Monday, May 29, 2017
The path home, or...
I once was lost and now I'm found, and I never moved an inch.
The post that never seems to get finished covers what I plan to do going forward. As I mentioned in my last two posts, every time I feel I'm ready to truly commit to one path over the other, something so drastically changes as to make the nascent course of action invalid. Now I truly believe I know I have to do - what is most needed right now. That action is... tax abatement! Wait, what? That's it? No grand schemes, no building this or learning that? Well, tax abatement is an oversimplification, but otherwise, yes; it is correct. But that's so... common. Well, then. Anyway, how I choose to do this is a little more involved than just declaring I want to lower my taxes, a common goal for everyone in the middle class, especially those without kids, but that is the goal for at least the next 5 years. Before I explain how I got to this point, and what made other options unappealing, there's a question begging to be answered: why is any of this even necessary?
Anyone who reads this blog knows that I chose the wrong pension plan, and in a larger sense chose the wrong profession, to the extent I was involved in the latter decision in the first place. To one degree or another, each is fixable, but not without some serious work and short-term pain, both personal and professional. In addition to crippling my retirement income and not being well-suited for this job, I was deeply concerned about automation eventually rendering my job obsolete. Of course, everyone should worry about this, but the timeline for me seemed much more immediate. There was also the chance that my college would change my status, as our counseling department is a little unusual compared to other schools. I'm no longer worried about either scenario, at least for myself. I'll examine why a little later. Aside from my insecurities about work, I didn't feel prepared for a world that seems to be collapsing around us. This should also concern everyone, and we should all be doing things to make our lives more resilient, but there's a risk that concentrating so much on the bigger picture is actually just ignoring your own demons, replacing them with ones to large to conquer. It's easier to bemoan the state of the world than change, and I was highly resistant to change. This is a polite way of saying because I was afraid of so many things, I ended up paralyzed, but mostly I was afraid of failing, since it seemed inevitable. Furthermore, the stagnancy and dissatisfaction I've been feeling in my work for the last 5 years or so has gotten much worse of late, and this was before Excelsior burst on the scene like a baby Xenomorph crashing through a chest wall.
On the other hand, I have an amazingly good job despite myself. The salary is good for the area, and fantastic for the job itself, as are the health benefits, while the vacation is other worldly. Also, I am cleaning up the financial messes of my early (um, to mid) adulthood, and while I've made great progress, I'm still in serious debt. It's manageable, thanks to what I make. However, the salary has stagnated somewhat, and because overtime has been curtailed, actually regressed. Also, we haven't had a new contract for almost 7 years and the negotiations were stalled to the point that Sate of New York had to get involved. While my income still outpaces my expenses, the gap has narrowed, and other ways I could earn a living were looking more and more like better options, as the salaries were growing, whereas mine was not. The short-term pain would have been worth it after 5 years or so. With all that in mind, let me cut and paste the post I started March 15th.:
The post that never seems to get finished covers what I plan to do going forward. As I mentioned in my last two posts, every time I feel I'm ready to truly commit to one path over the other, something so drastically changes as to make the nascent course of action invalid. Now I truly believe I know I have to do - what is most needed right now. That action is... tax abatement! Wait, what? That's it? No grand schemes, no building this or learning that? Well, tax abatement is an oversimplification, but otherwise, yes; it is correct. But that's so... common. Well, then. Anyway, how I choose to do this is a little more involved than just declaring I want to lower my taxes, a common goal for everyone in the middle class, especially those without kids, but that is the goal for at least the next 5 years. Before I explain how I got to this point, and what made other options unappealing, there's a question begging to be answered: why is any of this even necessary?
Anyone who reads this blog knows that I chose the wrong pension plan, and in a larger sense chose the wrong profession, to the extent I was involved in the latter decision in the first place. To one degree or another, each is fixable, but not without some serious work and short-term pain, both personal and professional. In addition to crippling my retirement income and not being well-suited for this job, I was deeply concerned about automation eventually rendering my job obsolete. Of course, everyone should worry about this, but the timeline for me seemed much more immediate. There was also the chance that my college would change my status, as our counseling department is a little unusual compared to other schools. I'm no longer worried about either scenario, at least for myself. I'll examine why a little later. Aside from my insecurities about work, I didn't feel prepared for a world that seems to be collapsing around us. This should also concern everyone, and we should all be doing things to make our lives more resilient, but there's a risk that concentrating so much on the bigger picture is actually just ignoring your own demons, replacing them with ones to large to conquer. It's easier to bemoan the state of the world than change, and I was highly resistant to change. This is a polite way of saying because I was afraid of so many things, I ended up paralyzed, but mostly I was afraid of failing, since it seemed inevitable. Furthermore, the stagnancy and dissatisfaction I've been feeling in my work for the last 5 years or so has gotten much worse of late, and this was before Excelsior burst on the scene like a baby Xenomorph crashing through a chest wall.
On the other hand, I have an amazingly good job despite myself. The salary is good for the area, and fantastic for the job itself, as are the health benefits, while the vacation is other worldly. Also, I am cleaning up the financial messes of my early (um, to mid) adulthood, and while I've made great progress, I'm still in serious debt. It's manageable, thanks to what I make. However, the salary has stagnated somewhat, and because overtime has been curtailed, actually regressed. Also, we haven't had a new contract for almost 7 years and the negotiations were stalled to the point that Sate of New York had to get involved. While my income still outpaces my expenses, the gap has narrowed, and other ways I could earn a living were looking more and more like better options, as the salaries were growing, whereas mine was not. The short-term pain would have been worth it after 5 years or so. With all that in mind, let me cut and paste the post I started March 15th.:
A recap, and, perhaps, a new direction, or...
What I did on my Autumn vacation.
While watching the Republican Party seemingly self-destruct, only to watch the most shocking electoral result in American history, the Fall semester took an unexpected turn. I had been struggling with keeping all my balls in the air, and my self-doubt has been its typically omnipresent shadow. I needed to do something, check off anything on my list, if only to feel productive and somehow convince myself I was on the right path. I didn't expect it to be my taking the EMT class here at work.
In addition to all the perks I've listed here, there's one that's almost never mentioned: free classes. I did avail myself of this right (and it's in the contract, so the term is correct.) by taking the ESL program. Beyond that, I took a few business classes that, much like the ESL program, amounted to exactly nothing.
The EMT class was different, as it checked off multiple boxes, in multiple categories, on my to-do list.
The above excerpt is 100% accurate and meaningless in equal measure. The EMT course was great. I earned my "A," and was accepted into the Valhalla Volunteer Ambulance Corps, where I volunteer today. Of course, it was all part of a grander plan: go back to school and become a physician assistant. I'm smart enough, have a talent for medicine, a desire to help people, and I've always wanted to do it, but it never seemed to be the right time. I took the EMT class to dip my toe in the water, and gain an avenue to the medical experience needed to get into a program. The linchpin of this plan was that all of the prerequisite courses were available here at my college, and were almost free. True, I had to buy books, supplies, and pay fees, but I'd spend more on a weekend in the Poconos, so that wasn't the issue. Any thoughts I had about being too old similarly disappeared when I read an article about late- life medical students, including one who was 48. Everything was in order, so why aren't I taking those classes right now, getting ready to start treating patients at 49?
