2019: The Year of the Buzz

I wrote a blog post about New Year’s resolutions in 2015.

I blasted people for setting unrealistic goals and hammered on about consistency and loving the process and hard work. Blah blah blah.

It was a typical piece from mid-twenties Aaron, obnoxiously self-assured, critical, yet simultaneously optimistic and positive in tone. The things a man can do with a full head of hair.

At the end of my rant, like a true smart-ass, I made a resolution for 2015 anyway, proclaiming, “this year I am going to travel.”

Well shit… that changed my life.

2019 Aaron has nothing bad to say about New Year’s resolutions. How could he?

Just do me a favor and pause before you commit to the 200 dollar monthly membership fee at your local Equinox. We don’t have warmed eucalyptus towels, but Fitness 19 is happy to have you for… you guessed it…19 bucks a month. You won’t feel so bad when you stop coming by February.

epic-gym-fail-treadmill

The smashing success of yesteryear’s facetious resolution in mind, I set aside time for reflection and personal inventory during the holidays. Where can I improve? What can I change this year? How can I be better? You know, those super unique questions that no one else is asking themselves at the end of December.

After answering all of the ubiquitous questions I came to a realization, a personal truth of sorts: I sucked at being ME in 2018. Now I’m not saying I’m the bee’s knees or anything, but I have some redeeming qualities, one or two at least. And one of the qualities that defines me most is my persistent pestering. Seriously. I am a professional nuisance. The prince of pests.

I BUG.

And not always in a bad way. Let me explain…

I love people. And if I care about you, you will hear it. If I am thinking about you, I will fire off a quick text and let you know.

If we ditched work when were were 19 and drove to Rosarito listening to the T.I. vs T.I.P. album all the way to Mexico, I will text you EVERY time I hear Big Shit Poppin’ (what’s up Cory? Miss you bro). If I walk past you in the mall and we make eye contact and you’re with your side-chick and really don’t want to stop for a chat, I WILL come over and say hello. If you call me, I will answer. Text me and your boy will text right back. If I drive by your house, chances are I’ll pop in for a quick hello around dinner time. I keep in close contact with my family and my friends and just about anyone with a pulse.

My craving for layered and genuine human connection can also have residual effects. I’m no Anthony Bourdain, but I LOVE cooking for the people in my life. And nothing makes me happier than sitting back and observing two groups of friends meeting for the first time and hitting it off.

Softball friends, meet my surfing buddies.

or

Falicia, we suck together romantically but I think you should meet my brother’s girlfriend, Lacey, she needs friends. I bet you’ll become besties and she’ll ask you to be her bridesmaid one day.” Boom. True story.

That’s me, and I learned from the best.

My Momma.

Even though she passed nearly seven years ago, our family is still finding unopened letters and handwritten notes letting the recipient know that she was simply “thinking of them.” I still have the voicemails, “Hey mijo! I was thinking of you and missed your voice. You’re probably surfing, let’s Skype when you’re done!” Her love was not passive, it was work.

Every time I told my mother I loved her the response was the same. Three words. “Love you more.”  She didn’t, but she sure as hell was better at showing it. She spread it too. Ana always had an extra place (or three) at her table. Family gatherings were familial only in name. My mother built a community of friends that otherwise would have never mixed. A home built on inclusion, never exclusion. A home with doors wide open, laid on a foundation of active love. That is her legacy, a legacy I was pretty damned good at perpetuating.

But I lost something when I came back from Spain.

Friends.

No seriously, my phone was on Do Not Disturb most of the year and people really seemed to hate that.

Jokes aside, my mother’s legacy is a taxing one. A vast amount of emotional capital is invested when you’re constantly the person reaching out, bridging gaps that space and time can bring. When the love isn’t reciprocated, it stings. A few unanswered texts and calls can make the life of a recluse seem alluring. Perhaps the move back to the States had me feeling lost, and when you’re lost and lonely a cocoon looks pretty damn comfortable. I know I said I bug, but I ain’t no caterpillar.

Damn it. No more bug jokes.

And no more Do Not Disturb. My phone is now set on vibrate. 2019 is the year of the buzz (NOT a bug joke).

Sometimes, without noticing, and for no apparent reason, we deviate from prior successes. We tend to get swept up by the shimmer of new and forget that we were already pretty damned good at a few things. The self-help/change your mind, change your life industry is just that, an industry. An 11 billion dollar industry! Let me save you some change friends… do you. Do more of what you’re good at. Maximize the gifts that you have been blessed with and spread them ’round. Answer your phone. Write a love note. Call your grandma! I’m off to call mine.

