily going my way, but were jumping the proverbial ship just the same.   And then one fine Spring, we all kind of lept together.

And, as in most sea tales, there were Sirens in my story.  Those that called from afar, “come up and join us!”   “All is well!”  “It’s magical, look how well we’ve done.”  Those that listened to your dreams and encouraged them, albeit with no real backing or care.  They called from the cold comfort of the rocky shore while I sailed a rough sea.

I heard the Sirens, measured their input against my misery, watched friends take the leap, looked at my immediate situation, checked the bank account and then did it myself.

Oh, the Sirens and their call.

I can only speak for myself and my journey.   I can only say what I’ve seen, what I’ve done and what I’ve experienced.   And this tale of sirens is not all bad.   No, there were loving arms to welcome me ashore, loving arms to feed and nourish me, to introduce me and socialize me.  To recap a day, a certain success and a joy over a drink or two.   To comisserate and comfort and celebrate and advise.   To wave from the porch each quiet morning on the way to work.

But something happened.  Something transpired to which I was not a party.   I was grouped – by association and gender and history – with other conflicts.   Cut off in a non-spoken way from two friendships.  Well, from one friendship with two people, in hindsight.   It hurt.  It still does.   But I can only be mature about it.  I can’t behave the way the Sirens do.  It’s sad.  More than anything, though, it amuses me in darkest way possible.

Their childishness and the short-sightedness are comical.  The pain and thinly-veiled deceptions are not.   Dishonesty certainly is not funny.  Deliberate derailing of dreams cannot be short-sighted.  Those of us that crashed on the rocks will pull ourselves up and rebuild.  We’ll be stronger, we’ll go on.  It’s what we do.

But, as I’ve said countless times, Karma on the Cape is swift and sure.   Watch your heads, Sirens.

Tell Me ‘Bout It

Looking for a job sucks.   Plain out, old fashioned, sucks.  It’s demoralizing and degrading and ranks just this side of prostitution.

But I’ve actually had a decent time trying to find gainful employment this last month.  Today I applied for a job marketing a robotics and space exploration company.   Now, I know nothing about either, but damn, doesn’t that sound like a fun fucking job!  I mean, it really would be rocket science.

I may never get the job or even get called back, but it sure is nice to feel excited about what’s out there.

Mars, here we come!

I Started Nothing

Chohutta Wilderness, Fanin County, GA.  January 2013

The last two weeks have not been the easiest.

I came to the realization while in Birmingham over Christmas, that a decision NOT to go back to Provincetown this season was in my best interest.   For lots of reasons.   Financially, I don’t want to get “behind the 8 ball,” as it were.  I’ve been really good the last several years managing my money and a big part of that has been eliminating and staying out of debt.   Doing that, and saving a shit-ton, enabled me to change things up two years ago.  One of my greatest fears is getting strapped down by debt and financial obligations.  It’s limiting on every level of what I want to do with my life.

Then there’s the back-biting and bitterness that’s so apparent in a small town.   Unlike Season 1, I saw more than I cared to this summer.   I may be eating a bit of crow, but the dew is off the lily and I did, indeed, see behind the curtain.   I’m not sure a one-street town and it’s attentive closeness is where I want to invest several years of my life.

And the lack of year-round opportunity (hell, even people year round would be nice) is a real problem.  One industry in a one-street town does not lend itself to copious opportunity.  I’m not cut out for the still quiet of the winter months and all it portends.

But the main reason was the worry about and decreased ability of my parents to look after themselves.   They’re fine this very moment, but I can see a time in the very near future that I’ll be needed in Birmingham to help downsize their home, go through and move their stuff, take them to doctor’s appointments, etc.   When I left for Ptown in 2011, the feeling was 5-7 years.   I’m thinking more like 2-3.   So, I made a tough call, to change gears and continue things here in Atlanta.

