Exit Zero

When I was in my early twenties, I really wanted to be an adult. I was sure that I was done with youth, recklessness, exploration, and spontaneity. I remember reading “Retiring Wealthy” by Gordon Pape at an age when nobody should be reading “Retiring Wealthy” by Gordon Pape. This book contained some basic financial planning rules and tools to follow on the way to a healthy and happy retirement. It was a how-to, a map, or a recipe to fiscal happiness and the completion of the life cycle of net worth building.

In retrospect, I truly question my judgment here. What was I thinking?

Something in the book spoke of death, but only in the mathematical sense. It said “the average male lives to the age of 76 so, prepare accordingly.” Being a logical person, this made complete sense to me. I realized that there was a possibility that I could get hit by a bus the very next day, or be stricken with some illness a few years down the road. Also, there was the possibility that I could beat all the odds and live to reach triple digits. But, probability said that men like me live to 76, despite those getting hit by busses and those miraculously breaking the century mark.

76 years old. It was a nice number to plan around.

I’m 38 now. That means I’m halfway there. What does that mean? Up to this point, I have followed many of the rules in that book. I have realized the importance of home ownership, I understand the concept of planning on having 20 years of comfortable income after the age of 55. I have learned the wonders of compound interest, interest expense management, and “living within one’s means”. My knowledge and understanding of this makes me excessively in tune with our current economic crisis. I view the world with an indifferent scowl and a “Duh, I could have told you that was going to happen” arrogance.

All of it is meaningless. Absolutely meaningless. Nobody cares.

My mid-life crisis, my curse, my haunting, is all about “opportunity cost”. That’s right, I am dwelling on the “value of the choices NOT made”. I am quantifying and qualifying the fork in the road that I did NOT go down. I am not dwelling on the past. Heck, what’s done is done. I’m dwelling on an alternate past. I’m dwelling on the person I didn’t become, not the person I have.

It’s entertaining to rewind and imagine what you would be like today if you did or didn’t do
something. What root characteristics would you still have? Would those traits have stayed with you no matter what? Does the person stay the same but the only thing that changes is their environment? Is the furniture a different color? Would the cat have become a dog? What address would you have? What would you consider an accomplishment? What might you think of as a failure? How would the OTHER you view…..you?

I know, I know. This sounds like the ranting of a crazy man. Maybe I am crazy. Would the other me be?

When I’m on my deathbed, probably at the ripe old age of 76, what will I say? What will the words of this dying man be? Will I regret keeping accurate financial records instead of backpacking through Europe? Will I be thankful of the women I’ve had in my life or curse myself for the ones I did not talk to? Will I scold myself for too easily accepting mediocrity and not pushing for something more glorious? Will I punish myself for not having children, not having more of them, not having them younger?

Will I resign myself to the consolation of doing the best I could considering the circumstances at hand?

It’s impossible to predict, but fun to try.

Sometimes, I just don’t know where to start.

There’s so much going on the world today that demands investigation, opinions and discussion. Of course, I am only an expert on…………household germ creation, so my opinions on anything other than “how to catch the flu without leaving the house” are nothing more than the rants of an armchair quarterback.

But this is my armchair, and I am the quarterback, so rant I shall.

#1 World Issue) The Economic Bailout South of the Border

To me, this whole experience is a flashing, orange neon sign of hypocrisy. Willingly, the United States participates in free market capitalism, whereby the unseen hand of supply and demand creates a situation of economic “survival of the fittest”. The smart, hardworking individual will prosper and thrive without the government intervention of Big Brother guiding you along. Unlike the evil communists of the 60’s, in America you can CHOOSE your lot in life, pick your career, pursue your dreams, and as long as you follow the laws of society, you will be left alone to do so at your leisure. This is the freedom that makes up the sticky “Made in America” label found on the bottom of everything south of the 45th parallel.

You’re on your own to get want you want. That is the American Dream! Go forth and prosper!

Except the part where you forget that this basic rule applies to EVERYONE, to all buyers and sellers. With greed, success and the accumulation of wealth being the driving force behind every meeting and every transaction, then there can be no limits to the chaos it can create.

I own a small business. It’s 20 years old, it has 8 employees, and has the responsibility of generating enough cash to provide for the lifestyles of said 8 people. If, as President of this small corporation, I screw up, make bad choices, take too much money out of the business for myself or do not properly adjust to changes in my local economy, then I become insolvent, go bankrupt, 8 people become unemployed, their families suffer, and creditors pick apart what’s left like vultures.

This is the reality I signed up for. Nobody will help me if I fail, unless, of course, I have 80,000 employees instead of 8 and I make cars. In this situation, I am invincible! I get diplomatic immunity from my crimes of corporate incompetence! I achieve Godlike status simply due the size and girth of my fiscal stupidity! I’m too important to be allowed to fail!

Once again, the painful truth of “size matters” rears its ugly head.

8 employees? “Yo, tough beans”.
80,000 employees? “Wow, can’t have that, here’s a gazillion dollars. Please, try not to be continually stupid with it”.

Only in America is stupidity and incompetence rewarded with cash.

Darwin is rolling over in his grave. The dinosaurs were MEANT to die, not to be protected, consoled, and appeased like apologetic children.

