Category: retirement

How Sobriety Changed My Morning Motivation

Occasionally, I look for topics outside of my wheelhouse to avoid repetitiveness and overkill. I have several books on affirmations, daily motivations, and such at an easy reach. This morning I picked up my “Question of the Day” book and opened it to today’s date. The question was a simple one. One that I would have moved past any other day.
The question is, “My favorite way to start the day is?”

This is a timely question. That is to say, had I been asked this 2 weeks ago my answer would have been very different.

11 days ago, I would start my day by waking early to my alarm. Then I would promptly hit the snooze button. Not always, but more often than not. When doing Car details or going to appointments, I sometimes had to leave early. Mostly, my morning routine was to get up and instantly make coffee and find my way to the sofa. There, I would sip my wake-up juice and watch the news as I searched for inspiration. Inspiration, for the sake of this conversation, meant that I was trying to find something to do. Many of those days I procrastinated until the wish to be productive passed.
Often, this was exacerbated by an upset stomach. I have been feeling sick in the morning. Many days I made many trips to the bathroom as I battled with an upset stomach. That certainly added to the procrastination and made it difficult to get out the door.
Many evenings I would think negatively about my day, wishing that I stop procrastinating and be more productive.
I had no excuse for not having a clean apartment. I was wasting opportunities to read the stack of books I had on my bucket list. I squandered opportunities to work on my blog, or the book that is actually shaping up to be something. Instead, later in the afternoon, I would see the glass of whiskey or beer in front of me. Then, I would figuratively beat the crap out of myself.

As of Jan 1st, in the absence of alcohol, I have been a morning person. Not the first day, but more and more so each day. This is odd to me because I rarely drank to to point of drunkenness. If so I attribute it to a hangover. It’s not. But that says more about my tolerance than about my portions. Clearly, the alcohol and consequent food choices had an effect on my system. Needless to say, no upset stomach in the morning. When the alarm goes off I get up instead of hitting the snooze. I get out of the house with ease, often leaving early to Drive Uber or hit an early AA meeting.

Today, I woke up and decided to do some things I had been putting off. I cleaned the entire apartment, paid bills, read Affirmations and started this blog. I was out the door by 10 for an appointment. Normally, that would be it. To be fair, disabled people set lower goals than healthy people. We’re happy to get one major task done each day to feel accomplished. That would be when I gave myself permission to have the first of many drinks. Instead, I kept going.

This is a pleasant side effect of a major life decision. I never knew that I would feel so much better physically and mentally in such a short time. I know I made the right decision.

My favorite way to start my day? Sober.

Connection

When I first decided to take advantage of alternate ways to earn extra income I asked around. Ride Share and Food delivery were the unanimous answers. The prospect of either of them sent my anxiety through the roof. But I knew I had to get past that. My benefits allow me to earn up to 12k/yr without penalty. I liken not earning that money to leaving it on the table. It also keeps Social Security Disability (SSDI) off of my back. When you try to earn, SSDI often overlooks your case. They do not find it necessary to do a Medical review and closely examine your ability to work full-time. Not that a medical review would result in an issue for me, my condition is certainly confirmed. But it is a hassle, one that I would rather avoid. And I like to work.

I enrolled in Lyft, Uber, and DoorDash. Uber wouldn’t accept me because my car was ineligible due to age. I decided against Door Dash because I really don’t like handling people’s food. Lyft terrified me because, while I’m a good driver I am bad at directions. I procrastinated for a month (I put the PRO in procrastinate) but finally took the leap. It wasn’t bad once I was used to the Application. It is notorious for being wrong and I dreaded getting grief from riders. As it turns, they are very forgiving and understanding, most of them are aware of the erratic directions and mistakes. I forget sometimes, people are almost never as bad as you expect them to be.