Happy New Year!

 

 

 

 

 

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The Pursuit of Happiness

My hairline is dropping back.

Like, way back.

Everyday I take a shower and rub in some expensive conditioner that’s supposed to thicken my ever-thinning man mane.

After applying the fraudulent product I always pull my hands down and assess the damage.

On a good day, there are only two or three black strands lying limp between my fingers.

I praise the brittle, dead hairs for fighting valiantly and them let slide away, down the drain, to Valhalla.

A Viking burial.

Luckily, my head isn’t shaped too oddly, so once I give up the good fight and shave I think I’ll be able to pull the look off. My younger brother Daniel, who looks just like me with bigger ears and more body hair, has been pioneering the Lex Luthor with moderate success for about two years now.

My brown, furry, Brooks Brothers-wearing guinea pig.

Not all heroes wear capes.

 

Cure-For-Baldness

 

As I processed and eventually accepted the inevitable arrival of shiny-headed Aaron, I began to take a look at my life on a grander scale. Okay, to be honest, that’s bullshit. I’m always analyzing. Over the last six or seven years I have pounded introspective processes and mindfulness into my routines. Plato said, “an unexamined life is not worth living,” and I examine the shit out of mine, probably to a fault. I’m working on it. Writing helps.

That’s actually one of my favorite things about writing. Sure I love to motivate and make you guys laugh, but if nothing else, my blog posts and short stories serve as my own digital roadmap. With one click of the mouse I can revisit my old pieces and analyze past perspectives. I can see exactly how I felt about my career path or my personal relationships or my abuelito thinking I’m gay.

So, no. I didn’t need a case of male pattern baldness to catalyze self-examination, but the gradual and consistent reminder of my ‘maturation’ served as a reference point. And it reminded me of an article published by my life guru Mark Manson called, “The Four Stages of Life.”

In his article Mark lays out his simple theory about, you guessed it, the four stages of life. Let me give you the Readers Digest version:

Stage One: Mimicry

Mark calls his first stage of life ‘Mimicry.’ In the first stage of life humans learn to navigate the world, both physically and socially, by mimicking those around them. Young humans are like little sponges, observing and imitating the behaviors of parents and siblings and the snotty-nosed punks they go to kindergarten with as they learn to navigate the world. Once an individual develops the capacity to make rational decisions and act independently, they move on to Stage Two, ‘Self-Discovery.’

Stage Two: Self-Discovery

Stage Two usually begins in late adolescence or early adulthood and lasts until a person reaches their mid-twenties or mid-thirties. As the name suggests, these newly autonomous individuals set out on a journey of self-exploration.

Manson says it best,

In Stage One, we learn to fit in with the people and culture around us. Stage Two is about learning what makes us different from the people and culture around us. Stage Two requires us to begin making decisions for ourselves, to test ourselves, and to understand ourselves and what makes us unique.

This stage of experimentation can manifest itself in a myriad of ways. Some go to college. Some try various jobs and career paths, others experiment sexually. Whoa, that sentence escalated quickly. But it’s true.

Some people prefer to try drugs, lots of drugs. Still others yearn to explore in a more physical and temporal manner, setting off to travel for extended periods of time (cough, cough). After some time running through the gauntlet of experimentation, most people begin to reach their limitations.

In short, we figure out where we excel and where we, well, suck. We discover the things we like and the things that move us. We also begin to realize that some of the things we experimented with don’t serve us in the marathon of life. Our strengths and weaknesses become apparent and we begin to envision a general course for our lives.

Stage Three: Commitment

Stage Three is the commitment stage, the time to start setting some roots.

Manson writes,

Stage Three is the great consolidation of one’s life. Out go the friends who are draining you and holding you back. Out go the activities and hobbies that are a mindless waste of time. Out go the old dreams that are clearly not coming true anytime soon.

The very genesis of this blog was sparked by a personal quest to finalize my transition from step two to three. I stood at a turning point. I jumped and brought ya’ll along for the ride. I had vision and a sense of purpose and damn, it felt good.

One more ride on the experimentation express and I’m done, I swear. I can remember the sense of assuredness that coursed through my veins as I typed the question (and subsequently answered myself )”… do you want to quit your day job and travel the world before you start teaching again? Fuck yes. ” 2015 Aaron was a smug little bastard.