What’s been hard has been telling those on the Cape that mean so much to me:  Brad & Joel, Chef II, Devon, Robert.   And it’s been hard to tell people here that I’m “back for good.”  The perception of failure seems to be so easily achieved.   But I don’t consider it failure at all.  To be cliche’, it’s a journey, one I undertook and continue on my own choice.   For once in my life, the choices I’ve made in the past two years are mine and mine alone.   It’s daunting, troubling, anxiety-causing and stressful, but at the same time, the responsibility for myself is extremely freeing.

Now if I can just remember these words, especially around 3:30am, all will go well!   I need to enjoy the trees and embrace the big forest that’s out there.

Onward.

Candy Everybody Wants

Sorry for the delay….I been busy doing nothin’.

So here’s a recap, to catch you up:

*  I left Provincetown on December 9 and headed South.   To be honest, the voices inside my head were becoming deafening and the lack of activity combined with the slow drain on my bank account made it an easy departure.  On a couple levels, I’m glad I stuck around two extra months:  I finished my restaurant business plan.  It’s totally buttoned-up and will work whenever and wherever I need it to.  Living in the Cottage with Chef II was a great experience, our friendship growing exponentially.   She’s a gem and I see great things in our future.   But Ptown off-season is not for me — No M’am!   I now know that and can adjust accordingly.   It’s too quiet, too small, too dark and too, well….dead.   I need people around, things to do, places to go…you get the picture.

* My trip was easy and uneventful.  I spent two great days in Princeton with Teeter.   She’s always good for what ails me and sets the perspective nicely.  She too is going through some transition so I think my visit did her some good as well.   I spent the last night in DC with Lilly Belle and Jeff, dear friends from Auburn.   They’re stationed in Washington for a hot minute and it was great to catch up.   Leigh is another one that is good for my head…

* I rolled into Atlanta at rush hour on a Wednesday….Ugh, I had somehow forgotten what a nightmare that is.   I don’t think there are as many cars on all of Cape Cod as I saw on I-85 in Gwinnett County.   It took me an hour to make my way to East Atlanta…

*  …where I’ve been living with Matt and Stephen very comfortably and easily.   They’re gems and have opened up their home to me without hesitation or conflict.  It’s a bit tight but I like the routine.  They’ve made coming and going easy and I’m glad to pitch in with housework and such.   Cooking has been a joy.

*  My trip to Birmingham for Christmas as a tough one, to be honest.   I was not prepared for the change in my parents….mostly in my Dad’s attitude on aging but generally in how much slower their days are.   They’re still 100% self-sufficient, but I can see that that will not last too much longer.  Dad and I had some good conversations about their futures and I listened to him as he bemoaned his arthritic hips and Mom’s memory lapses.   But at 80, they’re remarkable.  My sister still teeters on being a burden to them.  I think she doesn’t realize that they may not be capable of any kind of emotional or physical or financial care she may require.   Oy, it’s a bit bleak, the Brown family situation…

* BUT, we threw one hell of a 80th birthday party for my Mother last weekend!  Funny what a party can do for folks’ mid-winter blues.   I catered, cooking and hosting 35 of their closest friends.  It was a joy and came off flawlessly.   I’d say it was my best gig ever.

* On the Social Front, it’s been busy.  I’ve pretty much caught back up with everyone, save a couple of people.   I spent an amazing day with Pattie collecting food for her community food bank; have had beers at Moe’s and Joe’s more than once; picked right back up with Beth; noshed with EriK at our favorite haunts and picked the brains of several old, not-seen-in-a-while friends.  All good.

And there you have it, in a nutshell.   There’s more, but I’ll get to that in time.

Five Fathoms

My “winter” roommate is Chef II, for those of you following closely.   Gentle, kind, funny and restrained, our friendship over the past 18 months has been quick, easy and balanced.  She stands her ground professionally and is fair in the negotiations of friendship.   I was never nervous or anxious about sharing the cottage; it kind of just happened and it’s been lovely.

