Frustration...

Let me give you, my friends and followers, some idea of what I am dealing with.

My last day at WRUF, officially, was Thursday, March 5th. I had a substantial amount of sick and vacation time for which I, as a vested employee, would get paid upon my resignation. Optimists told me it might happen within three weeks. Human Resources told me it would take four to six.

By working with the Business Manager at WRUF, who is always as helpful as she can be, I determined, on March 27th, that my leave payout was due to be transmitted to Bencor (the company that administers it) on April 8th - more than a month after the effective date of my resignation. I knew I had to fax them a form to authorize my payment, so I did it on that day - March 27th. I kept the confirmation sheet from the fax.

I called Bencor today and discovered that they did, in fact, receive my leave payout from UF on April 9th (ok, only a day late, according to them), but they had no record of ever receiving my fax authorizing a payout. I had a feeling...

So I am now rushing back to my old office at WRUF to re-fax a form that I originally sent two weeks ago. I am told if I get it in today, they can process my request this week, and I might have a check next week - which would, indeed, be a full six weeks from my last day at work. When you bear in mind that the terms of my employment called for me to give thirty days notice - so SOMEONE has known about this since the first week of February - you might get a sense of how frustrating it has been to sit around and wait. And wait. And wait.

This is the money that will keep me alive while I begin my New Clothing Enterprise. I've been ready to begin it for months. It appears I am finally down to just a couple more weeks...

Slow...

Interesting things happen when you’re stuck in limbo for a while, and the pace and purpose of your life is altered. I find myself slowing down when I eat. What’s the rush? I should eat better food (only less of it!) and enjoy it more. I find myself taking the time to notice a beautiful spring sky, or the endless shades of green in the grasses, plants, vines and trees that enshroud Gainesville. And I find myself being more patient with others.

I experienced the effect recently at my neighborhood Starbucks. There always seems to be at least one patron who is oblivious to the fact that the world is, in fact, inhabited by other people. They stand in the way, occupy too much of the barista’s time, and just generally find ways to make the preparation of my cup of coffee take twice as long as it should. On this day, there was a man who was apparently determined to help his coffee achieve the perfect balance of bitter and sweet by adding sugar one granule at a time. Then, he added half and half to the mix as if it were an exercise in alchemy; perhaps that ten thousandth stir might turn the coffee into gold.

It is a tribute to my current state of mind that I resisted the urge to kick him in the shins. I had one errand to do and two hours to do it. I remained patient and pleasant. I waited. Perhaps having no place to go makes people nicer.

I sat down to relax for a few minutes after doctoring up my own steaming brew. Then the worst possible thing happened; classes adjourned at the nearby high school and a dozen noisy teens walked in. I don’t have the patience for that. I ran out the door, in a hurry once again.

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Now Playing:

Slow – Collective Soul


This is an obscure song from the album “Dosage” about ten years ago. It is kind of a strange song, but I like it. I hadn’t heard it in a while, and then stumbled across it one day when I was looking for songs that fit my mood. This one does.

Lyrics:

Mornings like this
Make me feel like I could never float
Glimpses of peace
Portray all that you never could show

(chorus)
I'm not weakened by the fears
That you have applied
See I'm now learning in these walls
That I've been supplied
Slow
Slow down boy
Slow down to control
Slow, slow

Clothed in new costumes
That weather your newfound storms
Staring through reason
Content with your newfound decor

(chorus)

(spoken)
I passed the darkened vaults of
Late doorways as if I were a king
Like this I chain a whisper to my faults

(chorus)


Slow – Fuel


This is very different from the Collective Soul song. It seems to be about quiet desperation – the slow and inevitable disintegration of everything that is important to you. But it ends on a vaguely upbeat note. And, in my opinion, Brett Scallions has one of the better voices in rock – very distinctive, good tone, great range and brilliant phrasing.

Lyrics:

All this time
I thought this coming down was fine
Now everything I fought to grow
Is withered hanging on that vine

[chorus]
And all I wanted
Was all I needed you know
And everything good in my life
If you have to take it all way
Oh, no, take it all away, oh, no no no...
Take it slow.

