minimalism – Middle Age Mark

Middle Age Mark’s 6 Awesome Summer ’21 Adventures

Are we all ready for a non-pandemic summer or what? I know I am. As I write, March Madness is in full swing. It’s a great sport series that makes people optimistic, fills bars, enjoins bracket friends, and makes for perfect spring Saturday TV. Such fun. Every year I fantasize about accepting the workplace tropy amid cheers and cries for speechmaking; also every year the reality sets in that I’ve finished near the very bottom. But no matter; still great fun. I recall the utter pie-hole-agape disbelief when I learned of its cancelling last year. Who could have known at the time the seismic ride we were in for?

It’s been a long year, but vaccine #2 is coursing through my veins, the days are lengthening and warming, and I am SO ready for summer.

We’re in a great place to begin mapping out our 2021 summer. We’re debt-free, back to being a two-income team, investing, giving, and the minimalistic living style has created an almost responsibility-free opportunity to be away from home-base for extended periods. My brain is buzzing with potential summer travel options, not just for this summer, but for several more after that. I’ve learned that days and weeks can slip by if we’re not careful; if we don’t have a plan. I don’t want to look back on this summer and wonder where it went.

Additionally, dreaming and making plans is fun, makes for great Martini (Gin, of course) after-work conversation time, and promotes focusing on our successes – something we all should do more.

Dreaming and planning are the first two steps in the four step process of dreaming, planning, living, and remembering. We’ve dreamed an awesome summer; now it’s time to fit all the fun-puzzle pieces together and make some incredible memories!

Some of the things I have listed are couple plans (done together), and some will be individual goals. And that’s ok! Get them dreamed, planned, and on the calendar!

Ride the Boise Greenbelt

Ok, so maybe starting a little on the tame side here, but riding the 25-mile Boise Greenbelt is awesome, and gorgeous, and relaxing. Did I mention that you can also start and stop at multiple amazing little shops, restaurants, and bars along the way? One of our favorite rides is to start and end at Bardenay’s, where, as luck would have it, they distill the best gin on the whole planet! Who knew! And, this year might bring the extra fun of new bikes! It’s pretty tough to beat a summer day on the Greenbelt with a Bardenay Martini (Gin, of course) at the end!

Old Orchard Beach, Maine

Now we’re stepping up the game! We have a beach cottage reserved for a week on the coast of Maine, in what is probably the quintessential and most-awesome summer New England vacay spot: OOB! 7-mile beach, boardwalk, historic pier, beach-front amusement park, pier fries, clam cakes, lobstahs, drinks on the surfside deck; all right on the beach! Sand, sun, surf, and summah! Some wicked good!

Chicken Sitting

Ok, I’m not entirely sure that’s what it’s called. Rachel and I will be house-sitting for some close friends while they travel out of country, and they have chickens. This, then, is the wild, stare-down-fear, livin’ on the edge part of my summer plans.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about chicken oversight. I’ve never had chickens. I’ve never even been around chickens (I mean, except to eat them and the eggs, and I have eaten alot of chickens and eggs) I’ve heard elders talk about having mean chickens in the olden days. Just how mean can chickens get? And I’ve seen those AFV videos where chickens chase terrorized screaming kids all over the yard (chicken ptsd is probably a thing). What if that happens? What if the neighbors see? What if the chickens take over the yard? What if they can tell I set the record for per-person chicken consumption? Bravery Mark. Press on.

Read Two Fictional Books

I read alot. Daily. Usually in the morning. I tend to drift towards the deep end of the pool. Currently I’m reading about neuroplasticity or brain plasticity and the ability for the brain to adapt chemically based on experiences, especially as it relates to addiction and impulse control. Dopamine, opioids, neurotransmitters; pretty fascinating stuff actually, but not an easy trudge.

I picked up a historical fiction book the other day (The Son by Philipp Meyer) and found that I liked it. I have not yet had the time to do it justice, and there are alot of names and generations covered as foundational information, so I stopped and will need to start it again. Time is a factor for me still, and I feel like I’m wasting time by reading fiction. It didn’t really happen, so what’s the point? I’m hoping to fix this by reading historical fiction; where I guess it kinda-sorta happened-ish. I set a goal to read two of these types of books this summer.

