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Saturday, Sep 06, 2008
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Tour De Life by Beau Burriola |
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| Greetings, Dad, from your beach bum son | ||
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by Beau Burriola -
SGN Contributing Writer I stared into the brightest part of the candle and listened to the waves crash against the surf ... complete relaxation. I breathed to the tempo of the waves, feeling like I was floating. I stared at the just-started postcard to my dad and pondered some witty story to write. I'd been working on (or rather, thinking about it) for four days. I re-read what I wrote: "Greetings, Dad, from your beach bum son." That's as far as I got. I put the pen down and floated with the waves again. Zen. My only real decision of my day was what time to go and get a haircut, the rest being left to reading, writing, and biking. That's my life these days, just as I intended it. I spend my days wandering around to the bakery, to the little cafe on the water, or to the local art shops. I keep a journal. I doodle. I do only those things which I want to do and not one thing beyond. One month into my new lifestyle, I've more than relaxed; I've completely unwound and rewound myself the way I think I ought to be. I didn't feel guilty about taking so long writing the postcard. I'd probably take a couple more days. The urgency in my life has drained away completely. I can't really remember why I had so much urgency before. For more than ten years, I worked responsible jobs that gave me two weeks of vacation a year. I had a lease. I put money away for a rainy day. I volunteered and gave money to this and that community organization. I did everything you are supposed to do when you are a grown up, responsible, well-adjusted Gay man. I had nice furniture, dinner parties, expensive wine glasses, and plants. I had $15 dollar cocktails at happy hour with friends I couldn't really afford to hang out with. Then, after only ten years, I had enough. Two weeks a year wasn't enough. Working for the hope of a bigger home and nicer furniture wasn't enough. I didn't look forward to that kind of future anymore. So, I got creative. I worked out a way to work six or nine months a year and take three or six off. I'd save up my money, work hard, and then stop and live cheaply. I'd become one of those people who stops wanting and having more stuff and money and start being one of those people who has more time instead. I'm now one of those people. I'm getting my time back. It was an easy decision, but hard to get moving along. I thought about it for years. Most of my "responsible" friends advised me against quitting my job and selling off my stuff. They warned me of the consequences of inassurity, of poverty, of not "having." Listening to all the warnings, I was afraid. I still am. Assurity is important. Health insurance and money are important. Planning for tomorrow is important. Everyone will tell you that. But other things are important, too. My writing is important. Traveling leisurely is important. Month-long road trips and weeks-long visits to family are important. I don't think, though, that it has to be a question of one thing or the other. If you plan carefully, there isn't really any excuse to give up what you want to do. The hardest part of my decision was just in the doing: writing the resignation letter, selling off my things, and working out a plan. After that, it was pretty easy. The shift in my life has been seismic. I feel so much healthier. I imagine I look healthier, too. I am happier. Every single thing that used to fill up the hours of my day has been replaced entirely with a much more personal agenda. I can write in my journal for five hours straight, read a whole book in a day, practice my guitar chords, and discover all those things I forgot I enjoyed so much. I smile more. I spend more time with people I want to spend time with. Maybe one day I'll feel like taking that other road again. Maybe I'll decide that I have too much time on my hands. I doubt I'll decide I don't have enough stuff. For now, though, I'm glad that I stopped thinking about it and finally just did something. I put the pen down and stood up from the table. I'd finish the card another day. For the moment, I had a book on the nightstand to get back to. Beau Burriola is a writer with a backlog of reading, bike riding, and cake baking to attend to beaubrent@gmail.com |
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visit Beau at www.beaubrent.com
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