First, there's the money. Last September I estimated the cost at around $350,000. That figures breaks down as follows: the tuition would have been around $85,000 for tuition, assuming I went to a private college, while the CUNY and SUNY programs would have been $42,000, give or take. I also had to account for 2 years with no work, at around $220,000, with the difference being Spartan living conditions while in school. I concentrated on the areas I know best, so my most reasonable choices were Pace University, Mercy College, SUNY upstate and Downstate medical centers, the CUNY system and Barry University and FIU in Miami, (though I was secretly hoping for Barry's program on St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. On the other hand, Carolyn would have been less than pleased to learn I'd be going to school in the Tropics. I'd give her my miles so she could fly down whenever she wished.) Getting the money isn't an issue; the financing is there. Graduate PLUS loans would have covered the full cost of attendance, so I could have borrowed all the money needed to pay for school and my upkeep. Of course, having perfect credit helps. The starting salary of a PA is around $120,000, depending on specialty, and the growth in pay is strong, so I'd make up whatever money I'd spend over the long term, as well as a well-financed pension.
The location of the program was irrelevant, and I probably would have applied at every PA program in the nation. Miami or St. Croix would have been nice, but that was it. As to why I was looking at the expensive private schools, you do have to budget for private colleges in this situation, and if you can't afford a private college, you probably won't be able to go. State PA programs are insanely hard to get in to. Local private PA schools are no picnic either, A conversation I often have with students looking to become doctors is that I assure them they'll get into a medical school. Where they go, how much it costs, and where they'll complete their clinical rotations, etc. are the questions that need to be asked. While I worked there, Mercy College actually had an articulation agreement with a university in Poland, allowing Mercy's students to attend the Polish medical school while getting American financial aid. My fellow Gen-X'ers will remember the invasion of Grenada in 1983, where 600 medical students who were getting a tan whilst hitting the books, were seen as tempting hostages and giving America a reason (pretext?) to invade, as an historical example. PA school is harder to get into than medical school, as it's an American invention, with only a handful of English-speaking countries adapting the position, but lacking the educational opportunities. If you get an MD, but don't pass the boards, you're automatically a PA instead. Don't think I didn't consider this; for a hot minute, it was in play. Whatever school accepted me, was it really worth it? From a purely financial perspective, maybe, but for my personal life, it would have been hard. If the salary stays the same at my school, then I could have made more money over the long term. In keeping with the theme of this post, it's in flux, but more on that later.
Second, while I loved the EMT course, it completely beat me senseless. Juggling the demands of the class, work, taking care of myself, and making time for my girlfriend, my family, and my other friends, was almost more than I could handle. I had to be talked out of quitting many times. I'm glad I stuck with it, but everyone could see the toll it was taking. This was just one class, and I needed to take 2 per semester for two years. The courses include Chemistry 1&2, Microbiology, Biology, Anatomy and Physiology 1&2, and perhaps Statistics. These are by far the hardest classes to both attempt and get. Calculus 2 is probably harder academically, but so few students want to take it that getting a seat isn't a problem. The percentage of students who want to get in to our health programs is huge, around 33% by my unscientific guess. If that is correct, then thousands of students are competing for a limited number of slots. My task was daunting, to say the least. Aside from the academic difficulties, there was another aspect of the class I hadn't considered: I really shouldn't be that cozy with students, and the EMT class was a very tight-knit group. The material was difficult, and we had to work together, thus a bond was formed. I have less leeway in this regard than most faculty, and it's my fault that's the case. It also makes the teachers uncomfortable. I'm actually a senior faculty member, known by most of the instructors thanks to my service as a senator, and I have a good reputation, and I don't like the idea of putting someone in a difficult situation.
First, there's the money. Last September I estimated the cost at around $350,000. That figures breaks down as follows: the tuition would have been around $85,000 for tuition, assuming I went to a private college, while the CUNY and SUNY programs would have been $42,000, give or take. I also had to account for 2 years with no work, at around $220,000, with the difference being Spartan living conditions while in school. I concentrated on the areas I know best, so my most reasonable choices were Pace University, Mercy College, SUNY upstate and Downstate medical centers, the CUNY system and Barry University and FIU in Miami, (though I was secretly hoping for Barry's program on St. Croix in the U.S. Virgin Islands. On the other hand, Carolyn would have been less than pleased to learn I'd be going to school in the Tropics. I'd give her my miles so she could fly down whenever she wished.) Getting the money isn't an issue; the financing is there. Graduate PLUS loans would have covered the full cost of attendance, so I could have borrowed all the money needed to pay for school and my upkeep. Of course, having perfect credit helps. The starting salary of a PA is around $120,000, depending on specialty, and the growth in pay is strong, so I'd make up whatever money I'd spend over the long term, as well as a well-financed pension.
The location of the program was irrelevant, and I probably would have applied at every PA program in the nation. Miami or St. Croix would have been nice, but that was it. As to why I was looking at the expensive private schools, you do have to budget for private colleges in this situation, and if you can't afford a private college, you probably won't be able to go. State PA programs are insanely hard to get in to. Local private PA schools are no picnic either, A conversation I often have with students looking to become doctors is that I assure them they'll get into a medical school. Where they go, how much it costs, and where they'll complete their clinical rotations, etc. are the questions that need to be asked. While I worked there, Mercy College actually had an articulation agreement with a university in Poland, allowing Mercy's students to attend the Polish medical school while getting American financial aid. My fellow Gen-X'ers will remember the invasion of Grenada in 1983, where 600 medical students who were getting a tan whilst hitting the books, were seen as tempting hostages and giving America a reason (pretext?) to invade, as an historical example. PA school is harder to get into than medical school, as it's an American invention, with only a handful of English-speaking countries adapting the position, but lacking the educational opportunities. If you get an MD, but don't pass the boards, you're automatically a PA instead. Don't think I didn't consider this; for a hot minute, it was in play. Whatever school accepted me, was it really worth it? From a purely financial perspective, maybe, but for my personal life, it would have been hard. If the salary stays the same at my school, then I could have made more money over the long term. In keeping with the theme of this post, it's in flux, but more on that later.
Second, while I loved the EMT course, it completely beat me senseless. Juggling the demands of the class, work, taking care of myself, and making time for my girlfriend, my family, and my other friends, was almost more than I could handle. I had to be talked out of quitting many times. I'm glad I stuck with it, but everyone could see the toll it was taking. This was just one class, and I needed to take 2 per semester for two years. The courses include Chemistry 1&2, Microbiology, Biology, Anatomy and Physiology 1&2, and perhaps Statistics. These are by far the hardest classes to both attempt and get. Calculus 2 is probably harder academically, but so few students want to take it that getting a seat isn't a problem. The percentage of students who want to get in to our health programs is huge, around 33% by my unscientific guess. If that is correct, then thousands of students are competing for a limited number of slots. My task was daunting, to say the least. Aside from the academic difficulties, there was another aspect of the class I hadn't considered: I really shouldn't be that cozy with students, and the EMT class was a very tight-knit group. The material was difficult, and we had to work together, thus a bond was formed. I have less leeway in this regard than most faculty, and it's my fault that's the case. It also makes the teachers uncomfortable. I'm actually a senior faculty member, known by most of the instructors thanks to my service as a senator, and I have a good reputation, and I don't like the idea of putting someone in a difficult situation.
With all of this in mind, I vacillated other the space of four months before deciding that becoming a PA wasn't an option. My lovely girlfriend was less than enthused at the idea, though she did say she'd support me in whatever I chose. I appreciated her standing by me.
So becoming a PA is out, what else did I have planned? There was some dalliance with the idea of becoming a therapist, and that would be much more viable than becoming a PA. I have a B.A. in Psychology already, and I've been seeing shrinks since I was old enough to speak complete sentences, so I'm well suited for the job. The classes I would need to take are as follows: Intro to Psych, and Abnormal Psych, and... that's it. The former would merely be preparation for the GRE test, and the latter because I never took it. I may be the only psych grad in FIU history to not take it. I studied Industrial Organizational (I/O) Psychology for the most part anyway. The degree I'd take would have been a Master's in Counseling or a Master's in Social Work. I discounted a PhD automatically, though I did give some consideration to a Psy. D, because the thought of writing a dissertation filled me with despair, but a doctorate would have been nice.