Squat and Press 185 (Smith Machine)

These two are fitness related summer goals for me. I’m having an absolute blast re-discovering fitness lately. I’m learning more and more about using body weight, bands, tubes, Slam Balls, and I’m watching Athlene-X YouTube videos – that guy is amazing. Actually, Sylvester Stallone turned me on to him. As people like me (and Sly) mature, we can’t push the really heavy weights anymore; it’s damaging to joints and connective tissue. But what we can do is train smarter. An older mentor of mine once said something to effect of, “train today to train tomorrow.” Talk about future-minded.

Obviously I look way better than this dude

I also started using a couple of supplements again (joint support and creatine) and feel the difference. So much so that I want to incorporate more weight resistance back into my routine. Nothing crazy heavy, and the Smith Machine keeps it safe and guided. I’m anticipating a very cool milestone this year and I’m very optimistic about it.

Family Time

What would summer be without spending time with family? Now that the virus is unwinding, it’s time to fire up the barbie and get back to partying. Reconnecting will be good. A year is a long time to not get to wrestle with grandkids. All the great electronic communication tools notwithstanding, there’s nothing that beats a lawn chair, cold beer, sunscreen, maybe a frisbee or two, and barefeet in the grass. Plus, I need hugs and handshakes. No masks, no distancing, and no looking back. It’s over. Let’s go.

Ok, one more. (I really do need to get better at this).

I turn 60!
It’s hard to believe, where did time go, and all of the other awful obligatory (last one, I swear) sayings that come with maturing and decade-number-birth milestones. It’s the Big 6-0! Although the core of summer will have passed, it’ll still technically be summer (September 21st). I’m actually looking forward to celebrating this big one. I absolutely believe the 60’s will be my best decade yet. Possible retirement (heh-heh), travel, possible relocation (co-location?), new hobbies, new pursuits, new adventures; talk about exciting. I might even do one of those Man-sexy photo shoots; maybe a fireman (I’ll fight your fire bay-bee!) or maybe a lumberjack (insert favorite wood joke) motif, who knows! The point is I can hardly wait. And cake! How big should a 60! cake be! Right? Ginormous! And with real, numb-your-lips, 200% sugar frosting; none of that whippy crap.

Well, so there it is: Middle Age Mark’s coming Summer ’21.
Fun.
Adventure.
Travel.
Sun.
Surf.
Sand.
Grass.
Pool.
And potential Chicken PTSD (so worth it).

8 Reasons Middle Age Camping is a Great Idea

Our campsite in the Sawtooth National Forest

I wrote this blog in a little notebook while sitting at the water’s edge in the above picture on the last morning of our most recent camping trip. There’s a special ambiance that comes with camping near water. It’s even more relaxing and mystical. I didn’t know what day of the week it was. I did know I didn’t want to go home.

Although I love where we live in Boise, I wondered why I was so resistant to heading back to the real world. We had braved cold (low 30’s at night), dust storms, smokey fires, being sunburned and bugbit; even taking a classic header while fly fishing. But on that last morning, I would have written a blank check to be able to stay. As I walked myself through why, here’s what I came up with.

We Get Outside Ourselves. There are no reflective surfaces when camping. No mirrors and nothing that reflects what we look like. We’re not reminded of our hair or weight or wrinkles or those places that we focus on every single time we look in the mirror. We have charcoal smudged hands and sandy feet. I have the best wild camping hair and it’s great to just wear my even more wild camping straw hat. We get to focus elsewhere. It’s freeing.

Talking to God is Easier. Maybe it’s because I’m in the middle of His Nature Show. The stars at night beg wonder. The power of forces are easier to see. I reflect more. I’m more thankful. I feel appropriately small and reminded that an awful lot of stuff goes on with no help from me, like forest fires and bears and rivers and wildflowers.

Concerns Become Simpler. We headed to the mountains just as a mandatory mask order was being put into place and all the usual political/ social / medical hoopla was in full hoop. Once in mountain air, all of it was quickly forgotten. My concerns became very simple: tent zippers, weather, food with minimal ash, enough ice, firewood, not getting eaten by a bear, and trying to catch a fish. That’s pretty much the list. My brain unknots. I become tolerant, easy, happy; heck, even funny. I like me.

Peeing Outdoors. I really like to pee outside. Peeing outdoors has got to be one of Man’s first best enjoyments. It’s natural. It feels right. There’s room. And things to look at. It’s feels Manly. And feeling Manly leads to using saws, building fires, getting wood and then making jokes about getting wood, creating the perfect Man-kingdom-settlement-campsite, toting big caliber handguns, and exploring; all things that give men back their wild. Wild is good.