Everything I try to find
Is every love I'll never hold
And in your garden now
The weeds are choking seeds we've sown

[chorus]

Now you find
Your own savior for a time
And if you try my love
I hope you'll find your cure in time

(chorus)

Rebirth...

In the interest of varying the contents of this blog to avoid drudgery and dullness, I will occasionally embed video or audio samples, and include photographs and various graphic embellishments. Ideally, I will tie these things into the overall theme of the blog, but not always, because it is, after all, MY blog!

I have come to look at this period in my life as a renaissance of a sort, a rebirth or at least a retooling of who and what I am or will be. I see it as a great opportunity. Recently, others have taken advantage (or tried to take advantage) of birth-related opportunities, as the video below shows:

In Limbo

I’m in limbo, literally and figuratively.

After ten years at WRUF, and fourteen years, collectively, selling advertising and doing concert promotion, I’d decided that my life was on a path to nowhere – a continuous loop that was pleasant enough if each day was taken alone, but which, in the end, always led back to the same place. When the sole source of variety in your existence is the choice of which cocktail you have at the end of the day, you eventually realize that change is necessary. Essential. It took a while – courage has never been my most notable trait – but I finally recognized that, to get off this torturous path, I would have to cut my way out.

I knew it would be difficult, drastic, disturbing. And I knew that, if I did it right, it would leave me nowhere – no job, no place to live. In limbo.

At first, the idea scared the hell out of me. What kind of moron gives up an established career to start over? But, the more I thought about it, the more I knew it was the right thing to do. Eventually, at work, every morning made me angry. And every night I went to sleep dreading the morning. Twenty more years of that? No thanks.

What made it really scary is that I am good at what I do. What I did. Advertisers trusted me. I was able to combine sales success with my love of live rock music by forming a company to solicit sponsorships and promote concert events, at first on behalf of WRUF, then on my own. Rock Solid Promotions was quickly successful. I answered phone calls and did what I promised I would do in a business where those characteristics are unusual. Major advertisers wanted to be associated with my events. With help from my sometime business partner, and money from a major clothing manufacturer, I secured a sponsorship for the main stage at the Florida Music Festival in Orlando in 2004, and hosted the VIP party for the music industry heavyweights. I decided I wanted to manage bands, too, and worked tirelessly. After a while, I would meet well-placed people and be impressed, only to discover that they had wanted to meet me. At industry gatherings, producers and record label guys would grab me by the arm and drag me away for a chance to chat. When I went to Panama City Beach to scout out a band I was interested in managing, I stayed in a three bedroom villa at the Marriott. I wanted the band to be as impressed with me as I had become with myself.

Recently, on the side of a Starbucks coffee cup, I read a quote from Po Bronson who, according to the cup, is the author of short stories, screenplays and non-fiction, including (ironically) “What Should I Do With My Life?” He wrote, “Failure’s hard, but success is far more dangerous, if you’re successful at the wrong thing. The mix of praise and money and opportunity can lock you in forever.” At some point, I knew that the music business was the wrong thing. By then, I was divorced, or nearly so. Finally, although it took much longer, I realized that selling advertising was the wrong thing too.

In between, I dated an amazing woman who changed my life. I needed a detailed plan before I would get in my car. She would hop in her maroon Jeep at a moment's notice and go anywhere a tank of gas would take her, with a wrinkled T-shirt and a pair of shorts thrown in the back seat. And her dog, Denali, of course. But we laughed at the same things, and we enjoyed each other’s company. She is the smartest person I’ve ever met, and, in many ways, the coolest. We drove each other crazy. After a few months, when her dog got too big to sneak into my place, we stayed at her apartment – a tiny one bedroom. And I didn’t care. Eventually, it got to be too much, so intense that it was scary, and she moved back home to Maryland.

But I had found that I could easily give up the comforts of my lifestyle. More and more I found my two bedroom townhouse to be cold and cavernous. When I decided I could give up my security as well, I knew I was ready to go. Somewhere.