The same factors that made the PA program untenable were in effect here as well, though not to the same degree. I wouldn't have needed to stop working, and the college would have paid for some of the classes, as it is related to what I do now: counseling. More importantly, I can do this job for longer than a medical professional. You can also do this on the side, carving out a few hours a week to see clients, all while working at the college, then moving to warmer climes and doing it full time, or to the extent you wish. On the other hand, there's the prospect of little to no payoff. PA's are in huge demand, but therapists are plentiful. It may have the effect of helping me do something different at the college, especially if I finished a PhD, but that's overstating the likelihood of such an opportunity. Both becoming a PA or therapist helped me fulfill another goal, just as becoming an EMT checked off multiple boxes. Carolyn and I don't want to live in New York much longer, and while my present job is available all over the country, my salary is not. I don't feel like taking a 75% (or greater!) pay cut. I haven't quite given up on either course, but aside from become an EMT, I haven't done anything concrete either.
This is nothing new, but in keeping with the theme of change, almost all of the personal circumstances that I felt required the dramatic re-invention of my life (and to a certain extent, allowed for it to happen) were upended. The macro issues didn't change: the world is still aflame, and we have a fairly bellicose president to stoke the fire. (Clinton would have been worse, though quieter in her hawkishness, so stop feeling smug, I mean really...); economically, things are stagnant, with the prospect of higher interest rates for at least another 18 months. A serious economic crash will occur; that's just a truism of the business cycle, one that's been forestalled for years. The problem is that we have no way to bail ourselves out this time. Politically, we're thoroughly divided, and I don't even want to speculate as to how bad things could get. We live in a dark time, but that can always be said. While Colombia is benefiting from the end of 50 years of a low-grade civil war and the end of the cocaine cartels (while still providing enough blow to blanket South Florida), Venezuela is burning to the ground, with people starving, generals promising to set snipers on the population, and crime running unchecked. 25 years ago, Colombia was effectively a failed narco-state, and Venezuela was seen as proof that socialism actually does work. Instability, both political and economic, is always present somewhere in the world, with chaos and suffering bubbling just beneath the surface; the average American is just noticing that he might fall prey to those forces as well. My approach to these bigger concerns has changed, as mentioned above. I can only take care of myself, Carolyn, her son, and my family and friends. When I concentrate on that, real change and hard work occurs. If I get prepared, help others do the same, and remain vigilant, I can be happy with my efforts, even if the worst does happen. We are in control of so little, with luck a far bigger factor in one's success and survival than most wish to acknowledge. I count myself as blessed that I understand my own good fortune. The smaller issues were the ones that were so radically changed, with statuses flip-flopping more than Bill Clinton. (I'm very sorry - wait, not really.)
One of the biggest factors holding me back was the time needed to take the classes, both here and the grad program. I have plenty of vacation, but little in the way of unstructured free time. Then, suddenly, I had all the time in the world needed to do any side project I could think of. Then, just as suddenly, I didn't, and now I do again. The original change was caused by two things. First, I don't travel the way I once did. I don't want to take big trips and be away from Carolyn for that long, though she said she wouldn't have a problem with it. There are better uses of the money as well, even as cheap travel is a specialty of mine. That led to the second change, one of perception: since I'm not flitting hither and yon, why can't I take the same few hours every week to carve out enough time to take a day class? What reason is there that I couldn't take that same block of time to take a train to the city and attend CUNY? There isn't. My boss said she was amenable, though January and September would be difficult, but it wasn't impossible, so why not? If that wasn't going to happen, couldn't I use the time to develop a business or take a class in some aspect of home improvement, perhaps though the college's continuing education programs? Sure I could. Then, out of the blue, my one of my fellow counselors had his kids kidnapped internationally, and missed weeks of work wending his way through the Spanish courts. We were told we'd need to pick up the slack, which didn't need to be said. I've been working with the guy for nearly 20 years, and he was my boss at Mercy. Of course we'd take care of his students. We're not a group of coworkers; we're a family. Honestly, we all wouldn't put up with one other if we weren't. When he returned with his two sons, he became a single parent, and may have needed regular time off to take care of the boys, so my schemes were dashed. However, he found plenty of help, works a normal schedule, and said pointedly that such arrangements were unnecessary. Does this mean I'm back in business? It seems that way. So what will my excuse be this time?
From an immediate financial perspective, the news was mixed. Overtime, the great boost to my income, was greatly reduced. There's justification for this, as our enrollment is way down compared to 5 years ago, but relative stable compared to to other community colleges in New York, and if I'm in control of my spending, shouldn't need the overtime to shore up my budget. Still, you get used to the extra money, and spending is like water: it seeks its own level. As I said earlier, my salary is outstanding for the job, but only decent for the area. This is Westchester, after all. I've improved my money management greatly, but it could be better. Like many of my changes in habits, it ebbs and flows, progress being three steps forward, and one or two steps back.
Our stagnant wages has been a source of great frustration for the faculty (even as we're grossly overpaid), and the almost seven years without a contract has made us all very irritated. Part of the problem is that the school is in a period of great transition, with one president retiring (air quotes implied) after 43 years, then we had two years of an interim president who wouldn't negotiate with our union, since he felt the new president should do that. Our new president had to start from zero, but with a faculty in near revolt. This left us to where we were when I started the EMT class: at an impasse, with negotiations all but dead. The union fought back; the Senate had a minor insurrection, and as of three weeks ago, we have a new contract.We will be paying something for healthcare, but that was inevitable. I don't have any more details, since no one will tell the rank and file, but I know it's a net positive, as we never would have agreed otherwise. I'm expecting a nice raise, and a tidy sum in retro pay. As a result, it will become less advantageous to leave, as I'm giving up more money than before. One could say I should have expected this to happen at some point, but I honestly didn't. I can also expect at least one more contract to be negotiated before my time is done, with the attendant increases to follow.
Salvaging my retirement, while still important, is no longer the Sword of Damocles dangling above my head. My accounts have grown significantly, and with my short-term debts paid off, I have been pouring money into my 401(A) at a nice clip. Effectively, I've reached, or am close to reaching, a tipping point, where I'm just as good staying here as leaving. The situation isn't perfect, and I'm earmarking money I wouldn't have needed to, if I had checked two boxes instead of one. Still, I will be in a position to support myself and Carolyn. Once word of the new contract was given, I spent the better part of two days crunching numbers, check to see what I'd have saved if I retired at 55, 59 1/2, and 62, calculating returns of 6, 8, and 11%, and examining increases in contributions based on the possible raises we are getting in the new contract, and how much I would add as well. It was a fun exercise, though the numbers aren't exact, serving only as a rough guide. Much depends on the rate of return, but with a raise, and the aforementioned tax abatement strategy, I can save gobs of money in my TIAA-CREF accounts. The aim of getting a pension is still there, but is no longer the primary driver of the choices I'm making. I'm not a good enough writer to describe the feeling of relief I have at this development. Actually, I could thing up a few choice metaphors, but they're all sexual in nature and my girlfriend reads this blog. Now if you'll pardon me, I need a cigarette and a change in shorts.
