First of all, it’s hot. Crazy hot. And it’s been hot for a long time and it’s not even August so it’ll continue to be hot for a long time to come. Why, oh why, did we move to Baltimore during a record-breaking winter and remain through a ridiculous summer? Oh, right – the sure thing.
For the most part, I like the sure thing. I think a sure thing is a lovely planning tool. It’s easy to make a budget when you know what kind of income you’re going to have. Working for the census, I didn’t know how long the job would last (and I’ve already made it safely through two layoffs, with another set of pink-slips being handed out on Friday the 30th). I didn’t know how much overtime would be allowed. But I sure as hell did the math on the guaranteed 40 hours at $18.54 plus the health and wellness payout of $3.35 (for the first 40 hours, not on overtime). And that money pays the bills.
There’s a problem with the sure thing. It’s limited. It’s sure, but it’s not going to result in fabulous unexpected gains. It usually doesn’t even result in fabulous unexpected happiness. It is what it is. It’s sure.
James has long been a proponent of the gamble, the hope, the wish, the maybe. If there’s a sure thing, it’s a trap. And you know what? He’s right.
Hawaii was hard on me. It was hard on James, too, but he felt it more socially/interpersonally. I felt it more as a contraction of options. We had so few places to go, so few jobs for which we could apply. Sure things were hard to come by, and every one we found spoke the same language of wait, wait, wait. We were looking at a decade in Hawaii before we’d be in a financial position to leave.
That was unacceptable. We’re leavers by nature. Four months is our average comfort time, and we can sometimes stretch that by moving within a geographical area. But there weren’t enough options to keep us in Hawaii for ten years. Even at six months each, that would have required twenty marinas, and Hawaii doesn’t have that many!
There are more marinas in Arizona than Hawaii. True story.
So the sure thing in Hawaii was the biggest bummer. And because I couldn’t find a decent sure thing, we gave up a boat that was capable of taking us anywhere, any time, in comfort and safety and happiness.
Doggedly plugging away at debt, at the boat work, at our books…this is a good and needful thing. But also needful is the opening up of opportunity. I’m ready for leaps and bounds.
We have a friend (hi Jason!) who has a grandfabulous idea. It’s an idea that needs the kinds of energy and skill that we have. And it could very well represent a leap in our traveling lives.
It’s not a sure thing. It’s a gamble. And I’m in. I’m throwing my time, energy, and expertise into the pot and watching the cards turn. If I can make it come out right, it will. If not, I will be richer for experience even if I’m poorer for some hours and attention I could have spent elsewhere.
So here goes. I’m entering a new phase. I will plug away and leap at the same time. I will open myself up and budget myself simultaneously. I will take on too much and make myself bigger so that I can handle it.
- Finish my book-in-progress and write the one that’s obsessing me right now.
- Bring our boat into condition to be more comfortable for the next winter than it was for the last.
- Maintain a connection with my body through exercise and other feel-good stuff. Wink.
- Earn extra dribs and drabs through piecework editing.
- Explore the idea of being a hands-on sex coach.
And last but not least:
- Build a socially and environmentally sustainable company from the ground up and reap the benefits of an entirely virtual business structure.
Leaping and bounding toward so many kinds of happiness. Keep your eyes open – who knows where we’ll be this time next year!