It's 5:23 AM and I'm on day #2 of "InsomniaFest 2008". It's somewhat of a life altering experience to be lying in your bed, listening to your heart pound and wondering which beat is going to be the last. What if it just stops? What if it decides it's done enough work for you, and you've wasted its efforts so to hell with you?

In this situation, you know you're not right. You finally admit to yourself that you've pushed too hard and you're no longer invincible. You've accomplished so much, won so many debates, have the things you've always thought you wanted, and finally, you have options, and yet, all you really want to do ....is sleep.

But you can't. You can't sleep because the machine is oiled, operational and looking for more raw material to mill into finished product. The HAL 9000 has taken over the expedition. The goal has been lost amidst the paperwork.

So you concede that you've gone off the rails. You know what you're Doctor has told you, but you didn't believe him. He just wants to give you pills. Pills? Pills? Pills are for the weak. You've always been able to work it out for yourself.

Unfortunately, you're older now and responsibility has sapped the energy usually reserved for healthy stress relief. The balance you once relied on has tipped from thrive to survive. What used to work, doesn't anymore.

It's time to research. At 2:52 AM you google Stress/Anxiety/Burn Out and the things everyone's been telling you you suffer from. Reading the subject matter, the symptoms all sound just like you. "When did I catch THIS disease?"

You're not alone, obviously. The amount of content on the internet alone shows that this is a social problem. For whatever reason, our "fight or flight" mechanism of defense has mutated from climbing trees to escape grizzly bears to panicking over profit margins, deadlines, and pleasing everybody.

You follow a link to Youtube where a contributor describes her failure with medication and offers her solution to "taming the impatient beast within" and getting to the business of relaxing. She has tricks that work for her, that shut down her machine. Her system resets.

Her tricks do not work for you. You'll go back to bed and try again.

Your heart still pounds. It's been hours. It feels like an infection of energy that's trying to escape your body, but the chain mail that is your skin is a jailor. The energy bounces around in there, like a pinball, hitting your chest with a pang of pain, then diverting to a muscle twitch in your thigh. You breathe long and deep breaths hoping the oxygen will appease the agitation. 10 breaths. 20 breaths. Nothing.

You turn on the television. You hope to be hypnotized by something, anything. You stop on "Poker after Dark". Yes, that will do it! I'll just turn the volume down and look at the cards. Would I play those? That's a fold for sure. Oh, that's a weak bet. Are you slow-playing me? You convince yourself you're dozing, but you're not. You turn off the TV, get into a comfortable position and tell yourself that this is the time. Here comes glorious sleep. Instead, all you hear is your heartbeat, loud and obnoxious. *thump* *thump* *thump*.

Out of bed again. Back to the laptop. More research. You have to plan an attack on this problem all the while realizing that, ironically, "planning" is what got you into this situation in the first place. Enough research. Back to Youtube you go, to watch some "comfort videos", songs from your past that made you happy, that relaxed you. A failure. You're wound up like a top.

It's pointless to try to sleep now. If you manage to get there, the alarm will only ring, cutting you off mid-stream, snatching what you need right from your grasp.

You'll write. You'll complain to yourself. Tomorrow, you'll go to the doctor and beg him for any relief. Hook me up pusher, I'll take anything. Well, you'll go if you can find the time. After all, there's so much to do!

You fire up a Youtube video of a song you loved when you were a teenager. The nostalgia hits you. As a teenager, you could sleep on a moving bicycle if you had to. As a teenager, schedules were for suckers. Pressure? There's no pressure at 3:00 PM as you escape the halls of your High School and follow your girlfriend home where you know you're gonna get some. And after you've got some, you'll go home, go to your room, close the door, and sleep....instantly.

I hate you so much 18 year old me. You want everything I have and I want everything you're taking for granted.

Today is Remembrance Day. I woke up to a ringing cellphone as one of my regular customers decided to work today and was a little put out by the fact that I decided to close my doors and observe one of the most meaningful, yet underrated of days. I live in a society where accumulating cash to purchase Christmas gifts is drastically more important than acknowledging the simple fact that people actually DIED to protect this ability to buy ridiculous amounts of Christmas gifts. It saddens me....

In addition, I'm humbled and guilt-ridden. I am the man in this picture. I sit in a great house, in a quiet town, seemingly safe and protected from what is going on in the rest of the world. Oh, I keep up with the news. I know of Georgia, Darfur, Ethiopia and the brewing conflict on the Afghan/Pakistani border. I'm aware that a new President has been elected in the U.S who gives the hope of less war and a feeling of community between race and religion. I'm informed, but apathetic. I'm aware, but sedate. I do nothing but continue to "build my portfolio" and contemplate the extent of my home renovation project. Why is this what I'm doing with the freedom paid for everyday with the lives of young soldiers who, for whatever personal reason they have, commit to a greater good?

I do it because I was lucky enough to be born where I was and I know of nothing else but the luxury of choice.

This is a bitter pill to swallow on November 11th.

My kitchen is an absolute pigsty.

My personal financial software hasn’t been updated in over a month.

I haven’t engaged in any real exercise in roughly 6 weeks. “No sweat!” now has a double meaning.

These things are very unlike me. But so is cleaning my car, which is something I DID do.

It seems I’m still emotionally removed from the game. I’m still “sitting this one out”.

Why?

Why the detachment? Why the apathy? Why the “who gives a shit”?

Hmmm…..this is a very, very strange place. The people are different here and it smells funny. Wait, that’s just my kitchen.