The biggest financial change, and by far the most unexpected, was my tax return for 2016. I've used Turbo Tax for years, and felt I did a good job, but I guess I was mistaken. My friend Mike, whom I met through Scott, found deductions I didn't know I had, to the point he more than doubled my federal return, and took me from a small New York State bill to a $900 refund. This money allowed me to payoff my final short-term debt, and in addition to allowing me to increase my retirement savings beyond what I was already doing, has allowed me to build a small financial cushion. That buffer is not where it needs to be, but I only started 6 weeks ago. More important was Mike's vast pool of knowledge concerning money. When I explained to him my frustrations and my plans, he calmly gave me a starting point for my own business, based in a model I already picked out, and what to do for the long term, real estate in this case, and how to maximize my tax savings no matter what I chose. I was always focused on a particular outcome concerning a business, one that was so specific that it seemed impossible to attain. This resulted in little to no real work. Mike taught me I needed to concentrate on the right structure, so that I could meld my personal financial situation with that of my business, generating tax savings as well as profits, with profits being the secondary concern, at least for the first two years. Real estate is where the true money is made, but crawling before I walk, the business is first. Moreover, you need the numbers to work, and we're in a massive real estate bubble, worse than in 2007. There will be opportunities, but they don't exist right now. With the money I'll save and hopefully earn with the company, name to be announced shortly, I can have available capital for investment properties after the markets regress to the mean. The specifics for both phases is beyond the scope of this post, so I'll dive into these waters in a later missive. However I choose to maximize my income, I realized that I earned plenty of money, but I wasn't keeping enough of it. That must not be the case going forward. I've always thought of ways to maximize my deductions, but not like this. One of my favorite techniques was to get used furniture for free and donate it, but bedbugs killed that idea. Anyway, from the first sentence, I was floored at the simplicity of his outline, and how easy he made it for me. He also said I could make a killing as a financial aid consultant. I replied I wouldn't no how to do that, and he stated I didn't know how to charge for it. Touche'. As we were talking, I had to ask myself the following: is this what students experience when they talk to me about college? Because it sure feels that way. I was humbled and prideful at the same time.
The financial changes, both in the practical sense, and the changes to my attitudes and behaviors, would have been enough for my to stop tilting at windmills, but the professional changes are also important. By this I mean the Excelsior Scholarship, and the difference in the way I view the program.
My first encounter with Excelsior was one of dismay. Although the details were sketchy, I knew it was a rush job, and the complaints, mistakes, delays, and misinformation would cause huge pain for me and my coworkers. Also, there was an existential crisis, at least for me. The good I do in this job seemed to disappear overnight, leaving me as nothing more than a paper pushing bureaucrat with no real value or purpose. I may have been that already, but I did feel there were times when I truly helped people, whether it was a friend trying to fix her defaulted student loan and return to school, or an overwhelmed family trying to make sense of competing scholarship offers from different colleges, wondering which one was the best choice. This wouldn't completely disappear, but it would be a tiny fraction instead of my main focus. The college would need financial aid less, I reasoned, since New York was paying the bills en masse. It was depressing all around.
So why do I feel differently as I write this? The training in Corning did nothing to allay my fears. If anything, the trip had worse news than I expected. There wasn't enough money to fully fund the program; as a result, there would be a lottery; returning students had priority; the academic standards were draconian, and the application wouldn't be ready until June. I digested this news over three days, using what free time I had to walk. Corning is small, but well-preserved, and made for pedestrians. I could traverse the 3.5 miles from my hotel to the conference if I felt ambitious, without any break in the sidewalks. I'm dedicated to my health, but not that much. In any event, multiple lengthy strolls and long talks with my boss gave me the chance to reflect. I knew there was something I wasn't quite understanding about the situation, but I couldn't place my finger on it. It hit me days later when I realized I was looking at this the wrong way. I was obsessing over the increased number of applications and students we'd need to service. I imagined the frantic calls from parents, from schools, churches, even the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks could call me for all I knew, all of whom realized they'd been sold a bill of goods. I'd probably want to organize an info session for the all the junior EMT corps throughout Westchester. I though of all the extra work required, all the other people at the college I'd need to speak with, explaining this mess. I wasn't depressed any longer; I was despondent. Then it hit me: Excelsior wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to financial aid - it was the best! The power of this realization almost caused me to drive off the road, but once I regained my bearings, I understood that everything that made the program a disaster was a golden, nay, platinum opportunity for me and my colleagues. This isn't an aid program gone wrong; it's a work of fucking art. It is so beautiful in its malformation, so perfect in its imperfection, so genius in its stupidity, so rapturous in the pain it will inflict on all of us, that it can be described no other way but art. In a flash, the prospect of being replaced by computers wasn't an issue. Excelsior would need humans looking at applications, transcripts, and tax information. It would also require humans to explain to people why they aren't getting the program, or more accurately, why they aren't getting the program any more, which will be a much larger issue. Someone will need to speak to high schools, civic organizations, and other people at the college, explaining this nonsense. Well, who better than someone who is an excellent public speaker, adept at breaking down arcane financial aid regulations into something more easily understood, and just happened to be at the only training available for the entire state, because he felt like paying for it out of pocket, well before this program was even an (awful) idea? Wow, I'm getting all tingly as I type this. I'm not screwed; I'm saved. I'm already getting calls from Westchester high schools asking for my help. I now have more opportunity to do good, thanks to how they slapped this program together. Even better, the overtime will flow once more as we try to help the innumerable applicants who think they're going to school for free. They're not, obviously, though some will benefit, at least in the beginning. There's even the chance we'll get another counselor, but that's probably not going to happen. I'll take the overtime and run. Albany did fix a few things, but it's still an unwieldy mess, and it's still going to save my job. The best (or the worst?) part was that there was a right way to do this, as I mentioned in an earlier post: max out TAP, then go get lunch. If that had happened, then I'd be looking for PA programs throughout the United States, medical schools in the Caribbean, and taking 12 credits a semester. My bank account, physical health, social life, and girlfriend thank you Gov. Cuomo. Well done.
The final change was one that occurred and built up over the space of two years. I fell in love with a wonderful woman, Carolyn. She does not agree with my and Scott's gloomy predictions, and she certainly doesn't agree with me being a Republican. Nevertheless, we're together, and where she is, I will be as well. As such, any notion of going offshore is gone. I still subscribe to certain podcasts, read certain newsletters, and I would go to Simon Black's next conference in a heartbeat, but I stand with her, and if that means I must deal with the fallout of an economic and social collapse up close, then so be it. I'm taking the steps needed to be of use when this occurs: becoming and volunteering as an EMT, developing relationships within the first responder community, improving my health, getting my finances in order and deploying that money to insure I have the supplies and skills needed for a major crisis, and helping others get themselves ready. If Carolyn was more amenable to going abroad, then I would take additional steps, but it won't happen. I did get her to travel to Canada, and I'd love to take her to Greece, but that would be the extent of our wanderings.
Reviewing my posts on the subjects of expatriation and economic collapse, I'm struck at the prerequisite underpinning everything I've written. They all needed a solitary man in front of the keyboard. Did this pursuit assume I'd always be alone? Probably, yes, though I was trying to date and find a relationship. That's not the best question to ask, however. Did this goal insure I would be alone or did I use it as a shield to avoid doing the work required to develop a relationship? I did date, a little, but it never lasted until now. Not automatically for the first part, and there's some validity to the second part. Again, concentrating too much on the big issues outside of your control means you don't have to look at yourself. This leads to an even better question to ask: did both this goal and the points of view required, as well my near total lack of action, cause me to be alone? The answer is that it sure as shit didn't help. For those women who did not agree with my declarations, I must have sounded like Chicken Little at best, or a complete lunatic at worst. For those who did agree with me, or were at least willing to listen, I presented myself as someone just shouting into the wind, with no follow through. Either I didn't really believe what I was saying, or I was too weak or scared or lazy to do anything besides yapping. That's not an attractive look either way.