But the bridge between self-exploration and commitment has been everything but easy.

As I travelled my sense of purpose surged. I found great joy in meeting fresh faces and exploring new cities. I was invigorated by exposure to foreign ways of thinking and the customs that accompanied those mindsets. I thought my passion rested in exploration, so coming back home hurt. I mourned my time abroad instead of celebrating it. I took a good paying job in an industry I knew nothing about and frankly, didn’t ‘love.’ After years of writing and telling you guys to break the chains of complacency and go for broke, I felt like a sell out. I had an ocean view, a shiny new car, and a shitty attitude.

After months of wallowing I realized something that seems obvious in hindsight… traveling is not my passion, I was just blessed with an opportunity to do some really cool stuff during my stage of self-discovery. Mr. Manson says screw finding your passion, I say amen brother. But we all get caught up trying to find that “p-word” these days. It’s all around us. Every time we open our smart phones it slaps us in the face. We are constantly drowning in an endless array of options, doggy paddling through pictures and inspirational captions of our smiling friends ‘never conforming,’ ‘chasing their passion,’ and ‘catching flights not feelings.’ This never-ending barrage of imagery leaves us ill-equipped to deal with the levels of cognitive dissonance that come with commitment.

For right-swiping, Instagram obsessed Millennials, stage three is scary.

You mean to tell me that I have to pick one career? One vacation destination? One lover? Billy is in Bali swimming with sea turtles and homie hasn’t had a job in like five years. Ooh, Brett and Bonnie just bought a house. How the hell do I buy a house? I don’t have a cool million lying around. Fuck Brett. Damn, I need a wife. What should I eat for lunch? A burrito. It’s always a burrito.  (All names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Fuck you Brett.)

I may have gotten carried away with the alliterations in my “scrolling through Instagram inner monologue” but you can see how this over exposure to a false reality made up entirely of success and accomplishments can lead to low self efficacy, envy, and hell… even depression. These modern day highlight reels also cultivate indecisiveness and wire our brains to crave constant distraction. At the very least, high levels of social media usage can alter our daily moods, effecting our overall sense of happiness, productivity and personal relationships.

It’s no wonder older generations have taken to calling Millennials the Slash Generation, referencing their inability to commit to one specific career path. The fact that a high number of Millennials feel that they have no influence in the workforce doesn’t help. How are we supposed to be passionate if we don’t think we can make a difference?

Maybe we’re just asking ourselves the wrong questions.

Instead of seeking to align our careers with our passions or looking for our life’s purpose, perhaps we should simply ask ourselves “what can we do with our time that is important?” And for me, that subtle shift in questioning has made all difference. The need to constantly over-analyze my path and purpose has been lifted ever so slightly. The pressure has been lessened. I’ll take it. It’s all about progress, not perfection. Thanks Mark.

The question has also helped eliminate negative thinking patterns and unproductive habits that snuck their way into my daily routines. The shift is gradual and requires constant tending, but I can feel the difference. No, managing a small business who’s signature service is killing German cockroaches is not my passion, but learning how to be an effective manager and leader is definitely important. The volunteer work I do through my church with the immigrant community is important. Being in close proximity to my family and spending quality time with them is important. Building capital to provide stability and security for my future family is very important.

I feel better about it.

Perhaps you do too. If not, try getting off your phone ya dummy.

Now quick, let me tell you about Stage Four so you can take your dog for a walk or something and get some fresh air.

Stage Four: Legacy

The last stage of life is all about cementing one’s legacy. After decades of dedication to whatever it is an individual deemed worthy of their commitment, a person enters into the last phase of their life, working to ensure that their hard work survives, even if they do not.

Stage Four is important psychologically because it makes the ever-growing reality of one’s own mortality more bearable. As humans, we have a deep need to feel as though our lives mean something. This meaning we constantly search for is literally our only psychological defense against the incomprehensibility of this life and the inevitability of our own death. To lose that meaning, or to watch it slip away, or to slowly feel as though the world has left you behind, is to stare oblivion in the face and let it consume you willingly.

At a young age, after enduring some difficult seasons, I gained the understanding that Stage Four is a luxury. Many of us never get a Legacy Stage. Others are forced to scramble in haste, scratching and clawing to ensure their legacies will be protected.

I suppose I’ll worry about Stage Four when I get there, but I have a feeling I’m on the right track.