No traffic getting to our mountain top date

Less / No People. Camping, especially outside of regulated campgrounds, lets us get away from people. People are often the reason we have challenges. Their actions impact our lives, and we’re forced to deal with their dumbness. Managers and leaders know that people themselves make up the bulk of work problems. Less/no people, less/no problems. Less we have to adjust to. An increased likelihood that our grand plans come to perfect fruition. As they should, of course.

No Calendars. In the real world, the non-camping world, our lives are strictly regulated according to time. Everything we do, from waking to sleeping, has an allotted time, including the waking and sleeping. 7 minutes to shower, 3 minutes to brush the choppers with the sonic, pouring coffee and grabbing the lunch is 2 more, and out the door by minute :17 or traffic will be a school bus bitch. Then it’s 3 meetings, 30 minutes to eat lunch, and 3 more meetings, all with accompanying reminder dings. I hate dings. But in the camping world, there are no calendars. F&#! calendars and f&#! dings (and the horses they rode in on). In the camping world, days are known by the one thing that is enjoyed that day, like hiking, or biking, or beaching, or napping, or reading, or fishing, or sitting with your toes in icy river water. We get to slow down. We get to breathe. We drink cold beer. We are successful.

We Get to Minimize. Camping allows us to remember the simple things, the minimal things, and how rewarding these things can be. The sound of the river at night and tent zippers, owls, shooting stars, campfire coffee and bacon, sunrise, the moon, and crickets. Staring into a quiet campfire until late at night. Hushed conversation with wide open spaces. It doesn’t take very long for these things to begin to unwind us. We feel the stress begin to come off, the shoulders drop, a few cleansing breaths, a deep sigh. It can make one wonder if the real word is really worth it.

Excuse me Ma’m, does your buggy need fixin?

Sex. This one probably should be closer to the top. Camping sex can be awesome. Although air mattresses don’t always offer the best support, not to mention if they pop it might mean a night on the hard ground, there are multiple other campground places that work. Couples feel more connected. We need each other more. We talk more. We wear less clothing. It’s cold at night and hot during the day. Men feel more manly in the wild. You can play games like lumberjack and/or lady camper in distress. There are no people around so being loud is not an issue. Although the term “Squirrel!” might take on a more literal meaning, getting the Bow chicka wow wow going in the great outdoors should certainly be on the list.

So there’s my list of why camping in Middle Age is just an all around great idea. I’m sure you can add to the list, but the important thing is that you just go. Find a place, get some stuff together, and head out. Summer will fade all too soon; get out there and make some memories.

Middle Age 4th Floor Farming

There’s just something about dirt. It makes me feel good. I mean the dirt that’s earth. Soil. And planting in it. Having my hands in it. Having it on my clothes because I’m working in it. Cathartic. Therapeutic. It smells and feels like life and sun and rightness.

I did some research when we decided we’d have our first 4th floor patio garden. Just because we’re 40 feet up and a bit fenced in for room is no reason to not have our summer Man-garden (a Man garden is just like a regular garden only I put on my Man-gloves and Man-boots and grab some Man-tools and say things like, “headed out. Be back afore serious dark“). We knew we wanted lettuce (two kinds), kale, spinach, tomatoes, cucumbers, several kinds of herbs, several kinds of flowers (Man-sunflowers of course), and we added a bird feeder so I could call in the local wildlife.

So, we gassed up the Man-rig and headed to Lowe’s at sunup (Ok not quite sunup; coffee and a Man-potion are must-haves). As you might guess, the trip proved to be its own special kind of adventure. Mostly because it’s spring, it’s the first nice weekend we’ve had, we went three times (well? what?), and the card reader system crashed (which apparently is a code 70). The lack of parking and carts was foreshadowing I should have recognized. It was like Disney World without the rides or Mickey (although I did see some pretty unique sights). It was the longest line I’ve ever seen. That said, all I have to say about it is God Bless Americans. We can’t stop ourselves from wanting to make where we live beautiful. Come Hell-er-highwater, we won’t be denied our dandelion killer.

We made it back after the 3rd trip and called it a good campaign (pretty sure the manager had declared martial law as we were leaving). We had everything we wanted between stands, pots, seeds, and plants and spent the afternoon transforming the End-of-Day Martini Patio into the End-of-Day Martini Man-Garden. The only real setback was the woopsie when I dumped a whole bag of potting soil onto the kitchen floor (if it ain’t dangerous it ain’t Man).