I've been hammering away at this post in one version or another for months. I've started, stopped, abandoned, then restarted it all over again. What made its completion possible is that I realized that this work, like any other writing, is a snapshot of conditions as they appear while you're putting pen to paper. I was looking for permanence in a world that never offered such a state. My circumstances do feel more settled, but the situations I've described above aren't fixed in amber, and the plans I'm making as a result of my suppositions may be as flawed as anything else I've undertaken. The County Executive, Rob Astorino, could veto our new contract, just as he did for the school's CSEA contract, freezing our pay for the foreseeable future, or Albany could work out the problems of Excelsior, advancing our irrelevancy. There will come a time where automation and changes to higher education will put us out to pasture; the question has always been whether or not I'll make it to my own finish line before the world of education reaches its own end - and new beginning. With what I discovered about business, the help I've gained, and my new willingness to risk failure, I'm less concerned than I have been. I feel ahead of the curve for once, being proactive rather than reactive. If I were a little more circumspect in my writing style, my posts would stand the test of time better than they do. Still, delving deeper into the psychology behind these essays, I realize now I was doing things backwards. Instead of living by principles, I was living by outcomes. Everything had to be perfect, which isn't possible. There's also the possibility that somewhere deep in my subconscious I didn't feel all the extra work was needed, or that I was so angry at myself for my innumerable mistakes that I was passive-aggressively protesting, shaking my fist at the world, hurting only myself.
None of what's written above should be interpreted to mean I'm somehow done, or that I've arrived. I cannot rest on my laurels, because I don't have any on which to plant my ass. What I do have is a start, and direction, and some self-confidence, where before I didn't. I'm happy with myself in a way I've probably never experienced before, and no matter what happens, I hold that feeling in the palm of my hand and hold it gently. I'm in love with a beautiful woman who loves me in return, and we get to build a life together, making our two separate existences into one shared experience. There's plenty of work to be done, but I have the chance to do that work, and that is a miracle for someone not 5 1/2 years ago was so obsessed with the world collapsing around him that I didn't do anything to stop the fact that I was slowly killing myself. My friends did, and brought me out of that darkness into the light, where I stand now.
At my core, I'm an academic. Whether I express that calling by speaking in front of a group of high school seniors and their families, or teach a class on using the Internet in 1998 at Shawnee Inn, is unimportant. I will always question and study and ruminate on life, and the question I'm asking as I type this is: what makes change possible for the individual? It's a fascinating subject, and with all my experiences and my relationships, I'm struck at how difficult true change really is, and I wonder if the changes I've made are real or not. I hope so. For the sake of argument, let's say that it is real, at least for now. Of everything I've just written, what was the most important change that occurred? The answer, of course, was the change in my attitudes and beliefs. Where before I saw only strife and mistakes, today I see opportunity, both for my own benefit, and the chance to help others. Changes in behavior followed, or was it the other way around? I cannot say. What made all that possible? Was the culmination of difficult personal work, healing the wounds of the past? Was it my relationship? Was it my getting older to the point I couldn't blame anyone or anything for my situation but myself? Was it all of those things combined, or was it something else entirely I cannot see at this moment? I don't know. Changes in people's circumstances happen everyday. Why do some alter course, while others are swept away by the riptides of life? I could examine this topic endlessly and never tire of the subject. Come to think of it, wouldn't that make an excellent dissertation topic for a PhD or a Master's thesis?
Nah. Now if you'll excuse me, Excelsior Shipping, my new Fulfilled by Amazon (FBA) business, name suggested by Mike, needs some attention.
So becoming a PA is out, what else did I have planned? There was some dalliance with the idea of becoming a therapist, and that would be much more viable than becoming a PA. I have a B.A. in Psychology already, and I've been seeing shrinks since I was old enough to speak complete sentences, so I'm well suited for the job. The classes I would need to take are as follows: Intro to Psych, and Abnormal Psych, and... that's it. The former would merely be preparation for the GRE test, and the latter because I never took it. I may be the only psych grad in FIU history to not take it. I studied Industrial Organizational (I/O) Psychology for the most part anyway. The degree I'd take would have been a Master's in Counseling or a Master's in Social Work. I discounted a PhD automatically, though I did give some consideration to a Psy. D, because the thought of writing a dissertation filled me with despair, but a doctorate would have been nice.
The same factors that made the PA program untenable were in effect here as well, though not to the same degree. I wouldn't have needed to stop working, and the college would have paid for some of the classes, as it is related to what I do now: counseling. More importantly, I can do this job for longer than a medical professional. You can also do this on the side, carving out a few hours a week to see clients, all while working at the college, then moving to warmer climes and doing it full time, or to the extent you wish. On the other hand, there's the prospect of little to no payoff. PA's are in huge demand, but therapists are plentiful. It may have the effect of helping me do something different at the college, especially if I finished a PhD, but that's overstating the likelihood of such an opportunity. Both becoming a PA or therapist helped me fulfill another goal, just as becoming an EMT checked off multiple boxes. Carolyn and I don't want to live in New York much longer, and while my present job is available all over the country, my salary is not. I don't feel like taking a 75% (or greater!) pay cut. I haven't quite given up on either course, but aside from become an EMT, I haven't done anything concrete either.
This is nothing new, but in keeping with the theme of change, almost all of the personal circumstances that I felt required the dramatic re-invention of my life (and to a certain extent, allowed for it to happen) were upended. The macro issues didn't change: the world is still aflame, and we have a fairly bellicose president to stoke the fire. (Clinton would have been worse, though quieter in her hawkishness, so stop feeling smug, I mean really...); economically, things are stagnant, with the prospect of higher interest rates for at least another 18 months. A serious economic crash will occur; that's just a truism of the business cycle, one that's been forestalled for years. The problem is that we have no way to bail ourselves out this time. Politically, we're thoroughly divided, and I don't even want to speculate as to how bad things could get. We live in a dark time, but that can always be said. While Colombia is benefiting from the end of 50 years of a low-grade civil war and the end of the cocaine cartels (while still providing enough blow to blanket South Florida), Venezuela is burning to the ground, with people starving, generals promising to set snipers on the population, and crime running unchecked. 25 years ago, Colombia was effectively a failed narco-state, and Venezuela was seen as proof that socialism actually does work. Instability, both political and economic, is always present somewhere in the world, with chaos and suffering bubbling just beneath the surface; the average American is just noticing that he might fall prey to those forces as well. My approach to these bigger concerns has changed, as mentioned above. I can only take care of myself, Carolyn, her son, and my family and friends. When I concentrate on that, real change and hard work occurs. If I get prepared, help others do the same, and remain vigilant, I can be happy with my efforts, even if the worst does happen. We are in control of so little, with luck a far bigger factor in one's success and survival than most wish to acknowledge. I count myself as blessed that I understand my own good fortune. The smaller issues were the ones that were so radically changed, with statuses flip-flopping more than Bill Clinton. (I'm very sorry - wait, not really.)
One of the biggest factors holding me back was the time needed to take the classes, both here and the grad program. I have plenty of vacation, but little in the way of unstructured free time. Then, suddenly, I had all the time in the world needed to do any side project I could think of. Then, just as suddenly, I didn't, and now I do again. The original change was caused by two things. First, I don't travel the way I once did. I don't want to take big trips and be away from Carolyn for that long, though she said she wouldn't have a problem with it. There are better uses of the money as well, even as cheap travel is a specialty of mine. That led to the second change, one of perception: since I'm not flitting hither and yon, why can't I take the same few hours every week to carve out enough time to take a day class? What reason is there that I couldn't take that same block of time to take a train to the city and attend CUNY? There isn't. My boss said she was amenable, though January and September would be difficult, but it wasn't impossible, so why not? If that wasn't going to happen, couldn't I use the time to develop a business or take a class in some aspect of home improvement, perhaps though the college's continuing education programs? Sure I could. Then, out of the blue, my one of my fellow counselors had his kids kidnapped internationally, and missed weeks of work wending his way through the Spanish courts. We were told we'd need to pick up the slack, which didn't need to be said. I've been working with the guy for nearly 20 years, and he was my boss at Mercy. Of course we'd take care of his students. We're not a group of coworkers; we're a family. Honestly, we all wouldn't put up with one other if we weren't. When he returned with his two sons, he became a single parent, and may have needed regular time off to take care of the boys, so my schemes were dashed. However, he found plenty of help, works a normal schedule, and said pointedly that such arrangements were unnecessary. Does this mean I'm back in business? It seems that way. So what will my excuse be this time?
