Yesterday I wrote about forgetting I owned a cellphone butt I didn’t get into all the thoughts and feelings it dragged out. For the last couple months I have felt a need to get away from the world. It has been a challenging couple of months. Starting with the agreement to sell my family beach house. A house that when I was in college my father told me one day would be mine. The house I moved down here to live in. The house where I asked my wife to marry me. The house that my father told us we had to leave and then grossly under-rented to a stranger a couple years after his stroke. A stroke that I am now convinced impacted him more than anyone knew.
I look at what most people would call a business success. Taking an under producing asset that had reached its equity ceiling and wasn’t delivering on income or tax protection because most of the value of that property was in the land, but it was a house that meant so much to me. It simply doesn’t fit the current needs, and, in business, you cannot let emotions control the actions.
It is the same thing I told Roland about the roller coaster. My body is telling me a story and it is lying to me. I need to get away from everything. I need to restore the balance of truth between my logic and reason, my emotions, and the physical response. That is what I need, and my forgetting I even owned a cellphone showed me it is far easier than I realize.
I don’t need to spend money to travel to a cabin in the woods or a lake house in Bedford County or get on a plane to drive around Arizona watching a prospect showcase in November (though I might still do this one). What I need is simpler. I need to toss the phone in a drawer, grab a good book, and have a day or two of isolation.
I just need a couple days to get the batteries refreshed. To restore balance and get that good restart. Part of the difficulty is having that alone time in a house with four other people, and it isn’t really alone time I need. I need disconnection. That is what I had at Busch Garden’s on Saturday. I had time when the world couldn’t touch me. I need time and place where the world can’t touch me, and that might very well be in my recliner with a good book and this stupid phone shoved in a drawer.
David Huzzard Writes 