I’m anxious to see what grows. I’m anxious to taste really fresh salads. I’m anxious to have fresh mint in the End-of-Day Man-Martini. If it’s like most things I do, I’ve way over done it and the management here will at some point knock the door and inform us that our cucumbers have trespassed to the floor below (which is when I’ll smile and puff my chest and reply, “heh-heh. Well a course they have”).

Life is good. Things are good. We are blessed. It’s become the time of year when we sleep with all the windows and the slider wide open. Feels like camping on a really nice bed. There’s a single robin that wakes me every morning and the sun blasts in as soon as it’s up. We’re anxious for the gym, pool, hot tub, and club house to reopen; we think it will be soon. The garage rock-and-stump workouts are sustaining for now and Rachel is painting rocks and secretly decorating the premises. She’s also creating coasters that have become quite poplar. We just moved into a bigger garage so I can get the Man-scoot in and out without moving the car.

After an uncomfortable pause, we’re back to our plan making. It’s so good for the spirit. I’m looking for a summer gig of some sort (Mark’s Man-Gardens?) I’ve got the names of one Florida and two Bahamian catamaran companies and we’re opening talks about where and when the next Casa Plummer might be. I’m looking at investing options for the corona check. We talk often of AirBnBs in Florida or the coast of Maine. I think there’s a trip to the Oregon Coast when it opens. I read a few pages of Fankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning to Rachel every afternoon as we rap up and then we unpack it a bit while throwing something healthy on the barbie.

The 5’oclock hour approaches, and with it the end of day, even for a Sunday. Time to grab Frankl, make something nice, and head out to the Man-Garden; to smell the fresh dirt and listen for the robin to start his evening song.

Ain’t That America

If you’re like me (it’s OK here to breathe a sigh and whisper “Oh thank God I’m not”), your internal dialogue runs constantly. I do pretty well keeping it internal. Most times. Sometimes, for us writers, our internal dialogues find their way to a blog. I guess this is the manifestation of a Sunday morning 9-second internal dialogue.

I was getting a little computer work done Saturday evening and doing my best to not ingest the sensationalist diatribe on recent media. Not easy but certainly doable, and a worthy goal. I’ve been reading Victor Fankl’s “The Meaning of Life,” and contemplating a people that lived in a time of truly, for me, unimaginable pain and darkness. It’s a wonderfully crafted work but not a fun or easy read and I have to take it in doses. I mean doses in the truest sense of the word. It’s good medicine for the soul, but geeze, it tastes mentally awful.

Rachel had just set before me a thing of great beauty, art, and love; my Saturday evening end-of-day, all-chores-done, Gin Man-Martini. As she sat down she whispered something that I did not quite catch but often don’t on the first go. After a minute I gave my usual half-assed, I-kinda-wasn’t-really-listening utterance that finished in a vocally upturned ending.

“Mmmmm?” I didn’t look up. I get a bit myopic when I work.
“Something-something-something-something gin”
“Mm.” My brain kept working on it. I’ve been accused of being able to keep working while someone burns the house down around me. I’m not sure why anyone would do that but I’m not entirely sure it’s not at least a little bit accurate. Sometimes the non-worky part of my brain goes to sleep while the worky part does all the heavy lifting. Sometimes the sleepy part gets all prickly when it wakes back up.

“Sorry babe.” My non-worky brain was starting to feel like a billion little needles. “One more time.”
“We’re out of gin.” Smile.

I wish I could explain the myriad sensations and questions I experienced in the proceeding quarter of a second.
Suffice it to say, I panicked.

How could this have happened?
What did this mean for me and my future?
Why was life so unfair?
How could you say that to me?
I don’t want to live in Gulag.
I should get online quickly and learn the route to the closest available remedy.
Where was my credit card?
I should arm myself.
Will drinking mouthwash really kill me?
Who is to blame here?
I thought this was America, not some Gin-less Third World (GTW) freakin’ country.
We won’t make it.
Where are my shoes?
Is my underwear clean?
I want my mommy.

I think I got the look on my face like the abominable snowman when he realized Hermie had pulled all his teeth.

Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer - Page 6 - Holiday Central Photos - CBS.com

And then, two seconds after the quarter second, the really awake part of my brain bitch-slapped the prickly side of my brain and said, “Stop it.”

I saw my shoes.
I wasn’t even wearing underwear.
Rachel was looking at me with concerned love and a smile.
“What’re we watching tonight?”