And it dawned on me that I wouldn’t be starting from scratch, exactly. I write well. I speak well. I think quickly on my feet. I have years of experience and knowledge that must be useful to someone. And I have often been told that I have one key characteristic that can’t really be taught or learned; people like me. So, if you were going to go somewhere to look for the “right’ thing to do, where would it be?

During the fifteen months of dating Kami, I visited Maryland/DC five times. I liked it more and more each time. I liked the idea of living in or near a big city and using mass transit. It annoyed me that there are places in Gainesville that take me a half hour to drive to. A half hour? In Hogtown? You must be joking. I like the energy and the majesty of DC. I like the fact that it is easy to surround yourself with bright people. I like the museums and the history. According to most estimates, there are about 10,000 Civil War historic sites overall, and 60% of them are in Virginia, with significant others nearby in Maryland or Pennsylvania. A lifetime of weekend exploring. Add to that the fact that the DC area economy is still relatively robust, even in these crappy times, and the decision was made. The fact that Kami is there is certainly an interesting complication. A good one? Possibly. A bad one? No way. Neither of us would ever do anything to screw up the connection we have, even if that connection is only enjoyed mostly from a distance.

I reached the ten year mark at WRUF at the end of December, knowing that, beyond that point, I would get paid my vacation time and a quarter of my sick leave upon termination. I waited another month, and I quit. I had no idea it would take four to six weeks to complete the necessary paperwork and financial transactions. Bureaucracy never seemed so evil. I started the process on March 6th. As of yesterday - March 17th - the first step in my termination had yet to be approved by Human Resources. After that, there is another step. Then one more.

So here I sit. In limbo. Waiting for the check that will keep me alive while I decide what my life will be like.

Inhuman Resources

This past Friday was my last day at work. Technically, Thursday was, but there were some things left undone, and I felt compelled to finish the tasks I had started. So, in case you wonder what a recently voluntarily unemployed person does, I figured I’d keep you up to date.

I was uneasy about the two telephone conversations I had had with random people in Human Resources. They acted like they didn’t want anyone to actually visit Human Resources. I had major concerns about my vacation and sick leave cashout – about 4 months pay that will sustain me while I figure out what my next step will be. Normally, the university puts it into a 401(a) – whatever the hell that is – and I assumed I needed to take some steps if I wanted to get the money sent straight to me. The HR people on the phone seemed to act as if this would happen magically. Somehow, upon my resignation, everyone would know how to handle my retirement, insurance, leave time, etc. without me having to do a thing. I didn’t believe it, but I didn’t push it on the phone. Heck, as of today, I have nothing else to do, so I figured I would actually go to HR, and take care of it.

It was a beautiful day, so I rode my bike. I might have been a bit sweaty when I arrived, but I did shave at least. Inside there were three women with headsets on, answering the phone, apparently, although I never saw any of them talk to anyone but each other. Aside from that, there is a stark room with two small empty tables and a few chairs. Doors exited from three sides of the room – different departments, I guess.

I walked up to the reception/operator desk, and, attempting to maybe inject some humor into the situation when one of them asked me if I could be helped, I smiled and said, “Yes, I quit.”

Blank stares.

“Um, I resigned, as of last week, and I want to make sure that all my paperwork here is in order.”

Blank stares.

“Isn’t there some form I have to sign or something?”

They looked at each other, as if to say – This is why we try not to let people actually visit Human Resources.

“I’ve heard somebody mention a make-whole form?”

Bimbo number one came to life, “Oh, you haven’t signed one of those yet?”

“No. That’s why I’m here.” In my life, I’ve had many opportunities to practice resisting the urge to punch people. Practice makes perfect.

“Let me e-mail someone in retirement, and have them come talk to you.” Bimbos number two and three looked at each other, and nodded in silent agreement. That would probably be the best way to handle it. God forbid I should actually have a chance to visit one of the offices behind closed doors and find out everything I needed to know all at once.

“Great. Thanks.”

