I am a man of consistency.

This trait has always been with me. I loved the comfort, the reliability, of racking up ever longer tenures at whatever were the main things in my life. I felt it made me accountable and mature – it demonstrated that I wasn’t just waffling in the wind, attracted to whatever shiny object was in front of me.

In school, I loved that I was in the same district from kindergarten through ninth grade, and I was positively crestfallen when my parents came home one day and announced we were moving, and that I would likely finish my school career in a different district. To my mom’s credit, after we moved, she dutifully drove me to my school, so I could finish junior high in the place I was comfortable. A funny thing, really, considering I’d be hard pressed to name something in my life I liked less than junior high school (maybe – maybe! – orthodontia). But not only was I committed to finishing ninth grade in the school where I had begun it, I spent those last few months of the school year trying to concoct a means to high school in the same district. In the end, though, it didn’t happen. I transferred school districts.

But as I aged, I was more in control of my own life. Despite my roommates best efforts to derail our year-long lease, I tried valiantly to stay in our duplex for the year, and felt it the height of failure that I had to break the lease and move back home.

But I learned from that mistake.

As my adulthood has now lasted longer than my childhood, I can look back on a string of consistency. I took pride in the length of my jobs (I’ve been with my current employer fifteen years and counting), and even the length of my car ownership (my record is 16+ years, and my current vehicle I’ve owned for 9 1/2 years). I love that I’ve lived in my house for over eight years – though I am always badgered by the shorter stints at other residences – because as I walk through it, I can see signs of the changes, the improvements I’ve made, everywhere.

I even carry this into my kids’ lives, trying to ensure consistency for them. When it was time to leave the house where Owen lived for his first 2 1/2 years, I was sad. Partly for me, yes, because I knew it would mean another change, but also for him. I wanted him to grow up in the same house from birth to adulthood. And when it was time to leave the apartment, I was again sad that 6-yr-old Owen would have to move again, and I was even more sad that Isla (who was 13 months-old) would never remember the home where she was born. And I fought against changes in life that almost meant Owen would have to transfer out of his elementary school, and I was even disappointed when his elementary school removed their 6th-grade, because that meant his tenure their would only be six years, instead of seven. But now I’m proud that Emmett has lived his entire life in one house, and all of my kids attend the same school – and I hope they will all graduate from it in due time.

I also took pride in the length of my marriage, and I counted the days that passed as it eclipsed, in length, the marriages of other friends and family members, just as I have taken silent satisfaction in my home-ownership outlasting those of other people in my life. I even view it as a feature of my life that I’ve always been a Minnesota, that I’ve spent most of every month of my life in Minnesota, and that everywhere I’ve ever lived, worked, and schooled has been within 50 miles of where I am right now.

I have books, games, music, and other paraphernalia from decades ago. When I start something, I finish it. It took me eight years to complete my junior and senior years of college. It took me 20 years to complete my goal of seeing every Alfred Hitchcock film. It took me three years to reconstruct my lists after my dad threw them away, and it’s taken me 30 years to maintain them til today. But I’ve done it. You can count on that. I am a reliable, consistent person. Like the song says, “I’m here in my mold, I am here in my mold…I can’t change my mold, no, no, no, no, no.”

So, I take pride in my consistency. But consistency isn’t permanence.

 

ETA: Or perhaps not? At a recent meeting with a financial advisor (his advice? make more money), he qualified that “Permanent” essentially means “until we change it.”

Yesterday was Saturday, September 7, 2019.

It was too cold. Too cloudy. I woke up with a headache. The movies I watched were terrible. I should’ve turned on some music, but I forgot. So, yeah, it wasn’t a perfect day.

But it was nearly perfect.

I was at the cabin, having arrived the evening before. During the past two years, I’ve spent time by myself at the cabin, and it’s been wonderful. I’ve read, watched movies, ate and drank what I wanted, gone to bed and woke up without an alarm, and worked on whatever projects I wanted to.

Yesterday was similar.

After the headache went away, I made a list of what I wanted to do that day, and I accomplished all of it. I finished one movie and watched another. I read over 30 pages in one book, and then over 50 pages in another book. I walked out on the dock – contemplated taking out a boat, but didn’t (too cold). I made a bonfire, and sat near it to read and drink iced tea. I worked on a couple projects. I went for a walk all the way to the end of the street and back (a two-mile walk). Here’s proof I got to the end of the street:

I just love this Spy vs. Spy sign!

 

 

 

 

 

 

I snapped some photos of the most picturesque mushrooms I could find:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And some photos of a little turtle who hung out with me for a while:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here was the really great thing, though:

The whole day, and for what I believe is the first time in my life, I didn’t interact with anyone. I never said hi, never nodded or waved in anyone’s direction. Didn’t send out any texts or messages. Didn’t make or receive any phone calls. Didn’t spend a single second on the internet, so if I got any emails or any sort of online messages, I didn’t see them. I never turned on the radio or the television, either. If any mail arrived in the mailbox, I didn’t know about it. I saw a few people – there were some out on the lake, and at the cabin next door, and I saw some while out for my walk. But no interaction whatsoever.