Thankfully I was already one really-fine sip in and cooler, Man-thoughts prevailed. We made a very calm plan to get to the packy the next day and pick up some gin and those really nice extra big martini olives and to continue finishing the final season of Sopranos (am I the last person on the planet to learn how good this show is? I’m practicing my Tony around the house: Wha-ya-gonndo-boutit). I was proud of myself for overcoming the panic.

We got to the packy the next day after live-streaming church. What an amazingly cool time to be on the planet. We’re liking a new Gin. New Amsterdam. It’s very floral and took me a bit to relish, but oh-now-trust-me, I’m relishing the AF out of it (I’m 58; leave it alone). On the way back we stopped at a local smaller store to get some veggies to grill. We’re leaning more vegetarian these days in a very quiet way. We grabbed some tofu to grill as well.

The store was buzzy and we parked out a bit. It’s always buzzy on Sundays. We didn’t get everything we wanted but we were open to new options and the produce section smelled like freshness. We found some new thing that looked like it might be fun to grill and had lots of vitamins. People were in a bit of a hurry. Nothing new there. The lines were long but we were in no great rush (having secured gin of course) and we expected to wait a bit. John Cougar Mellencamp’s Ain’t That America was playing overhead. I like that song.

While in the checkout line I met Alejandra who has a daughter and new granddaughter in San Francisco and apparently also has great predilection for Lunchables and bleach. Alejandra had alot of pictures on her phone. Alot. She was very nice and laughed alot too.

The older guy behind me had three stepdaughters from two wives and one girlfriend (I’m so not good following familial trees) and knew how to butcher cows and owned a .300 magnum and knew where to go shoot a cow. I wasn’t sure he’d need that caliber and velocity to shoot a domestic cow, but held my own. He seemed very proud of his skill set and reminded me a bit of my senile dad. Further ahead the lines parted and I said my goodbyes to Alejandra and Cow Shooter Guy.

The checkout girl was in support of societal lock down and I said I was sorry her day was bumpy and thanked her for using the bags we brought. Like my EMT son and ER nurse daughter in law, her life has been fuller than usual lately and she was understandably ready to normalize. I offered her my Monopoly cards but I guess she’s not allowed to play. The pink hair girl who took my cart likes working on Sundays because there is different energy. She can’t play the Monopoly game either. I grabbed the bags and waited for Rachel to get the receipt.

I stood beside phone guy along the wall. It’s odd the gyrations people go through when their phone rings and it’s in their pocket. It looked like a third ring might bring a jaw-clamping electric shock or maybe the miss of Publisher’s Clearing House next Millionaire call. In the next 9 seconds I wrote this blog in my head.

From what I could piece together, someone was checking on his progress. His cart boasted a successful hunt that supported proud regaling. His responses surprised me so much that I had to look at him and thought he might be an alien.

Alien phone guy said, “awful,” “craziness,” “wiped clean,” (twice), “insanity,” a few resigned yeps and nopes, a finally “ridiculous,” and ended the call.
He caught me staring.
He really was an alien.

Wiped clean? Wiped Clean? For the love of God, wiped clean? Are you blind? Have you not just walked every one of the 23 aisles in this wonderful store? Have you just not seen more food in one place at one time than most of the world sees in a month or a year? Did you not just spend a one hour fantasy stroll in a luxurious place of choices and options and freshness and best-if-eaten-by dates and mist sprayers?

Insanity? Insanity? Did someone just not ask you how your day was? Did you not see that muscle car pause for crosswalk granny? Were you not offered game cards for whatever fantasy you might enjoy? Are we not all talking nicely as we stand in line and wait?

Awful and craziness? Awful? Craziness? Are you not pushing that weighted cart? Breathing clean air? Financially well enough to have a cell phone? Wearing nice clothes? Free to leave this store and drive any direction you choose? Did you not meet Alejandro who has a new granddaughter? How about Cow Shooter Guy who knows cool things? Do you not love Ain’t That America?

We got in the car and I sat for a second.
Alien phone guy made me a bit sad.
We. Have. SO. Much.
You. are. SO. blind.

Funny how different people see things, hear things, experience things.
I wonder of Viktor Fraknl. I can’t stop humming Mellencamp’s song. Little pink houses for you and me.

Tonight, when I sit down to my end-of-day, chores-are-done martini, I’m going to get a little bit emotional, lift my glass in thanks to God, not be able to really find the right words, think of Frankl and little pink houses, and whisper my best Tony “Salute.”

Good At and Good For

As Rachel and I continue our Middle Age life-journey of discovery, we’re continuing to learn and grow. That is, after all, the purpose, yes? Or at least one of them.