From an immediate financial perspective, the news was mixed. Overtime, the great boost to my income, was greatly reduced. There's justification for this, as our enrollment is way down compared to 5 years ago, but relative stable compared to to other community colleges in New York, and if I'm in control of my spending, shouldn't need the overtime to shore up my budget. Still, you get used to the extra money, and spending is like water: it seeks its own level. As I said earlier, my salary is outstanding for the job, but only decent for the area. This is Westchester, after all. I've improved my money management greatly, but it could be better. Like many of my changes in habits, it ebbs and flows, progress being three steps forward, and one or two steps back.
Our stagnant wages has been a source of great frustration for the faculty (even as we're grossly overpaid), and the almost seven years without a contract has made us all very irritated. Part of the problem is that the school is in a period of great transition, with one president retiring (air quotes implied) after 43 years, then we had two years of an interim president who wouldn't negotiate with our union, since he felt the new president should do that. Our new president had to start from zero, but with a faculty in near revolt. This left us to where we were when I started the EMT class: at an impasse, with negotiations all but dead. The union fought back; the Senate had a minor insurrection, and as of three weeks ago, we have a new contract.We will be paying something for healthcare, but that was inevitable. I don't have any more details, since no one will tell the rank and file, but I know it's a net positive, as we never would have agreed otherwise. I'm expecting a nice raise, and a tidy sum in retro pay. As a result, it will become less advantageous to leave, as I'm giving up more money than before. One could say I should have expected this to happen at some point, but I honestly didn't. I can also expect at least one more contract to be negotiated before my time is done, with the attendant increases to follow.
Salvaging my retirement, while still important, is no longer the Sword of Damocles dangling above my head. My accounts have grown significantly, and with my short-term debts paid off, I have been pouring money into my 401(A) at a nice clip. Effectively, I've reached, or am close to reaching, a tipping point, where I'm just as good staying here as leaving. The situation isn't perfect, and I'm earmarking money I wouldn't have needed to, if I had checked two boxes instead of one. Still, I will be in a position to support myself and Carolyn. Once word of the new contract was given, I spent the better part of two days crunching numbers, check to see what I'd have saved if I retired at 55, 59 1/2, and 62, calculating returns of 6, 8, and 11%, and examining increases in contributions based on the possible raises we are getting in the new contract, and how much I would add as well. It was a fun exercise, though the numbers aren't exact, serving only as a rough guide. Much depends on the rate of return, but with a raise, and the aforementioned tax abatement strategy, I can save gobs of money in my TIAA-CREF accounts. The aim of getting a pension is still there, but is no longer the primary driver of the choices I'm making. I'm not a good enough writer to describe the feeling of relief I have at this development. Actually, I could thing up a few choice metaphors, but they're all sexual in nature and my girlfriend reads this blog. Now if you'll pardon me, I need a cigarette and a change in shorts.
The biggest financial change, and by far the most unexpected, was my tax return for 2016. I've used Turbo Tax for years, and felt I did a good job, but I guess I was mistaken. My friend Mike, whom I met through Scott, found deductions I didn't know I had, to the point he more than doubled my federal return, and took me from a small New York State bill to a $900 refund. This money allowed me to payoff my final short-term debt, and in addition to allowing me to increase my retirement savings beyond what I was already doing, has allowed me to build a small financial cushion. That buffer is not where it needs to be, but I only started 6 weeks ago. More important was Mike's vast pool of knowledge concerning money. When I explained to him my frustrations and my plans, he calmly gave me a starting point for my own business, based in a model I already picked out, and what to do for the long term, real estate in this case, and how to maximize my tax savings no matter what I chose. I was always focused on a particular outcome concerning a business, one that was so specific that it seemed impossible to attain. This resulted in little to no real work. Mike taught me I needed to concentrate on the right structure, so that I could meld my personal financial situation with that of my business, generating tax savings as well as profits, with profits being the secondary concern, at least for the first two years. Real estate is where the true money is made, but crawling before I walk, the business is first. Moreover, you need the numbers to work, and we're in a massive real estate bubble, worse than in 2007. There will be opportunities, but they don't exist right now. With the money I'll save and hopefully earn with the company, name to be announced shortly, I can have available capital for investment properties after the markets regress to the mean. The specifics for both phases is beyond the scope of this post, so I'll dive into these waters in a later missive. However I choose to maximize my income, I realized that I earned plenty of money, but I wasn't keeping enough of it. That must not be the case going forward. I've always thought of ways to maximize my deductions, but not like this. One of my favorite techniques was to get used furniture for free and donate it, but bedbugs killed that idea. Anyway, from the first sentence, I was floored at the simplicity of his outline, and how easy he made it for me. He also said I could make a killing as a financial aid consultant. I replied I wouldn't no how to do that, and he stated I didn't know how to charge for it. Touche'. As we were talking, I had to ask myself the following: is this what students experience when they talk to me about college? Because it sure feels that way. I was humbled and prideful at the same time.
The financial changes, both in the practical sense, and the changes to my attitudes and behaviors, would have been enough for my to stop tilting at windmills, but the professional changes are also important. By this I mean the Excelsior Scholarship, and the difference in the way I view the program.
My first encounter with Excelsior was one of dismay. Although the details were sketchy, I knew it was a rush job, and the complaints, mistakes, delays, and misinformation would cause huge pain for me and my coworkers. Also, there was an existential crisis, at least for me. The good I do in this job seemed to disappear overnight, leaving me as nothing more than a paper pushing bureaucrat with no real value or purpose. I may have been that already, but I did feel there were times when I truly helped people, whether it was a friend trying to fix her defaulted student loan and return to school, or an overwhelmed family trying to make sense of competing scholarship offers from different colleges, wondering which one was the best choice. This wouldn't completely disappear, but it would be a tiny fraction instead of my main focus. The college would need financial aid less, I reasoned, since New York was paying the bills en masse. It was depressing all around.