Also, I didn’t buy anything, didn’t sell anything, didn’t drive anywhere – never even turned on my car, in fact.

And it. was. glorious.

What was going on with everyone else everywhere else in the world on Saturday, September 7th, 2019? I had no idea, and I didn’t care. I need more days like yesterday.

Oh – I guess I did interact with one other individual yesterday. Here’s that interaction:

“The things you put in your head are there forever.”
-Cormac McCarthy, The Road

Four times in the last two months, I’ve had to travel to Dakota County for various events and appointments. More specifically, I’ve had to travel to the cities I lived in – Burnsville, Lakeville, and Apple Valley. Each time brought with it a flood of memory.

When I saw the sign for Apple Valley, I noticed it now boasts over 49,000 inhabitants – up from 34,000 that was on the sign when I moved into the city, and the 45,000 that was on the sign when I moved out.

And then there’s every building: so many had new owners. “Oh, that used to be a Burger King; I see it’s a Kane’s now.” and “Rainbow Foods used to be there.” And I remembered that one spot where I filmed part of a video with a friend, and that other spot where my grandfather took me to practice for my driver’s license, and that other spot where I went to the theater with Jennifer and her sister Kara, and how I whined about the movie afterward, and Kara rolled her eyes at me. I slowed down as I passed one strip mall, to see if the fish store I used to blow my money at was still there.

During one of the visits, I drove down the street I used to live on, and stopped in front of the town home – and I immediately remembered so much – playing with my sister when we were kids, all the religious meetings held in our basement, all the times I dragged the TV and VCR into my room at night to watch a movie, making out with my girlfriend in the basement, housesitting when the rest of my family was on vacation, coming to visit my dad when he injured his foot, stopping to see my mom when she had important news to tell me, bringing Owen there to be with my mom and our family dog, and finally visiting there when my mom invited me over for dinner to meet the man she intended to marry. And not only that, I remembered the dates of all those events, and what was said, and what else was happening in my life at that time.

Really, each time I went, I was so overcome with memories I found it hard to pay attention to the road. More than once I had to stop short so I didn’t hit the car in front of me. There’s so much emotion, so much regret, I don’t really like going to those cities.

The other day, I was having dinner with a friend, and he related a funny story that happened once when he went out to dinner with his wife. But he couldn’t remember which wife – was it his current wife? Or his previous wife? This, to me, was the most fascinating part of the story. How could he not know? I would know.

In fact, I would know too much. I once apologized to that same friend about something rude I said to him. “When did you say that?” he asked. “In July 1995,” I said. “Really?” he asked, “Where were we?” and I had to explain the whole situation – an event he had entirely removed from his memory. Geez, I was so jealous. I feel I would be so much happier if every month, every year, was simply the present – the moment to be lived in – rather than another chapter in a memorized book of mistakes and wrong turns. A book where I can go back each time and figure out where I made the wrong decision, or where I was cheated or hornswoggled into what is now the current predicament. I wish each grievance was simply that: an unfortunate thing that is happening or that must be endured, rather than the nth time I’ve experienced something. Like I’ve explained dozens of times, what makes me annoyed or mad or discouraged with my kids, my job, my cars, and even myself isn’t that something didn’t go right, it’s that it didn’t go right for the hundredth time. For example, when my 5-yr-old asks for a snack as I lay him in bed at night, the annoyance isn’t that he’s asked…it’s that he’s asked for the thousandth time.

When memory works too good, it just serves as a repository for shame and regret and melancholy thoughts about events and situations that shouldn’t matter anymore. They shouldn’t matter because they don’t exist anymore. But they do exist – in my mind.

What was the last movie you saw in the theater?

What was the last concert you attended?

How many times have you left your home state this year?

When was the last time you saw your best friend? Flown on an airplane? Ate your favorite food? Slept somewhere besides your home? Bought a car? Got in a car accident?

What! You don’t know?

I know.

In late 2010, I joined Toastmasters, an organization for improving speaking and leadership skills. I really enjoyed it, and within a year I had become an officer in the club (I was the club Secretary), and made swift progress toward my goals. In fact, within a few years, I had progressed further than anyone else in the club.

Here’s how it works (or, worked, to be more precise, but I’ll get to that): A new member gets two workbooks, one for communication, and one for leadership. Completing the projects in either of those books gains a member an award and the status of Competent Communicator or Competent Leader, respectively. Then there are more workbooks – various ones a member can choose to suit their preferences – with other projects that lead to a bronze, silver, and gold level. Once they’ve completed all that, they’re a Distinguished Toastmaster, the highest level you can attain.