It can be interesting the things we find ourselves doing in making our lives here on the planet. We are often initially measured by the ubiquitous question: “So, what do you do?” People mean, of course, how we pay the mortgage, not how we act when we’re home alone for the day (and that’s a very good thing). I get asked it alot when I fly, and despite the kind nod and smile, the look is a dead give away that says, “I have no idea what the words you just said mean.” I’ve tried changing up the phrasing, but the results are the same.

The question is kind and innocuous enough I guess. I suppose what we do might say something about us. Some people seem to know almost from birth their vocation path, as if they are selected and designed for just one option; a calling if you will. Lucky bastards. Most of us, not so much.

Most of of us bang around and eventfully find a niche. We settle in to an acceptable and mostly enjoyable job. Maybe we’re not necessarily designed for it, but maybe we’re the type of people that could do alot of things pretty well (I thought for awhile I’d work at Sears selling furniture and be That Guy who knows an awful lot about recliner construction).

We start a path, grow a family, take on the weight of debt, grow social roots, get comfy, and surround ourselves with what we do. There’s nothing wrong with that. I never intended on doing what I do now. It just sort of unfolded, one step at a time. I really like it, but if you’d have told me I’d be doing what I’m doing 20 years ago, I’d have advised you to cut back on your meds.

Knowing what you should do is hard.
Knowing what you could do it easier.
Sometimes it seems that you didn’t really choose it, you just ended up making some small decisions and ended up there.
Some were decisions of inaction and some were decisions of action.
Some decisions seemed very purposed, and some were not really sure how I got here.

It’s the same with Rachel and me. Some of the places we arrived at were because of our planning and our choices. And some of the things we chose were because they materialized suddenly based on previous choices.

Funny how that is; you can’t see new options until you move forward to a new place.

Gotta move first, and then you see.
Crest the next rise, and there they are.
Blurry shimmering somethings in the distance.
Move first, then see. I wish it was the other way around, but it’s not.

Seems like we’ve been doing alot of moving lately.

When we originally began the journey towards financial independence, it was largely for two reasons. Being debt free would allow for alot of cool options (like tropical hedonistic cruises on chartered catamarans). Paying interest sucks and so do payments. Someone told me once that it’s not how much money you make, it’s how much you owe. If you don’t owe much you can take alot of hedonistic cruises on 50 foot chartered cats (ok, I added that last part, but it’s true).

Additionally, and more importantly, the kind of work Rachel was doing was making her sick. Not metaphorically sick; physically sick. Like killing her sick. She was unwell, diagnosed with several immune deficiencies, on several medications, gaining weight, not sleeping, and was on all fronts circling the drain. We knew being out of debt would allow her to assess her life and have more freedom of choice – like choosing a hedonistic tropical cruise with free martinis. (See how it just keeps getting better?)

We also knew that if we didn’t make some big changes soon, we might be facing options that were not so fun.

But the truth is, Rachel was making alot of money and was really good at what she did. Awards and all that. High-end corporate medical management sounds flashy and important, and in many aspects it was. And at its core it was altruistic, philanthropic, and benevolent: managing people and systems that saved kid’s lives.

The paradox was entangling, at least it was for us. She was so good at it, and it was killing her. We thought maybe if we could just adopt a different mindset. Learn to handle stress better. Meditate. Visualize. Diagnose. exercise. Find just the right combination of any or all. But over time, talks, tears, getting as many perspectives as we could, and trying all sorts of approaches, a truth started to emerge:

Just because we’re good at it doesn’t mean it’s good for us.

Good at and good for.
As soon as the words were out of my mouth I knew life had changed.

The money we had. The Good she was doing. The future it painted. It took very clear eyes and minds to not only discern the situation but also make the call to walk away. And she did walk away. We’re starting our 4th week of one income and there are lots of really cool things going on (like becoming a Sugar Daddy). I won’t steal her show and I’ll let her tell her own story as she sees fit here.

Some of the things we’ve learned and are thankful for:
– Being debt free allowed for a much broader scope of choices
– Money is only fun if life is already fun
– Money’s not worth being miserable
– Being a Sugar Daddy is awesome
– I can get pretty hedonistic in a hot tub
– Meaningful conversation is a critical aspect of life

We’re not sure what the future holds (Lord, do we ever? Do any of us?) Right now we think we’re looking at a one-year-ish sabbatical. There’s alot of healing going on (and I’m learning some really awesome new dance moves). To be honest, I’m a little afraid of what new options might suddenly jump up. I’ve already told her I do not want to be a missionary to Zimbabwe (probably no hot tubs).