I immediately took to Lyft. I got the hang of the App. I was beginning to earn a respectable part-time income. And I discovered the source of the appeal of giving strangers rides over delivering their food.
Connection.
I crave connection. To those who know me, you are aware that I am not at a loss for friends. My support network is vast. Through Masonry and other activities, I have something that many men my age do not. Did you know that most men over 50, regardless of marital status, have almost no close friends?
Despite my obvious wealth in this department, I can’t meet enough new people. I love it.

Riders are a mixed bag of personalities. In training for Ride Share, we learn to be mindful of topics of conversation while on a fare. We must also be mindful that some people do not talk. This is not ideal for me and my big mouth, but I get it. Many of my passengers get rides every day. They either enjoy the alone time. Alternatively, they don’t want to engage in conversation with an old bald guy with a goatee.
Then there are the ones that talk a little. They are easy to recognize, they choose who they want to engage with. Then there are the ones that talk with you the whole ride. They want to know about you, they want to talk about their day, or simply want to make a connection. I have come to appreciate them all.

Most days that I drive I end the shift tired but energized. The knowledge that some money was made doing something that I enjoy comforts me. It is good for my soul. There are days that I have a memorable passenger with whom I shared a connection. It can go both ways; maybe they helped me, maybe I helped them. Maybe…we helped each other. It makes me feel valued. The kids are grown now. I am out of the workforce. I long for the days when I was needed. I truly believe that sometimes we were meant to meet certain people. Now, I am not suggesting that it’s a privilege to meet me. I am suggesting that sometimes one person is exactly what someone needs at that particular moment in time.

I suspect that you can not get that from dropping off a bag of Taco Bell on someone’s doorstep.

The challenges of surviving

I had a difficult time transitioning back into life on my own. I can’t help but wonder if I actually thought that I would recover from my illness. I had lost everything; my home, my career, my family, and most of what I owned. I spent years dealing with the immediacy of my condition and it took all I had to just get through each day. People describe me as optimistic, but I wasn’t. I merely summoned the strength to get through. In addition, I lied about how I was feeling and put a brave face on so that the people that love me wouldn’t worry about me. Inside, I was depressed at times, very weary of acting strong, and was ready to give up more than once. I actually considered suicide.

I had dreams of what the other side of illness would look like, but they were just that. It’s a tough revelation but I stand by it, I didn’t think it would happen for me and I had resigned myself that I was probably going to die. It really fucked up my plans when I lived.

Well shit, what was I going to do now? Suddenly, I had to come up with a plan for after my recovery. All the things that I wanted to do but thought I never would were now within the realm of possibility.
I could get my own place.
I could go back to work.
I could date again.
I could move back closer to my family, friends, and groups that I belonged to.
I could do anything I wanted without carrying the extension cord to the dialysis machine.

So far I have tackled all of these things. They are all a work in progress and they all proved to be challenging, even daunting. Much madness, joy and sadness ensued, as well as some really great stories. If nothing else, they are great inspirations for blog posts.

something has got to give

Right now I should be at an event at the Shriners. I had every intention of going but I didn’t.
Last night I had every intention of going to another event. In fact, I was dressed and ready to go. Then I couldn’t find my keys. I had a complete meltdown as I frantically searched high and low for them. I exaggerate not one bit when I tell you that I tore my loft and most of the kitchen, the place I had last seen them (and where they were eventually recovered) apart in a complete panic.
My roommate’s girl found them for me, but by then it was too late for me to go to my thing.
I realized today that I am actually glad that I didn’t go, I would even go so far as to venture a guess that I may have mentally sabotaged myself. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I don’t want to do fucking anything lately.

I thought I was just being lazy. I have those moments. To listen to my doctors, friends and family tell it, I am busy enough most of the time that I should allow myself those days, as they remind me that I am after all disabled and can cut myself some slack. But I haven’t left my room, except for the food shopping I did yesterday that led to my lost keys. Other than that I have been isolating.

Isolation is not entirely new to me. I do it once in a while. I have been doing it more lately, I must admit. But it’s getting more intense; one new development this week has been my ignoring almost all phone calls, family excluded. In addition to not wanting to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone either. And some of those people are starting to notice and are concerned about me. But I won’t discuss it with them because I don’t want them to worry about me. I want to talk to someone about it but that, for sure, would make people worry about me.

