One of my earliest memories from childhood is lying on the couch, covered with a blanket, with an aching body from the flu. Sometimes, when especially out of it, I would enter a kind of hallucinatory state where the room would tip and shift, and I would daydream about cubes and spheres in the room expanding, contracting, and bouncing around. The empty space in the room would take on a life of its own, rotating and breathing as a single unit. Really weird stuff, and probably a by-product of my 103° temperature and various medications.

When you’re a kid you seem to be rather susceptible to various diseases, especially when being exposed to them on a daily basis at school. I haven’t gotten the flu in years, and the only instances of coming down with more than a mild cold have been when traveling. Yet I sometimes still experience vestiges of the visions from when I was a kid.

They’re most acute when engaged in an intense, emotional conversation or situation, usually with Katherine about our highly personal innate flaws and expectations. When she’s sitting across the dining table, or on the bed, at times it’s as if the space between us is expanding and contracting in that same breathing manner. At its worse she’s perceived to be yards away, and the table surface, walls, and ceiling between us stretch out three of four times, then condense again moments later. The more intense the conversation, the more space gets warped. It’s like the emotional part of my brain is disrupting the cerebellum.

For the years in between, I never experienced this. Probably because I would unconsciously shield myself from emotional experiences, avoiding deep relationships, and relating superficially with others. I doubt this vertigo had anything to do with it, but it was definitely not anything I would experience, save perhaps occasionally for the exceptionally low moments of undergrad. Now I embrace it, for it is proof of a richer existence. You’ll never learn anything about yourself when avoiding commitment, whether it’s in love, friendship, or work. Open up and be opened up.

Edit (5/28/12): Here’s a very powerful talk exploring this: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html

It should be easy, right? You’re hungry, so you eat. A few hours pass. Repeat, et cetera.

But no. It hasn’t been this easy in decades. Probably right around when we were able to eat anything grown anywhere in the world, and all kinds of foods recently invented. If I want a banana, I can eat a banana, even if the nearest banana tree is in Jamaica. Pretty much anything I can imagine eating can be found in minutes in any decent-sized city in the US.

So why do between six and eleven million Americans suffer from an eating disorder? Why do we refuse to eat, habitually binge, or binge and purge? Why have up to half of all high schoolers practiced unhealthy weight control methods? How did 28 million Americans contract Diabetes, the vast majority being Type Two? It’s this country’s elephant in the room.

It must be the parents, right? I mean, kids learn eating habits from somewhere. Without boundaries, they’ll gobble up all the sugar in sight. Growing up, we had a bowl of salad every single day at dinnertime. I despised it. But if I didn’t eat it, I didn’t get dessert, so I resolved to the gambit more often than not. I don’t eat a whole lot of salad anymore. I remember lashing out as a freshman in college, buying Pizza Rolls for dinner and Lucky Charms for breakfast, gorging on all the things I wasn’t permitted growing up. It didn’t last long before I realized that Cocoa Puffs for breakfast were kinda gross, and ice cream every day gets old.

I consider myself lucky, both to have such strong boundaries growing up, and being exposed to so much gourmet food as a kid. My father would cook fairly extravagant dinners 3-4 times a week. I was eating capers and scalloped potatoes before most kids could pronounce them. Yet the sweet tooth is still exceptionally strong, and I have to be very disciplined to refrain from candy bars at the checkout aisle, ice cream for dessert, a whole pan of brownies for myself. Even after 18 years of fairly draconian food discipline, it’s really hard. I can’t imagine how it’d be for someone else.

What about the supermarkets? After all, they’re the ones displaying candy bars at perfect toddler eye height in the checkout aisles. Or dressing up pastries, cakes and donuts in fancy tins and 360-degree stands. Well, they sell. What sells, wins. It’s not their responsibility to mandate our nutritional choices. Or is it?

The industrialized food system! They’re the bad guys. Multinational corporations thriving on subsidized corn and tax breaks. Injecting corn or soy into every processed food item in the supermarket. Breeding chickens to have breasts so huge they can’t even walk without toppling over. Then turning the pristine, shrink-wrapped pieces over to us for three bucks a pound. How couldn’t you buy it at that price!

No, no, no…it’s not any of these things. It’s all of them, and then some. The system is really, really broken. And it’s slowly killing us.

I don’t have the answers. Others have explored this topic in much more detail. You should do the same. I posit that, like most things in life, keeping it simple is the way to go. Or if not simple, than perhaps old-fashioned. Food has not been much of a beneficiary of the modern technological world. Perhaps being a luddite is the way to go.