Soon after joining, I made it my goal to become a Distinguished Toastmaster. One day. There was no rush, and since I was busy with school, work, and parenting, I knew it would take time.

But then Toastmasters International changed the rules.

Last year, they rolled out a new program for giving speeches and other projects. A program called Pathways – it’s more online (instead of in book form), it’s more customizable, too. Both of those things are fine with me, but what wasn’t fine was that they said the old path was going away very soon, with no allowances made for what members had already accomplished in the former program.

It’s sort of like this:

Imagine you’re in high school. You’re progressing through the school system, taking required classes and electives as is fitting with the ultimate goal of graduating. But then, one day, when you’re in 11th grade, your school rolls out a new program. Instead of 3 years of math, you now need 4. And instead of one foreign language class, there are now 3 different foreign language classes, and you can take any one of them. And there are now different requirements for reading, technology, phy ed, art, music, and, well, everything.

Okay, so at first you figure this sounds fine. Surely this only applies to new students, right? Aren’t you grandfathered in?

Nope.

Okay, but then you figure it’s still all right, because you can just take that 4th year of math next year – when you’re a senior. And, anyway, everything you’ve done from Kindergarten to 11th grade still counts for something, right?

Nope again.

Oh, the school tells you it’s all right, – because you still gained valuable skills at school this whole decade, and you can always say you graduated from the local elementary and middle schools…but they no longer count toward the main goal, that big goal of graduating from high school. To ease the pain, they will give you one month to finish in the previous program. If you can. I know you were planning to take all of next year to complete 12th grade, but hey, you can do it in a month, right?

So that’s where I was at a year ago. In May 2018, I discovered my Advanced Communicator Silver and my Advanced Leadership Silver would soon count for nothing toward the goal of becoming a Distinguished Toastmaster. If I wanted to become a Distinguished Toastmaster, I could either start all over at the beginning (akin to an 11th-grader re-entering kindergarten), or squeeze in my final requirements in the next 2 years (akin to a 12th-grader finishing their senior year in a month).

Pretty bad. But, thankfully, I finished 12th grade in 3 months.

The big thing was that I needed to complete the task of serving as a district-level officer for a year, so I immediately sought out how to do that, even though I wasn’t ready, didn’t feel comfortable doing it, and wasn’t sure I had time to do it adequately.

Funny thing, when I showed up at the first meeting of district officers, I met several others who were just doing it now to get it over with so they could meet that goal. One of the people at the meeting said we should be doing it for the experience and not for the ultimate goal, but that’s bullshit: Toastmasters is the one who sets out that goal, and they were now the one forcing people to do it post haste. It reminded me of how I had a goal of being a Pioneer back when I was a Jehovah’s Witness. And the goal of being a Pioneer is literally spending a certain amount of time preaching. So then people in the religion – including some of my relatives – got annoyed that I was so concerned with garnering the needed hours. But that was the goal the organization set…I merely agreed to do it.

Anyway…

In May 2018, I listed everything that stood between me and being a Distinguished Toastmaster. Here’s the list, which has been posted in my cube at work ever since:
As you can see, there are 11 items on my list. Some were relatively easy, such as just giving a particular speech. Others were projects that take several months and involve various tasks. I included the deadline, which at the time was 25 months away and is now just under 12 months away. I’ve completed 7 of the goals, and am half done with two of the remaining goals.

 

So, I’m getting there. I’ll post an update in about 10 months.

For the first time in nearly my entire life, I have to update which home I’ve lived in for the longest time.

When I was born, my parents lived in the Dan Patch Apartment building right on the border between Burnsville and Savage. So, right from the start, that’s where I lived for most of my (very brief) life.

But on August 1st of that year, when I was a measly 50 days old, we moved into a mobile home: Lot #24 in Camelot Acres Mobile Home Park in Burnsville.

By late September, I was 100 days old and, concurrent with that milestone, I set a new record for where I’d lived the longest – a record that increased in length with each passing day.

My family and I, which eventually went on to include my younger sister, lived there for the next 7 years. In fact, we lived there for 7 years, 8 months, and 20 days.

Over the next few decades, I lived in a variety of homes: at my grandparents’ home, another mobile home, townhomes, apartments, and actual houses. But I never lived in any of them longer than I’d lived in that first mobile home. The closest I came was the 6 years and 7+ months that we lived in another mobile home.

Until lately.

By last spring, the current house I live in moved up to second place on my list of longest-lived-in residences, and by September I had, for only the second time in my life, observed a 7-year anniversary in one residence.

And, finally, today, I can say that the longest I’ve ever lived in one place is right now. Because now I have lived in my house for 7 years, 8 months, and 21 days.

Happy milestone to me.