The financial goals have adapted, or at least been set to pause for a bit. But get this: our original financial goal was to be debt-free in November of 2020; 11 months from now. So we’re 100% on track to meet our original plan (I just gave myself chills).

The hedonistic free martini cat vacation is still out there, oh trust me. As is the AirBnB for a month in Naples and Vermont and lots of other dreams to come. First things first. Gratefulness, health, love, family, dreams, faith, SugarDaddying, wisdom, smart choices, risk and reaching, knowing when to move, knowing when to hold.

And I guess downsizing to a 40 foot cat with free martinis would still be ok. I mean, the simple life, right?

Middle Age Mark’s Year in Review

I am generally not a big fan of year-end reviews. They depress me. Time has passed, I’m a year older, my bald spot is bigger, famous people have died, it’s tax time and the days are short. I’m not a big looker-backer. Too many people refer to the past when asked how they’re doing, and begin a diatribe of struggle and glum. Makes me insane. But then I throw away old pictures, so I might not be the best litmus when it comes to wrapping up the year.

Having said that, 2019 was a wicked good year (shout out to my Maine peeps). Perhaps one of the best I’ve lived. For reasons I’ll unpack shortly, I saw more beneficial change this year than any year since. The year started in Mesa Arizona with one word, prepare, and little did I know then how that word would help usher in a new era in life.

I start every new year with one word. It’s my Word For The Year (WFTY). Nichole (daughter) created the practice. She’s a beautiful spirit-forward person, which means she senses you way before you have the chance to tell her anything. We spend just about every New Year’s with her and her husband Joey, and it’s a great environment for setting a new word-path for the year. We make drinks, have a little ceremony, and hope to see our spirit animal (ok that last part is just me). More on that in a bit, but if you want to adopt the practice, it’s kind of fun (and it really helps to focus you forward).

As I mentioned, we started 2019 at the Baby House in Mesa. Nic and Joey were down for New Year’s with Rachel and me, and we partied like it was 2099 (see what I did there?) I remember a rousing rendition of how-low-can-you-go on the dance floor and thinking how amazing it all was (I could hardly walk the next morning, but still). It was that trip that Nic first shared that she was having a change of heart, and they were thinking of getting pregnant in a year or two. We shared some very close, quiet conversations. Life stuff.

The word prepare had been on me for some time. I don’t remember where it came from or why, but I sensed something was coming and I wanted to be ready. It was on that trip that Rachel and I decided to put all efforts towards climbing out of debt; the school loans, the cars, the cards. Rachel was sick (literally) of medical management and had had a run of very tough surgeons and situations. I had been reading Dave Ramsey and Fritz Gilbert and knew the first step towards having options was removing drag. We looked at the numbers and set a date for November 2020 to have zero debt. We left there very excited.

It was in the spring that we learned of Nic’s pregnancy. Rachel made me a special martini and delivered the news. All I could repeat was, “You gotta be shittin’ me!” I cried and then I wasn’t able to talk. I’ve never seen any women be so pregnant and yet not at the same time. She said she told God that this was His deal and she didn’t have time to be sick (she’s not had even one day sick) or stop doing yoga.

The summer was wonderful. Rachel took some extra time off, and we decided to try our first July in Mesa. As July’s go there it wasn’t particularly hot. Mornings started between 75-80 and days topped about around 110. In short, we loved it. We did what we needed to do during the mornings and early afternoons, and then hit one of 3 pools with our shaker martinis. It was like our own private resort. We had the “opportunity” to replace the AC, but things like that should be expected.

It was on that trip, during one of our floating finance sessions, that Rachel dropped the bomb: “I think we should sell the house.” We had talked about it on and off for years. So we did it; we left there and went back to Boise and immediately called our realtor friend. After a few weeks of intense prep, it was on the market and sold very quickly. After some research, we used the profits from the house to advance the debt free date, and we began a new phase of life, that of no debt, minimalism, and condo living. Rachel writes a blog on living a minimalist life. The whole package is wonderful (even I’m surprised at how much I like the condo life).

On a more micro note, my approach to fitness changed this year. Although I still crave resistance training, at 58 my joints no longer always love the heavy weight. There’s a difference between good and bad pain (wink), and I knew it was smart to listen to the form. I tightened up the diet (which of course excludes martinis), shaved a bit from the weight stack, and added more cross training. I feel great and look pretty good too.