Assuming I would have a few minutes to wait, I decided to call the business manager of the department where, until recently, I worked. She didn’t really know anything about these HR procedures. She was apologetic. Wished she could help. Then it dawned on both of us why we didn’t know; in our ten years in the department, no full-timer with accrued leave time had ever left. We were a small, tightly-knit group, even though we all had very different personalities. Nobody knew the procedures to deal with someone leaving because no one had ever left.

After that conversation, one of my recently former co-workers called me to tell me the day’s developments at the office, and curse me admiringly for the umpteenth time for having the good sense to get out. I walked. I talked on the phone. Nobody from retirement appeared.

Feeling suddenly self conscious, I attempted to apologize to Bimbos one, two, and three. “I hope you don’t mind if I talk on the phone and pace”, I said. “That’s been my job for ten years and I’m still winding down.”

Blank stares.

Finally, a woman appeared through the doors from one of the offices that evidently conceal the nation’s nuclear launch codes. I repeated the earlier conversation about signing forms, and finally got her to understand that I needed to sign a “make-whole” form – which I still don’t understand, but it has something to do with the university withholding 10% of something, and then giving 2.35% of it back to me in a different check from the one for my vacation pay. I’m not kidding.

Finally, she asked if I had signed a “Disbursement Request Form” for my leave pay. No, I hadn’t.

I turned my head slightly to my left, and said, partly to the woman from retirement, and partly to the Bimbos, “See, I knew I had forms to fill out.”

They looked at each other, clearly wishing that no one would ever actually visit Human Resources.

“Will my last pay check be a paper check or direct deposit like all the rest?”

No idea. I should ask someone in my department.

Nobody in my department could say for sure. And both of the people who would gladly run interference for me are likely candidates for the coming layoffs. As it turned out, the folks in Human Resources weren't much of a “resource” at all.

After that, I went to Traffic and Parking to turn in my “Official Business” parking decal. I won’t be needing that anymore, and didn’t want to be charged for the balance due, since I paid for it by payroll deduction. The woman there was very nice.

“Why are you leaving?” she asked, when I told her I had resigned.

Without wanting to spend hours explaining to her the many internal struggles I had fought for some time, since I’m sure she didn’t really want to hear about them anyway, I said, “With all respect due to those who remain here, I think twenty-seven years in Gainesville is enough.”

She smiled, and I detected a hint of a New York accent when she said, “Oh, I know what you mean.”

Tomorrow, I will begin the battle to maintain my health insurance. I can’t wait.

Drive...

I am one of those people who finds meaning and inspiration in quotations and song lyrics. I don't know if I should consider that to be one of my strengths or one of my weaknesses. Much of the poetry in my life has been in the form of song lyrics. As time passes and circumstances change, different songs mean less to me or take on more meaning.

At the moment, there are several songs that seem exceptionally relevant to me, and fit the stage in life where I now find myself. One of those is a song by Incubus called "Drive." I think it's about taking charge of your life, and being receptive to the experiences and opportunities it has to offer, without fear or trepidation (click the play arrow below and follow along with the lyrics).

(lyrics)
Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I let the fear
Take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before
And it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal
But lately I'm beginning to find that I
Should be the one behind the wheel

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
With open arms and open eyes yeah

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there

So if I decide to waiver my chance to be one of the hive
Will I choose water over wine and hold my own and drive?
It's driven me before
And it seems to be the way that everyone else gets around
But lately I'm beginning to find that
When I drive myself my light is found

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
With open arms and open eyes yeah

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there

Would you choose water over wine
Hold the wheel and drive

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
With open arms and open eyes yeah

Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there
I'll be there

Why?

I have considered all sorts of lengthy, rational explanations when people ask me why I decided to quit my job, pack up, and look for something more, different, better. I suppose, at some point, I will present my thoughts and arguments on the subject.

But I think the best thing I can do now is remember Kevin Spacey as Lester Burnham in one of my favorite movies, American Beauty (click the play arrow below):



I figured making some dramatic life changes was preferable to a firebombing campaign.