I don’t like this. If for no other reason, it doesn’t make sense. I have a good life. I am in good health. I have been to fucking HELL and BACK and I came out on top. I thumbed my nose at my mortality and I am doing everything that I once thought was lost to me. I even have a female companion. That is an area of my life that caused me great anxiety, worry and heartbreak.

I also have to ask, why did I have the overwhelming urge to end my life last week? Out of nowhere, while with family of all things, I suddenly didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t make any plans, or pick a means or a place, and I didn’t write a note, but I couldn’t have given less of a fuck if an asteroid hit the house I was in at that moment.

And then, just like that it went away. I am not in a good mood, but I scoff at the thoughts that racked my head last week. That depressive episode has morphed, deescalated perhaps, into a shameful state of apathy. I am a lot of things but apathetic is not one of them. Yet, here I sit, marveling at the effort it required just to write this blog.

Something has got to give. And soon.

I’m ready

At one point in life, there is that moment in which one must reconcile what they are versus what they think they are. I have had more than one such moment, but yesterday I arrived at one of my more painful but necessary epiphanies; I have limitations that I must own up to and embrace.

After a series of brief bouts of employment that all ended with my leaving due to illness or fatigue, I recognized that I have been trying to do things that my physical condition simply will not allow. To be precise, I am on Disability for a reason and it’s time that I own that.

Disability, as does Social Security, allows recipients to work on a limited income basis. If earnings do not exceed a designated level, you can keep your benefits without penalty. It is not a lot of money but it does make a difference. To me, the ability to work part-time provided more than additional income, it allowed me to feel useful and accomplished, even if to a lesser degree. Before I became sick the second time, I had a meaningful job with great responsibility, the ability to help people, and very lucrative compensation. I went from that to being unemployed, living in a small town with my mother, and nobody needing me for much of anything. I hated it, I lacked relevance. Work has always defined me to a degree, and it left me with a void.
Once I was able to return to part-time work post-transplant, I was excited. Unfortunately, what followed was my enthusiastically accepting positions that, had I thought deeply before accepting, ended in disappointment as I was forced time and time again to quit due to health reasons. Primarily, my compromised immune system caused me to get sick frequently and profoundly. But instead of realizing the problem at hand, that I need to have realistic expectations about what I am capable of doing in my current condition, I instead beat myself up about being a quitter.
It took too long, but I finally realized I needed to accept that I have limitations. And that’s ok.

If I can find work that is appropriate for me, unfortunately I think that means not being around a lot of people, then I will pursue that. Otherwise, I am going to graciously accept the help from Disability and focus on what makes me happy. And to not feel bad about it.

This is my chance to do what makes me happy. I will find my relevance in doing some good, I want to get more involved in Masonry, The Shriners and my motorcycle club. Charity and volunteerism is good for my soul and I can never do too much of it. I want to enjoy the Granddaughter that will arrive in April. I want to exercise more and be outside as often as possible. I have never given myself permission to do one thing in my life and it is time; I need to let go and just see where things take me and stop trying to control everything.

I need to do this. I need to take the limited time I have left and find my true calling in life. I’m fortunate and blessed enough to know that I may have several callings, now it is time to immerse myself in one or all of them.

Of all of the elements of this epiphany, one stands taller than the rest. It is definitely time that I gave myself a break. For once. It will be a record change of pace.

Calling the Universe, I’m ready so please show me the way. I’m ready.

It’s all in the details

I’m all moved in at the new place. But I’m writing this blog in my old one. I’ve been up here for a week now. I had so many cars to detail that I dedicated the week to it.

I have nothing to complain about. I have really grown the detailing side hustle over the last 5 years. What started out as 5 or 6 my first year became close to 100 this year (I should have kept better track). It’s not immodest to say that I do good work. I know I do. My OCD demands it. In addition, I give great service Word of mouth has done the rest for me. Very much so this season.