Two Saturdays ago was my last in town for the Winter.   Julia and I struck out on a gray, cold Friday for the tidal flats on the West End in search of oysters.   We were two of about two dozen people total out that morning, most of the others digging for clams.  We picked oysters and mussels off the Breakwater rocks and out of the sand.   4 dozen later, we trudged our way back to the car and home.  We gave half the catch to friends and set ours outside in the cold shade.

The next day, I pulled the bag of oysters off the back porch.   Chef made cocktail sauce and I, mignonette.   I shucked the bivalves in batches and Julia opened beers.   We talked and listened to music, texted friends and savored the fresh, oh-so-slight brine of the cold, slimy creatures, slurping them down easily.   Our locally found feast lasted a good hour.   It was heaven.

Naps followed.  The sun set.   Contentment reigned.

Rain Against My Window

It’s been a while.   Let’s catch us all up on what’s going on……<cue crickets>

Yeah, not much.

But here goes….Chef and I took a little trip Off Cape which was good.   We went to a big box center in Wareham, Mass.   It was like emerging into another world in a lot of ways.  Huge, expansive parking lot.   Several clusters of 1st and 2nd generation Big Box Retailers.  A few shuttered, vast, empty businesses.   And miles and miles of things to purchase and consume.   Depressing.  It certainly was fodder for my budding anti-consumerist thoughts (which, coincidentally, go hand-in-hand with my growing poverty).   I picked up a few things at Target and some discount booze, but otherwise I was non-plused.   Back On Cape, we stopped in Hyannis at Trader Joe’s, another place I’ve never really understood.  Chef stocked up.   Me, not so much.   A nasty lunch at Sam Diego’s (“Beunos Nacho’s, Y’all!”) provided comic relief.  The conversation and  music were good and the diversion was welcomed.   But, I was glad to get back to Ptown.

Two clients of mine from last summer got married the following Saturday.   The wedding combined with a couple of dinner parties made for a socially busy weekend.   The wedding was at the Red Inn, always a lovely spot.   I only wish the food were better and they’d have a total hit on their hands.   But I think the location is tops on the Cape, bar none.   The grooms were so kind and hospitable and I was thrilled to be included (they had proposed at the 40th birthday party I catered).   Super fun times were had later at the A-House.

Thanksgiving Week brought me to 3 Dyer to house and pet sit.   It’s been nice to be in this lovely place for 10 days.   The dogs are pretty good and the cat basically takes care of himself.   Chef cooked Turkey on Thursday and 4 of us had a mellow evening.   The bird was beautiful, the parsnip/apple soup devine.   Friends from Boston came out Saturday and stayed at 3 Dyer.   These two women are just amazing….talented, smart, funny, Southern.  What’s not to like?   We cooked and talked and drank and sang and listened to music.  It was lovely as are they.    An ad hoc brunch followed Sunday with more women and me….

So there’s the low down on what I’ve been doing.  But it’s quiet here.  I have far too much time on my hands to think about my situation over and over.  The more I think about what’s to be done and what I want to do, the uglier the picture I paint for myself.   I was up at 4 today, tossing, turning, worrying.  This protracted period of “down time” has got to come to an end.   I’m no fan of inertia, that’s for sure.

I’m going to look at the opportunities in my hand and in my head and be positive.   I’m going to make the most of my trip to Atlanta.  I’m not going to worry about next Season or if there will be a next Season.  I’m going home with open eyes and will be present for whatever.   I’m going to continue to attempt to create my own destiny, whether it be here or there.   I’m going to temper patience with anxiety and hope for a healthy mix.  I’m kicking this passivity to the curb.   This is my time.   I know not where this will take me, but let’s go!

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

….cliche’ I know, but it fits.

Anyway, it’s been a month since Devon’s closed and I’ve not been working.   I’m doing OK with the glacial pace with which my life is progressing.   There are many good things (concentration, reading, cooking, exercise, reading, naps, thinking) going on every day and many not so good things as well (concentration, worrying, boredom, thinking).   All in all, I’m managing.   I had two really good conversations lately – one with Matt and one with my Dad – that have helped me enjoy and benefit from the down time.   I’m thankful for the perspective.