So why do I feel differently as I write this? The training in Corning did nothing to allay my fears. If anything, the trip had worse news than I expected. There wasn't enough money to fully fund the program; as a result, there would be a lottery; returning students had priority; the academic standards were draconian, and the application wouldn't be ready until June. I digested this news over three days, using what free time I had to walk. Corning is small, but well-preserved, and made for pedestrians. I could traverse the 3.5 miles from my hotel to the conference if I felt ambitious, without any break in the sidewalks. I'm dedicated to my health, but not that much. In any event, multiple lengthy strolls and long talks with my boss gave me the chance to reflect. I knew there was something I wasn't quite understanding about the situation, but I couldn't place my finger on it. It hit me days later when I realized I was looking at this the wrong way. I was obsessing over the increased number of applications and students we'd need to service. I imagined the frantic calls from parents, from schools, churches, even the Benevolent and Protective Order of Elks could call me for all I knew, all of whom realized they'd been sold a bill of goods. I'd probably want to organize an info session for the all the junior EMT corps throughout Westchester. I though of all the extra work required, all the other people at the college I'd need to speak with, explaining this mess. I wasn't depressed any longer; I was despondent. Then it hit me: Excelsior wasn't the worst thing that could have happened to financial aid - it was the best! The power of this realization almost caused me to drive off the road, but once I regained my bearings, I understood that everything that made the program a disaster was a golden, nay, platinum opportunity for me and my colleagues. This isn't an aid program gone wrong; it's a work of fucking art. It is so beautiful in its malformation, so perfect in its imperfection, so genius in its stupidity, so rapturous in the pain it will inflict on all of us, that it can be described no other way but art. In a flash, the prospect of being replaced by computers wasn't an issue. Excelsior would need humans looking at applications, transcripts, and tax information. It would also require humans to explain to people why they aren't getting the program, or more accurately, why they aren't getting the program any more, which will be a much larger issue. Someone will need to speak to high schools, civic organizations, and other people at the college, explaining this nonsense. Well, who better than someone who is an excellent public speaker, adept at breaking down arcane financial aid regulations into something more easily understood, and just happened to be at the only training available for the entire state, because he felt like paying for it out of pocket, well before this program was even an (awful) idea? Wow, I'm getting all tingly as I type this. I'm not screwed; I'm saved. I'm already getting calls from Westchester high schools asking for my help. I now have more opportunity to do good, thanks to how they slapped this program together. Even better, the overtime will flow once more as we try to help the innumerable applicants who think they're going to school for free. They're not, obviously, though some will benefit, at least in the beginning. There's even the chance we'll get another counselor, but that's probably not going to happen. I'll take the overtime and run. Albany did fix a few things, but it's still an unwieldy mess, and it's still going to save my job. The best (or the worst?) part was that there was a right way to do this, as I mentioned in an earlier post: max out TAP, then go get lunch. If that had happened, then I'd be looking for PA programs throughout the United States, medical schools in the Caribbean, and taking 12 credits a semester. My bank account, physical health, social life, and girlfriend thank you Gov. Cuomo. Well done.
The final change was one that occurred and built up over the space of two years. I fell in love with a wonderful woman, Carolyn. She does not agree with my and Scott's gloomy predictions, and she certainly doesn't agree with me being a Republican. Nevertheless, we're together, and where she is, I will be as well. As such, any notion of going offshore is gone. I still subscribe to certain podcasts, read certain newsletters, and I would go to Simon Black's next conference in a heartbeat, but I stand with her, and if that means I must deal with the fallout of an economic and social collapse up close, then so be it. I'm taking the steps needed to be of use when this occurs: becoming and volunteering as an EMT, developing relationships within the first responder community, improving my health, getting my finances in order and deploying that money to insure I have the supplies and skills needed for a major crisis, and helping others get themselves ready. If Carolyn was more amenable to going abroad, then I would take additional steps, but it won't happen. I did get her to travel to Canada, and I'd love to take her to Greece, but that would be the extent of our wanderings.
Reviewing my posts on the subjects of expatriation and economic collapse, I'm struck at the prerequisite underpinning everything I've written. They all needed a solitary man in front of the keyboard. Did this pursuit assume I'd always be alone? Probably, yes, though I was trying to date and find a relationship. That's not the best question to ask, however. Did this goal insure I would be alone or did I use it as a shield to avoid doing the work required to develop a relationship? I did date, a little, but it never lasted until now. Not automatically for the first part, and there's some validity to the second part. Again, concentrating too much on the big issues outside of your control means you don't have to look at yourself. This leads to an even better question to ask: did both this goal and the points of view required, as well my near total lack of action, cause me to be alone? The answer is that it sure as shit didn't help. For those women who did not agree with my declarations, I must have sounded like Chicken Little at best, or a complete lunatic at worst. For those who did agree with me, or were at least willing to listen, I presented myself as someone just shouting into the wind, with no follow through. Either I didn't really believe what I was saying, or I was too weak or scared or lazy to do anything besides yapping. That's not an attractive look either way.
I've been hammering away at this post in one version or another for months. I've started, stopped, abandoned, then restarted it all over again. What made its completion possible is that I realized that this work, like any other writing, is a snapshot of conditions as they appear while you're putting pen to paper. I was looking for permanence in a world that never offered such a state. My circumstances do feel more settled, but the situations I've described above aren't fixed in amber, and the plans I'm making as a result of my suppositions may be as flawed as anything else I've undertaken. The County Executive, Rob Astorino, could veto our new contract, just as he did for the school's CSEA contract, freezing our pay for the foreseeable future, or Albany could work out the problems of Excelsior, advancing our irrelevancy. There will come a time where automation and changes to higher education will put us out to pasture; the question has always been whether or not I'll make it to my own finish line before the world of education reaches its own end - and new beginning. With what I discovered about business, the help I've gained, and my new willingness to risk failure, I'm less concerned than I have been. I feel ahead of the curve for once, being proactive rather than reactive. If I were a little more circumspect in my writing style, my posts would stand the test of time better than they do. Still, delving deeper into the psychology behind these essays, I realize now I was doing things backwards. Instead of living by principles, I was living by outcomes. Everything had to be perfect, which isn't possible. There's also the possibility that somewhere deep in my subconscious I didn't feel all the extra work was needed, or that I was so angry at myself for my innumerable mistakes that I was passive-aggressively protesting, shaking my fist at the world, hurting only myself.
None of what's written above should be interpreted to mean I'm somehow done, or that I've arrived. I cannot rest on my laurels, because I don't have any on which to plant my ass. What I do have is a start, and direction, and some self-confidence, where before I didn't. I'm happy with myself in a way I've probably never experienced before, and no matter what happens, I hold that feeling in the palm of my hand and hold it gently. I'm in love with a beautiful woman who loves me in return, and we get to build a life together, making our two separate existences into one shared experience. There's plenty of work to be done, but I have the chance to do that work, and that is a miracle for someone not 5 1/2 years ago was so obsessed with the world collapsing around him that I didn't do anything to stop the fact that I was slowly killing myself. My friends did, and brought me out of that darkness into the light, where I stand now.
At my core, I'm an academic. Whether I express that calling by speaking in front of a group of high school seniors and their families, or teach a class on using the Internet in 1998 at Shawnee Inn, is unimportant. I will always question and study and ruminate on life, and the question I'm asking as I type this is: what makes change possible for the individual? It's a fascinating subject, and with all my experiences and my relationships, I'm struck at how difficult true change really is, and I wonder if the changes I've made are real or not. I hope so. For the sake of argument, let's say that it is real, at least for now. Of everything I've just written, what was the most important change that occurred? The answer, of course, was the change in my attitudes and beliefs. Where before I saw only strife and mistakes, today I see opportunity, both for my own benefit, and the chance to help others. Changes in behavior followed, or was it the other way around? I cannot say. What made all that possible? Was the culmination of difficult personal work, healing the wounds of the past? Was it my relationship? Was it my getting older to the point I couldn't blame anyone or anything for my situation but myself? Was it all of those things combined, or was it something else entirely I cannot see at this moment? I don't know. Changes in people's circumstances happen everyday. Why do some alter course, while others are swept away by the riptides of life? I could examine this topic endlessly and never tire of the subject. Come to think of it, wouldn't that make an excellent dissertation topic for a PhD or a Master's thesis?
Nah. Now if you'll excuse me, Excelsior Shipping, my new Fulfilled by Amazon (FBA) business, name suggested by Mike, needs some attention.
Tuesday, May 02, 2017
I had an idea in '95, or...
I'm feeling old.
