Fire By Sea

I live by a story that’s been made up entirely in my mind, and it goes like this: I’m not worthy to do anything, though I feel like I’m supposed to. I live under the threat of fear and loss, which drives me to more inaction and analysis.

It doesn’t have to be this way, clearly. My story is what I make of it, and I’m sick of living in that old world of fear and personal ugliness. It’s time for a new story.

My new story is this: I’m an average guy doing above average things. I’ve overcome a lot of obstacles to become extremely successful and raise four awesome, healthy, thriving and very loved children. I’m a committed husband with an undying passion for his wife.

I am a great person.

I want to be and do something great in the world, and being a billionaire will let me do that.

I’m not Gandhi or Mother Teresa; it’s not my lot in life to leave a legacy based on what greatness a hum,an can do without the presence of money (though deep down inside I wish I could). Being rich is the natural disposition to my environment.

So when you cross off the net worth, the indulgences and comforts, the travel and glamor, I’d like to be able to give away at least half of my fortune to the people who need it most. I truly want to be a philanthropist.

So everything I thought about acquiring money and wealth was completely shadowed in problematic, self-destructive thinking. Apparently the association I had with money was punishment; I thought that to receive money was to be punished. Obviously money should represent reward.

So while I will never, ever get rich in my day job, I can at least see what I’m earning there as a reward and not a punishment. It will make my remaining time there not seem so much as a punishment.

I value my time; it’s worth more than what I’m getting paid. My time is so valuable that I only want to give it out to missions that align with my vision of life: to be rich and successful.

I’m reading a small but hugely profound book on the secret of a millionaire mind. Everything in this book os setup for me to finally accept the way I’ve been doing things is fatally flawed.

I’m miserable, unpredictable, insecure, scared, hesitant, angry and unsuccessful in my ways: they’re simple not working. I’m not the person or status I thought I’d be now in my life, and it’s all because of faulty wiring.

Never before have I read something so profound that I feel truly prepared to make a everlasting change.  I want to be rich in every sense of the word.

None of that is going to happen until I start the changes prescribed, which I’m more than happy to do.

I am very depressed right now. It’s at the point where I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to move, I don’t want to open my new iPad (still in the damn shrink wrap), I can’t work, nothing.

I know for a fact that this feeling stems from my “day job.” I absolutely loathe it. I can’t muster enough energy to escape it, though, so it’s as if I’m relying on  traumatic or miracle experience to pull me out of it. It’s terrible.

Funny how people with money can do their best to buy their happiness. What’s even more funny is that they’re actually purchasing someone else’s happiness.

That’s right. Get it together. We’re nearing the final stretch of these tough times, getting ready to break through to the mainstream life while having the cabin (Ha!).

If I’m not mistaken, I’ve been doing this web thing for way too long NOT to make money from it. Everyone is saying that now is the time, that it too will pass. The thought of having this pass me without seizing it just kills me. Ugh.

The strategy is this: blog: thought leadership/pleasurable expression; content products: money; hourly consulting: weaning off this model.

It sure in hell can be done. Go in guns a-blazing, prayer beads in hand!

I’m there now, in the corner, at the brink of the threshold, unable to move any more forward–there is no forward, just this defensive posture!

So bored, so disappointed. So wondering why we’re here rotting. I didn’t know a soul could rot, but it’s rotting.

My iPad sits shrink-wrapped in its original packaging, untouched, unseen, unknown to my oxygen.

Every forward thought is labored. Every hour spent earning questioned.

May this is the end of the road for this stage. Because surely I can go no farther. It’s simply impossible. I’m backed into a corner and the only way out is to fight until I tear down the forces trapping me here.

Yesterday we went down and it was amazing: glassy shoulder to head-high waves, warm clear water and just a few friendly guys out. Totally amazing — beat surfboarding at Sandy’s any day.

The water had this strange but soothing softness about it. Maybe because it was warm and calm, I’m not sure. Maybe because it was brackish.

There was, however, an element of frustration: I couldn’t surf. The few waves I caught — I was labored and stiff on them. Simply not enough practice. I was nervous because I couldn’t see our truck, which had my prized longboard sticking out from the back.

It’s a hassle getting down to Waipi‘o, but well worth it when the surf is up.

Being back “home” is making me think we’ve made a mistake coming here. What were we thinking? Why in the world are we here? To appreciate what we don’t have? Perhaps…

What I’m doing to keep from going insane is going along with the cabin in the country story. We’re here in the country temporarily while we sort our our setup in the city.

Now that we’re committed to Hawaii, it’s safe to say Honolulu is our permanent #1 city. Why aren’t we there? Why did we leave? What’s the take-away from this very tough journey we’ve taken?

We must leave here at all costs. The wind, rain and cold have been cranking non-stop since we’ve returned.