Imagine you’re a 44 year old male. You’ve spent the last 15 years consistently working 40-45 hours a week for your company. You have a nice, large 401k that you’ve been diligently adding to each paycheck, with help from your employer’s six percent match. You’ve even convinced your loving wife to be just as disciplined with hers. In as few as ten, perhaps nine, years, you calculate that you’ll finally hit that magic number and retire.

But things have changed of late. You haven’t taken a vacation in two years, instead cashing the days out to add to your retirement account. You used to enjoy the job, but the routine is getting old and you find yourself increasingly ornery and ill-tempered. Just a few more years, you think, and you will finally be able to break free.

Then, BAM! You’re hit by a bus.

I’m not suggesting cashing out your 401k and buying an Audi R8. First of all, a good chunk would be taken out by Uncle Sam in penalties, not to mention the even bigger chunk in taxes (assuming it’s not a Roth). It’s important to be disciplined with your finances, and a 401k helps with that.

As usual, this post was inspired by an article. I’d heard of Timothy Ferriss’ book The Four-Hour Workweek before, but only in the context of Virtual Assistance, which seemed a dubious concept at the least. However, this time it struck a very personal chord. A few years ago, with my roommates shortly before moving to Utah from Rochester, NY, I had proposed a similar idea:

“I think I’m just going to work for a year at a time, save some money, then quit and travel for a few months. When I get bored, I’ll come back and get another job, and repeat.”

Hmm. I didn’t really take myself seriously, as I was more concerned at the time with finding a job to pay rent next month. But this “mini-retirement” idea is very, very powerful, and could help answer some very deep questions about the nature of work, society, and their roles in personal happiness. Why squander the best years of your life at a job you’re not passionate about? Why put off all your hopes, dreams, and desires for thirty years until you’re too old to take advantage of them? (Ironically, my parents are excellent examples of having happy, fulfilling lifestyles funded through traditional retirement savings.)

Which brings me to my point. Saving for the future (or anything, really) is never a bad thing, unless it negatively impacts your happiness now. Live (and love) your life while you can. If you feel stuck, change something. There are always alternatives to the lifestyle you’re living; you just have to be brave enough to step outside of the societal norms.

Most of these posts incubate in my brain for days, weeks or even years before finally seeing light.

I just got done watching American Beauty for the umpteenth time. Perhaps, as the theme of this post weaved its way through my mind like mycelium, the film became the final piece of inspiration to bring it to fruition. Or maybe it was the recent conversation with my wonderful girlfriend, and my appreciation of her unyielding gratitude. She gets it.

You are lucky. If you have family and friends that love you. If you have always had the resources to support yourself. If opportunities fall from the sky into your lap.

I am lucky. I have all these things. Throughout my life, I have been supported by those I love and motivated in ways they’ll never understand. Brandon. Dennis. Evan. Only three of so many.

Thank you.

There aren’t many moments from my childhood I can still recall. One, however, remains illuminated fifteen years later. I was sitting in the back of a classroom with the rest of my 4th-grade classmates in a group discussion with my teacher, Mrs. Bingle. I forget the discussion, but I do remember the question: What’s your favorite season?

I was an exceedingly shy kid growing up (surprise surprise). Rarely would I raise my hand to answer a question or participate in a discussion. My quarterly report card would be immaculate save for a few demerits concerning “needs to participate more” or the like. This time was different, though.

“Winter!” I exclaimed without hesitation before anyone else.

We took a vote, tallied the results, and lo and behold — winter had twice that of any other season.

“I would’ve thought for sure it’d be summer!” Mrs. Bingle said after the tally. “You don’t even have to go to school then!”

Perhaps my rare enthusiasm influenced the vote. It doesn’t matter. As soon as those first flakes start flying, I’m as giddy as a fourth-grader. For the past few days, there has been snow in the forecast for the mountains, and today it came. I awoke to 40-degree temperatures and a cold misty rain over the valley. Sometime around mid-day the fog lifted enough to reveal a snowy blanket on the foothills. I looked out my third-floor window and smiled.

Lately I’ve been basing my ranking of the seasons based on the outdoor activities tied to each. Winter means ice climbing, skiing and mountaineering. How you can go wrong? So what if it’s dark by five? So what if you have to bundle under two extra layers just to go to work? There’s snow!

I’m getting ahead of myself, of course. The snow in the mountains will be gone in weeks, if not days, and the first real snowstorm likely won’t be til November. But these winter teases are all it takes to get me fired up. I’m sick of 85 degrees. It’s been too damn sunny. So bring on the cold and bring on the snow, I’m ready. The rest of Northern Utah sure as hell isn’t, but I sure am. Bring it!