The Psychology of Aging was one of my favorite classes at FIU, partly because of the bubbly (and yes, mega-cute) grad assistant who taught the course, but also because of two ideas she explored, which resulted in two of the few good, overarching theories I've had in my life. The ideas were that research showed that older people are happier when they're separated from society at large. The class groaned it's disapproval, but she was (pleasantly) insistent. The other idea taught by our Ph. D. candidate was that people are most creative in their early to mid-twenties, and basically spend the rest of their lives refining and building on these ideas. This assumes someone has a good idea worth exploring, of course. From these notions, two ideas sprang into my mind over the couse of my undergraduate studies. One was that long-term homelessness should be diagnosed as a form of mental illness, separate and distinct from any other presentations. I developed this supposition after reading an article in the Miami New Times concerning homeless youth. The social worker interviewed stated that they have two months before living on the streets takes such a toll that they can't really help the kids affected. After that, people will do anything to survive: drugs, crime, trading sex for a place to sleep, eating out of dumpsters, whatever it took. As someone who has been on the street, the stress is enormous. I would pack bedding in my backpack, head to campus, sleep at a construction site, then shower at the gym. This went on for some time. I was working, but didn't make enough to pay rent, and the dorms were closed for the term. I just needed to limp along until April, when I could head back to Shawnee Inn and live in employee housing.
Aside from the stress, which the average person would expect, there was another effect I didn't realize would occur: there's a perverse freedom to being homeless. You have no real bills; you live only day to day with no requirement that you plan for the future, and your only real concern is a safe place to sleep that night and scrounging food. If you get sick or hurt, you head to the emergency room and they have to treat you. You don't answer to anything or anyone, and none of those who are similarly situated judge you for what you do to survive. The longer you're out of doors, the less savory those options become. You become almost feral, neglecting to bathe, change your clothes, etc. This didn't occur to me, as I did want to look good for class. One of my fellow students told me later I failed, but it was the effort that counted. I broke out of this situation when someone who was also sleeping rough started to show me how to store stuff, get certain types of luggage, and where to find free food. He felt we were simpatico, though I didn't. Still, I knew my mindset was changing in a way that scared the shit out of me, and his tutelage confirmed my fears. I asked a friend for help, and I reintegrated into a normal life. That was at about the two month mark, proving the social worker's theory. My personal experiences aside, the idea stuck with me, and friends who work in mental hospitals agree with my assessment.
The other theory dovetailed with older people being happier living in smaller, isolated communities, apart from the greater culture. If this is correct, then I posited you can measure someone's mental and emotion youthfulness by how well he or she adjusts to the world at large. The older you are in your spirit, the less you're able to adapt. It sounds terrible, and maybe it is, but as a middle-aged man, I can feel it's effects. I listen primarily to music that was new when I was young; all my closest friends are around my age, with a language and shared cultural connections forged over decades. I am friends who are younger, much so in some cases, but I can't relate to their life situations for thew most part. Someone not following me on Instagram does not keep me up at night. My ability to manage the rapid changes in on both society at large and my own personal situation has diminished somewhat, partly because I disagree, but also because by the time I get a handle on it, more change has happened. I'm always playing catch-up, with only a little success. Could I try harder? Sure, but there's a limit to that as well. One, I've always been a bit apathetic to major cultural shifts (I am a Gen-X'er, after all), hidden by my youthful flexibility. Before, I would shrug my shoulders, now I recoil.Two, my time and energy, both limited resources, are better spent with my girlfriend, her son, her puppies, my immediate and extended family, my friends, my job, taking care of myself both in the short-term and for the long-term, and volunteering, rather than trying to figure out the best uses for fictional gender-less pronouns.
So some of this is caused by a very busy, adult life; some of it is caused by my becoming a cranky old man, and some of it is caused my a slightly diminished ability to adapt. Blame my age; blame sleep apnea; blame technology changing the world so quickly that the human mind can't keep up. Whatever the cause, don't dismiss the phenomena as fiction. It's been stymieing me for months now, and preventing me from making plans. I feel I finally have all the data needed to allow me to move forward - I hope. Tomorrow (and I mean tomorrow May 3rd.), things might be dramatically different all over again.
The Psychology of Aging was one of my favorite classes at FIU, partly because of the bubbly (and yes, mega-cute) grad assistant who taught the course, but also because of two ideas she explored, which resulted in two of the few good, overarching theories I've had in my life. The ideas were that research showed that older people are happier when they're separated from society at large. The class groaned it's disapproval, but she was (pleasantly) insistent. The other idea taught by our Ph. D. candidate was that people are most creative in their early to mid-twenties, and basically spend the rest of their lives refining and building on these ideas. This assumes someone has a good idea worth exploring, of course. From these notions, two ideas sprang into my mind over the couse of my undergraduate studies. One was that long-term homelessness should be diagnosed as a form of mental illness, separate and distinct from any other presentations. I developed this supposition after reading an article in the Miami New Times concerning homeless youth. The social worker interviewed stated that they have two months before living on the streets takes such a toll that they can't really help the kids affected. After that, people will do anything to survive: drugs, crime, trading sex for a place to sleep, eating out of dumpsters, whatever it took. As someone who has been on the street, the stress is enormous. I would pack bedding in my backpack, head to campus, sleep at a construction site, then shower at the gym. This went on for some time. I was working, but didn't make enough to pay rent, and the dorms were closed for the term. I just needed to limp along until April, when I could head back to Shawnee Inn and live in employee housing.
Aside from the stress, which the average person would expect, there was another effect I didn't realize would occur: there's a perverse freedom to being homeless. You have no real bills; you live only day to day with no requirement that you plan for the future, and your only real concern is a safe place to sleep that night and scrounging food. If you get sick or hurt, you head to the emergency room and they have to treat you. You don't answer to anything or anyone, and none of those who are similarly situated judge you for what you do to survive. The longer you're out of doors, the less savory those options become. You become almost feral, neglecting to bathe, change your clothes, etc. This didn't occur to me, as I did want to look good for class. One of my fellow students told me later I failed, but it was the effort that counted. I broke out of this situation when someone who was also sleeping rough started to show me how to store stuff, get certain types of luggage, and where to find free food. He felt we were simpatico, though I didn't. Still, I knew my mindset was changing in a way that scared the shit out of me, and his tutelage confirmed my fears. I asked a friend for help, and I reintegrated into a normal life. That was at about the two month mark, proving the social worker's theory. My personal experiences aside, the idea stuck with me, and friends who work in mental hospitals agree with my assessment.
The other theory dovetailed with older people being happier living in smaller, isolated communities, apart from the greater culture. If this is correct, then I posited you can measure someone's mental and emotion youthfulness by how well he or she adjusts to the world at large. The older you are in your spirit, the less you're able to adapt. It sounds terrible, and maybe it is, but as a middle-aged man, I can feel it's effects. I listen primarily to music that was new when I was young; all my closest friends are around my age, with a language and shared cultural connections forged over decades. I am friends who are younger, much so in some cases, but I can't relate to their life situations for thew most part. Someone not following me on Instagram does not keep me up at night. My ability to manage the rapid changes in on both society at large and my own personal situation has diminished somewhat, partly because I disagree, but also because by the time I get a handle on it, more change has happened. I'm always playing catch-up, with only a little success. Could I try harder? Sure, but there's a limit to that as well. One, I've always been a bit apathetic to major cultural shifts (I am a Gen-X'er, after all), hidden by my youthful flexibility. Before, I would shrug my shoulders, now I recoil.Two, my time and energy, both limited resources, are better spent with my girlfriend, her son, her puppies, my immediate and extended family, my friends, my job, taking care of myself both in the short-term and for the long-term, and volunteering, rather than trying to figure out the best uses for fictional gender-less pronouns.
So some of this is caused by a very busy, adult life; some of it is caused by my becoming a cranky old man, and some of it is caused my a slightly diminished ability to adapt. Blame my age; blame sleep apnea; blame technology changing the world so quickly that the human mind can't keep up. Whatever the cause, don't dismiss the phenomena as fiction. It's been stymieing me for months now, and preventing me from making plans. I feel I finally have all the data needed to allow me to move forward - I hope. Tomorrow (and I mean tomorrow May 3rd.), things might be dramatically different all over again.