Here’s a picture of my digs.   It certainly helps to have a cozy place, a great roommate and a friendly cat (!!) around:

I’m anxious to get down South and I’m ready to pounce on the restaurant should an opportunity present itself.  It’s time to create success on my terms, not anyone else’s.

Let’s rock, y’all!

The Politics of Dancing

I made a somewhat drunken Facebook post last night urging Mitt (“Mittens”) Romney to hurry up and give his concession speech, calling him a sore loser.   Someone, perhaps rightly, indirectly called me out on it this morning, saying that we all needed to “turn the page” and, in effect, move on.

But I’m having a difficult time “turning the page” and moving on.   I can’t find it within myself to act like this is some sort of a game, that the words and actions I’ve seen over the past 4 years are something to just be forgotten.  No, it’s much more serious.

It’s hard for me to be a gracious winner when the losing party:

• espouses lying and deceit as the foundation for the majority of its arguments.
• refuses to acknowledge empirical evidence – impartial, scientific evidence –  that mankind is systematically warming the planet, putting our entire existence at stake.   That’s our economical, religious, moral, social, communal, sexual, existence — the whole ball of wax.  In fact, their candidate laughed at  the notion.
• swindles its followers into believing that economic breaks for the most well-off are something that will benefit the least well-off;   that everyone in this country is equipped and able to lift themselves up by their bootstraps, nevermind the ones who have no boots at all; that helping those less economically fortunate is somehow stealing from those of us lucky enough to live well; that we have an inalienable right to be rich and screw those who can’t achieve that.
• stokes the embers of racism to further its political agenda and candidates.
• denies women the right to make their own choices regarding their reproductive health.
• believes that their God, their Christian God, the one who sent his only son to  this earth to teach us to love each other as we would love ourselves, is the only viable God and all others (and their followers) are agents of Satan.
• believes that revisions to our system of health care are somehow Socialist in nature and that, once again, taking care of those who cannot provide for themselves is not a moral imperative.
• ignores what our Founding Fathers laid out in the Constitution, that this is a land of laws, of equality, of opportunity for all.
• lies to the country about the reasons to enter into war.
• would deny its own family members the same rights they enjoy.

No, I can’t be the gracious winner.  Not yet.  Not until I see the losing party practice the Judeo-Christian beliefs it promotes.   Not until I see the losing party adhere to our Constitution.  Not until I see the losing party abandon the ugly policies of hate and exclusion.

Idlewild

It’s one thing to visit for a weekend or even a week in November, December, January or  March. But it’s quite another to live here after the season ends.   I really like October:  the days are still warm, the nights cool, seasonal people are still around, there are entertainment and dining options and the town is still in its collective “Season’s Over” sigh.

But come the day after Halloween, this place clears out and begins its shutdown.   For me, it’s all new.   I left last year on November 2nd and headed back to Atlanta to start new things.   Although it’s only the 5th, there aren’t so many new things to be starting or immediate trips South to get ready for.  Nope, I’m in a quasi-dormant mode.

And I’ve Got To Get Used To It.

So far, I’d give myself a B minus.  I got settled in to the Cottage, it’s lovely and snug and things are nice.  I started Yoga class just before Halloween and that’s something  I’m enjoying.   There’s lots of thinking about what comes next….serious soul searching and strategizing and mental planning.  I’ve been riding and going to the gym with some regularity.  Clamming season opened Sunday.   We’re going tomorrow early to hang “Get Out and Vote” hangars on registered voters’ doors.   There’s a wedding of friends in two weeks.   An off-Cape trip is planned for the weekend.

And then there’s the other half of the day….I’m relearning to concentrate enough to read a long magazine article.   I’ll finish a book soon.   I’m thinking of things to write and cook.   I’m taking time to have real conversations with the one or two people I meet on the street.   Slow is good, I guess.   As I told a friend the other day, I’m going to enjoy this month and make the most of it.   Let’s see what I can learn.