A little less scrolling and a little more gratitude goes a long way.

It feels good to be back.

 

 

 

 

Drowning with a Smile

the-road-less-traveled

 

September 30th marked my one year “Quit-Your-Day-Job” anniversary.

A necessary deviation from a well-traveled path. An elevated perspective offered a snapshot of my life further up that road, and I didn’t like what I saw, so I jumped the fuck off the trail.

The decision has afforded me a plethora of life’s most precious commodity.

Time.

I have had time to explore.

Time to explore foreign lands and cultures, and perhaps more importantly, the expanses of my own mind. Time to read and learn and reflect and when the Muses have allowed… create. Time to laugh and breathe and love slowly.

A year of testing waters.

Dipping toes in tepid lakes to find the one worthy of a plunge.

I am not sure I have found her quite yet, but I have certainly discovered that I love to swim.

So here I am, back in Barcelona, doing the doggy-paddle as my professors try to drown me with Nietzsche and Aristotle.

And I couldn’t be happier.

 

 

The Power of the F-Bomb

Ralphie

My brother says I shouldn’t curse in my writing.

I told the little bro I’d do my best, but this one requires an F-bomb or two.

The first question people ask when I tell them about my plans to quit my job and travel abroad is usually something like:

What inspired you to do this?  

or

Whaaaaat? Why?

or

You’re an idiot.

Thanks Dad.

The truth is, there is no simple answer. There wasn’t one book read or conversation had that I can point to as the defining moment. The death of my mother certainly shifted my perspective. My recent trip to Europe opened my eyes to a sea of possibilities and alternate lifestyles. Reading books like this or blogs like that provided motivation and information.

But mostly, it was a lack of inspiration that forced me into action. 

Over the last couple of years, complacency slowly crept its way into my life and before I knew it, I was fully immersed. I had a good job and money in the bank. My apartment had an ocean view and cool sh… stuff was starting to accumulate in my garage. I had full benefits and a full refrigerator. Please don’t misinterpret me, I am grateful for my blessings. But was I happy? Not really. Was I growing as a man and challenging myself by taking risks and trying new things? No way Jose. As an educator, I believe in the importance of continual education and a devotion to lifelong learning. I can recall times in my life when my brain was like a sponge. I would stay up at night with stacks of history books piled around me, trying to satisfy my unquenchable curiosity about the world and the people that inhabit it, past and present.

Now, I just liked to Netflix and Chill.

Mark Manson, a former dating guru turned Entrepreneur/ Writer/Psychologist/All Around Bad Ass has a principle that I started applying to my life when I began feeling the effects of complacency. To the chagrin of my little brother, he calls it:

The Law of Fuck Yes or No 

Originally served as dating advice, “The Law of “Fuck Yes or No” states that when you want to get involved with someone new, in whatever capacity, they must inspire you to say “Fuck Yes” in order for you to proceed with them.”

Are you interested in going on another date with Ruth? Do you want to pursue a relationship with Sally Mae? Would you like to sleep with Virgil? I’m not sure why all of my examples sound like senior citizens, but if the answer isn’t a resounding Fuck Yes, then you’re wasting your time, and theirs. Like Mark says, “the best sex is “Fuck Yes” sex — i.e., both people are shouting “Fuck Yes” as they hop between the sheets together.” Life is too short to settle, it should be too sweet for maybes and grey areas. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like anything lukewarm.

The principle is rather straight forward and can be applied to anything. When I began asking myself Fuck Yes or No about certain areas in my life, it was clear that I needed to make some changes.

Since the Dodgers weren’t calling me to be their new shortstop any time soon, I began seriously considering my options. I knew that I wanted to get back in the classroom… eventually. There might be no higher calling or privilege than molding young minds. Perhaps I had taken the responsibility for granted during my student teaching, I will not repeat that mistake. I applied for my California teaching credential and should be receiving it any day now. Fuck yes.

But I also had another dream, I wanted to travel. I wanted to see the world, immerse myself in new cultures and customs and meet smiling faces along the way. I want to be able to teach the groms sitting in my history class from first hand experience. To tell them, “Yes, I’ve been there and it is a beautiful culture” or “yup, I went last summer and the place smells like shit. Seriously, don’t go there.” So I asked myself, do you want to quit your job and travel the world before you start teaching again?

You know the answer to that one.

Next I’ll show you how I’m making it happen, stay tuned!