When I posted on the town bulletin that I would be winding down at the end of the month (or earlier in the event of weather) I received more requests than I could accommodate. Even after announcing that I was fully booked, multiple customers pushed me to do their vehicles. Hence, despite taking in a very nice boost to my savings account I am washed out. It’s not as if I’m providing an essential service.
Still, I completed 10 details in 6 days. As I sit in a crumpled heap of exhaustion on the sofa I have 2 takeaways.
1)Despite being in fairly decent shape (considering my history), I really overdid it.
2) I need to learn to say no to people.

The second one may work itself out. As it turns out, there is a guy I met at my new place that is looking for a detail guy. He has a body shop and is thinking of opening a shop and he might hire me. If that is the case I may have to give up my entire book of business up here. I was planning on dedicating a few days a week next summer to do my jobs up here. That may not be feasible.

It’s too early to worry about that right now, I don’t even have a job offer yet. Yet here I am, thinking about it.

Growing pains

It’s been a busy few weeks as I have been winding down my detail business up North and making my move to my new digs in Southern NH. It has been difficult on both fronts. My customers continue to offer me business despite my stated completion date for the season of 10/31. I’m torn between shutting it down and taking the opportunity to make money. I kike money and I think anyone in my position would do the same. As for how my living situation fits into this, I have yet to spend more than a couple of weekends at my new place because I need to drive back up for jobs during the week. It’s not a big deal other than not being able to settle into my new residence. I’m just anxious to start a new chapter.

I suppose that my work commitments aren’t the only obstacle to my moving. I am becoming bittersweet about moving away from Mom. She has been making comments lately, despite initially being supportive of my move, that suggest that she is unhappy about my leaving. This is problematic, I based my decision heavily on her opinion. I will miss her as well, I have told her this repeatedly. I love her with all my heart and she is my best friend. But I have been living with her for 6 years. Ever since I fell ill in 2017. Now that I am well again, I want to rejoin the ranks of the adult, which includes having your own place. Or in my case, sharing an apartment with a roommate. Anything but living with your mother. I was hoping for a smoother, happier transition.

As for the rest of the transition, I like my new space. It is sparsely but tastefully decorated to my taste. My roommate, who is one of my dearest friends, gives me plenty of space. We hang out quite a bit but also have plenty of our own space. Another very important aspect of the move is that I am so much closer to family and friends. I have already taken advantage of the close proximity to both and I feel really good about it. This morning I went to a function with friends at the lodge and then had lunch with my daughter and I only did an hour of driving, not 4!

Growing pains are necessary and tend to wear off sooner than later.

the get together…conclusion

from previous post:
The days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course, I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

It was good to walk into the bar area and see Scott and Mark. While the years take a toll on us all, they both look exactly the same. We had a drink at the bar and moved to a table when Neil got there. I don’t know Neil as well as the others but he has been part of the group for a long time and he’s a really good guy. I like him a lot.

The evening immediately took on a familiar note as we naturally eased into conversation. There wasn’t a whole lot of catching up to do, through FB and occasional text exchanges we knew what each other was up to for the most part. It felt like the old days. So, as I did in the old days, despite my sincere desire to not do so, I devolved into behaviors. Inappropriate behavior and over-sharing.
When I look back at the old days, the old me if you will, I deeply regret my behavior at times. I was very immature and insecure. I had no direction or foresight. I lived for the day and put everything else off. As the other guys were making good decisions, embarking on their careers and setting up for their futures I was content to drink, make inappropriate jokes and sexual banter. For some reason, I chose to make those “my thing”. The class clown if you will. It would be many years before I would realize that I wasn’t funny. I was just a moderately likeable knucklehead.
I didn’t want to be like that anymore.
But when it came time to talk about what I’ve been up to I offered up some tidbits about my health, my love life, and work. I shared the good news about my health and minimized my latest bad news. I boasted about the many wild sexual experiences, in unfortunate detail in hindsight, and left out the fact that I had been left heartbroken and sad very recently. I spoke of my side gig, all the while knowing that everyone at that table had more in their checking accounts than I had to my name. There’s the insecurity again.

