The Joy of Simply Waking Up.

Via
on Jan 26, 2014
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From Gucci to Gap to Goodwill and Grateful.

The other day I’m on my way to a vintage clothing shop, and I see two fellows on the bus bench in front of the shop.

They’re obviously homeless as evidenced by their grubby, layered frocks; mangy, matted hair; shopping cart of filthy blankets and extra, oversized army jackets; and the two liter bottle of cheap chardonnay they are sharing at 10 a.m. on a Tuesday morning.

The fellow facing me has brown hair and glaucoma. He asks, “Can you spare some change?”

I say, “Just a minute,” and go into the store, not wanting them to filch my cash, feeling paranoid they’ll steal my wallet, and somehow out-shuffle me down the street. I enter the store, search my purse and find two dollars. I go back outside—the other man has removed his jacket revealing a body riddled with scabs. As I approach the men, I smell stale urine. (I must note that I have chatted with a few home-lacking people, and they do not all smell foul. I ride my bicycle on the boardwalk and see plenty out of doors dwellers at the free public showers soaping up. The water isn’t heated. But I digress.)

I walk over to the men and hand them each a dollar. The fellow who didn’t ask for money and isn’t facing me, immediately hands his dollar to his friend, and I feel chastened having made the assumption.

I ask his friend, “What’s your name?”

“Jules.”

I stick my hand out to shake his: “Anna.” His smile reveals heavy plaque and bad teeth.

His friend hasn’t turned to greet me, so I touch a clear patch of skin on his arm, “And you?”

He turns, “Wolf.” He shakes my hand, and I resist the urge to rub my hand on my jeans.

Jules says, “Did you hear about Joe?”

I reply, “No, sorry, I don’t know him, what happened?”

Jules says, “He died last night in the park.”

Wolf adds, “They found him with his dog, Wolf.”

Though I’m now confused about whether this man and the dog are both named Wolf, I say, “Oh, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Wolf has turned back facing the road and says, “Wolf stayed by his side until they found him.”

I say, “Well, he’s not homeless anymore, now he’s home free.”

They ponder this in a moment of silence, then Jules lifts a dirty shirt off the bottle of Chardonnay they’re discreetly hiding and offers, “You want some chardonnay?”

His graciousness catches me by surprise, and my throat tightens, “No, but thank you.”

“It’s good stuff. You don’t drink?”

“Not really, but I appreciate the offer.”

“You want a coat?” He points to his buggy, and I have to blink several more times to disperse excess eye moisture.

When I take my leave, I can’t help but think about my own habitation: I’m spending the winter in a cozy attic, and I’m happy about it to be sure, but it’s a long way from the old, comparatively luxurious home I sold back in Canada, not that there’s anything wrong with that either.

In a text conversation with a friend from home, my friend tells me: I admire what you’ve done, choosing the simple life.

I reply: I made compromises to have this freedom. No room for kids in the budget, not that I need that anymore, but you know what I mean. I made a choice. I’m happy I did.

I tell him about my experience with Jules and Wolf and how Joe died in the park with only his faithful dog trying to nudge him back to life and finish with: Don’t die alone in the park.

Years ago, after my divorce, but still in the snowball of an early mid-life crisis, I read Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, a story about a psychiatrist finding moments of joy living in a Nazi concentration camp. It changed my perspective or at least tickled the notion of changing my perspective.

I realized a couple things: I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do professionally, and I wasn’t happy.

At the time I didn’t have the awareness to understand what I was doing ‘wrong,’ but I knew I’d have to make some major changes in my life. I started evaluating what was making me happy and what wasn’t.

Change is scary, but it’s the only constant, and we’re either taking charge of changes or following the stream of them. I decided to be proactive about my future happiness. I stopped doing the things in my work that I no longer enjoyed. I gave up a large portion of my income to do this; my reward was time.

Yes, you can buy time.