As anyone with generalized anxiety knows, things often seem worse to us than would appear to others. And I know that, as I overthought the evening, I probably didn’t come off as badly as I thought. In reviewing the antics that I am embarrassed by, I came to the conclusion that I just wanted to fit in. Perhaps part of me wanted to show them that I have changed. But they probably don’t care, they’ve all changed also. But despite all the changes in their lives, I still look up to them all because they did things right and are living the lifestyle that I wish for but don’t deserve. As they are buying second homes and preparing for retirement, I am living with my mother and have no prospects for financial security and all that it brings. I don’t begrudge them anything.
I’m happy for them.

As for the behaviors that I am not proud of, there is one simple takeaway. I need to grow the fuck up.

The get together

from previous post:

One friend from that group has been a consistent friend and very supportive of me as I have dealt with the many challenges I have faced. I am thankful for him. I regret a lot of the opportunities I missed out on regarding him but still feel connected. As for the others, I just feel like a bad friend.

I’d been thinking about initiating a get-together for a while but I decided to follow through on it after I reached out to another of the 3 pillars of my group of friends. It was harmless enough. My friend is a very successful automotive mechanic who enjoys restoring and flipping cars online in his retirement. When I found myself with 2 cars, one of which I felt had some value, I reached out to him and asked him if he had any interest in listing it for me with his internet reach. The conversation was amiable enough, but when I thought about it later I realized that I hadn’t seen him in 3 years. Sure, we interacted on FB a bit, but that was simply too long. And when I did reach out to him, it was to ask him a favor. I don’t think he cared. But I did. It was at that moment that I initiated a reunion.

It would be 4 of us. Normally, it would have been 6 but 2 of our founding members were no longer with us. One is in prison because he turned out to be a fucking Pedo (that took a bit to process), and the other passed away a few years ago. That one was tough. He died of Liver Cancer, succumbing to it the second time around. This bad friend never even knew that he had been diagnosed the first time. That is how far out of the loop I was. He was such an awesome man. Kind, humorous, humble as can be with a quick, sardonic wit that never failed to deliver wry and side-splitting observations. I miss him terribly and hate myself for not seeing him all those years.

His memory, and my tremendous guilt over it, are likely the root cause of my desire to get together. To turn a sad memory into a positive and to do my little part to avoid being blindsided by another loss (God forbid of course)and be forced to deal with the sadness, second-guessing and the guilt again.

But I suppose there are others. For starters, the days of hanging with the boys were the happiest times of my life. Hands down. Of course I wanted to experience it again.
Also, I wanted to see where I fit into things, being the one who has probably experienced the most change (only everything in my life).
Lastly, I would be lying if I didn’t make note that I have had yet another glimpse into the abyss and I needed to create another memory.

To be continued…

Anniversary

I received a notification today that this is my 11th anniversary of WP. Wow. That’s the longest I’ve ever stuck with anything.

To be fair, it wasn’t until 2017 that I became a frequent participant. I had always struggled to find a theme, something that I could build on. Well, my entire life collapsing in a span of 6 months in 2017 certainly filled that need. I told my story.

I told a story of failed health, of being at the bottom, lying on my back looking the only place I was able. Up. Because, short of a six foot burial plot, I had sunk that far. When I began blogging, I had little to occupy my time so telling my story became my new pastime. The blog served a purpose. I achieved badly needed catharsis. I dedicated myself to transparency and brutal honesty and then forced myself to read it and face whatever revealed itself to me.

Then I got well. My story was told. I took a break from blogging. I figured that I had nothing to tell. What I failed to recognize was that I was starting a new life. I’m not the sick guy anymore. I have more to my identity, and more importantly, I have an obligation to deal with the myriad character flaws that my journey of discovery and reconciliation revealed to me. My story is not until I write the last chapter.

I think I’ll continue the streak and get a few more years out of this. Basically the same approach I take with my life.