Cut to today: I’m living in a shared home in Venice Beach, California, working from one of three offices, namely the local area coffee shops with free Wi-Fi. I must now live within a relatively tight budget. I have enough Air Miles to get anywhere (thanks to my past career’s mega marketing expenses), the residual I receive from a modest investment property pays for food, clothing and attic.

A bonus of being an environmentalist is minimization; I’m content with what I have, plus I’d rather not add to landfills by purchasing anything new. I’m joyful (most of the time). My take on happy/joy is thus…

Happiness is situation based: event + perspective = reaction; joy is internally based: perspective = perspective.

I could have changed my perspective toward how I managed my business, but sometimes the little voice inside us (our intuition) says it’s time to move on. Don’t be afraid to listen to it. Or if you are afraid, listen and then dare greatly, anyway.

My friend from home tells me he’s taking a month off from work. Testing the cost of freedom. (Good for him, whatever he ultimately decides!)

I live a simple life now. I don’t have lofty goals or a major life purpose that drives me. I try to enjoy each moment. I feel fortunate that I’ve been able to set up my life this way, though it was more by lucky default than strategic planning. And I’m grateful to wake up in a comfortable room with a space heater and not in a park with a bottle of Chardonnay, because there are many here who are just happy to wake up. Period. I’m glad I woke up.

RIP Joe.

What have I (re)learned?

1. Life is simple if not always easy.

2. The ease of life depends on our perspective of it.

3. We can change our perspective, and we can also change our circumstances.

 

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Editor: Rachel Nussbaum

 

Photo: Grant Baldwin Photography


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About Anna Jorgensen

Anna Jorgensen Dating, love and relationship coach. A lumberjack's daughter, I spent my formative years surrounded by virgin forest and hungry grizzly bears in remote forestry camps. The crews were mostly hard-working, good-hearted scruffy men. There was plenty of naked-lady wallpaper, which explains my naughty sense of humour and understanding of how men think. (Hint: It's not only about sex.) In 2010, after several "practice" relationships (and a hella lotta "I need help" self-study), I rewrote my self and my life and now wear the cape as "Wingmam." Yay! My super power is providing one-on-one coaching and study-at-home-in-pj's online programs that entertain-ucate singles on how to understand the opposite sex, get unstuck, navigate the modern dating world and fast-forward to the fun bits of their happily ever after. (I don't ask anyone to use cheesy lines or made-up words like I do.) Love IS the answer, people! ;) Find Anna here: link to love and laughs. Connect with Anna's real, unfiltered Facebook page here (Love IS the answer!). Watch Anna's fun-ucational videos on: WingmamTV.

Comments

8 Responses to “The Joy of Simply Waking Up.”

  1. Tom says:

    beautiful story. I engaged it with full interest and can relate to a lot of it. Thanks

  2. sabine says:

    What a great story and thank you for sharing something so personal. Lots of people probably told you you were crazy to change your life like this, but I think you are very courageous and I applaud you. I'm trying very hard to simplify my life and for me that means I work from home making less money than I used to, but I have more choice. I'm trying to not shop at all, therefore reducing my consumption and waste (other than food and necessities of course) and buying myself freedom from debt and guilt instead.
    Sometimes it's not easy, but I'm learning.
    I wish for you peace and happiness!

  3. Shirley0401 says:

    Helpful post. I'm in the cautious-consideration phase of thinking about downshifting to a more minimal lifestyle, and reading about people who are finding their own balance is inspiring.

  4. Deborah says:

    At 61 years of age now (birthday just passed, March 22nd) I find myself still struggling with what will I be when I grow up question. I enjoy your writings very much. Your genetic makeup I can relate to, hence, redneck offspring and fashionista. I however didn’t avoid the mid life crisis. A born in the 50’s crazy in the 70’s girl, it took awhile for me to settle down. I enjoyed your story regarding the appreciation of having a decent roof over my head. I’ve been considering subscribing to EJ, based on your blog and stories, I think I’ll take the plunge. Keep it up girl, there really are people out here that need your input. We’re all lost just a little and need a steady voice to guide us. Even if others do see us as crazy. Lol.

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