So we came into fall and the holidays. Rachel got candy in case we were visited by any trick-or-treaters (eternal optimist), and she began to plan for Thanksgiving. It would be hard to overemphasize the importance of Thanksgiving to Rachel. It was one of the challenges of becoming condo-livers; there needed to be a place with enough room for the whole family. Enter the condo clubhouse, with all the amenities for cooking, serving, and enjoying the Thanksgiving day (and 3 big screen TV’s and pool table). A better day was never had.

Christmas has come and gone, and it was wonderful as well. We got a skinny tree and decorated the front door. Rachel and I celebrated early with the kids like we do every year, so that they can be more free to relax or see other family on the actual day. Nic hosted for the first time (after a morning session of maternity yoga), and carried the mantle of easy, relaxed holiday enjoyment perfectly. It felt right, us going there, as soon Kepa will wake us with excitement about what Santa brought. Can hardly wait.

And finally, we ended the year with perhaps one of the biggest life changes in our relationship yet. Rachel tendered her resignation and departed the corporate world for an undetermined sabbatical. Already the change in her spirit is evident. A surgeon friend described her as radiant during a recent small gathering, and I could not disagree. I can see the weight being lifted more every day. She’s coming back to the surface. We both wear smiles most of the day, inside and out.

My 2019 word was prepare.
We got debt free and small.
Kepa is on his way.
My toast each night is Blessed Life.
What a year.

Could SugarDaddy be one word?

A Time of Middle Age Quiet

It’s been quite some time since I published, and I have missed it. I’ve wanted to put out an update, but there is still so much change happening it’s tough to find a stable spot. We’ve sold the house, moved into our 4th floor condo, achieved debt free, enjoyed the fall and the spectacular 4th floor sunrises, and settled into a routine. Most of the time now I even know where things are in the kitchen before I look for them (I still lose my shoes almost daily).

Rachel and I are still living life leaning forward; still no shortage of adventure, change, the unknown, expectancy, and impatience (that last one is mostly me). The reason for the impatience is that there’s a thing still in the development stage and outside of our direct control (C’mon already!), so I can’t share that quite yet.

I’m not so good (horribly awful) at the waiting-to-see-what-happens thing and tend to be action oriented. Someone told me once I’d burn the house down because the bathroom’s dirty (And?). The whole letting Someone else write your story is not my natural state (gimme’ that freakin’ pen!). When I was six I killed a fly with a croquet mallet because the mallet was handy. And the fly needed to die. The fly was on a plate glass window (seemed like a good idea at the time).
I’ve not changed much in that regard.

So during the wait, I focus on the million things I have to celebrate and be thankful for. Condo living is great. And different. We knew it would be different, and some of it is the kind of different that we were expecting and some of it is a different kind of different.

I thought there might be things I really miss. I thought I might dream about the House of Wales. I thought there might be hints of regret. None of that has happened.

I thought we’d always see lots of people; in the halls, in the elevators, in the hot tub. Not so much (my own private 30-person hot-tub-pool every morning at 6am. Down the elevator and across the dark parking lot in robe, slippers, Patriots beanie, coffee, phone, towel. Might as well act like I own the place, right?).
No wonder I never see anybody.

I thought it would be noisy but it hardly ever is. I hear less barking dogs than I did when I owned. Our fridge makes weird noises all the time, like a steel skyscraper just before it collapses. I thought I’d miss raking leaves and splitting wood this fall but I don’t, except for maybe the exercise aspect. I still try to ride my mountain bike more to compensate. I thought I’d miss fires and my wood floor office. Nope.

I thought I would have an issue with a sense of lack of control; a Man and his castle and eminent domain and all. A little at first, but now no.
Funny how that is.

We’re having family Thanksgiving in the condo clubhouse. We reserved it for just the family and we’re baking salmon. The clubhouse has an 8 foot conference table and huge couches and chairs and pillows and a pool table and shuffle board and three 6-foot TV’s and my private hot tub that I might share.

We’ve settled in here. It’s home. The sunrises are truly glorious. We have two garage door openers. We have a routine. Places where we sit. Places where things go. Routines are good. It still takes me about 40 minutes to do my morning chores. Evenings are nice, and, of course, there’s still the end-of-day martini and talk of the day’s events of import before a healthy dinner. We often watch the spinny-wheel show and try to guess the puzzles (Rachel is faster than I am). Then a Netflix episode. We sleep well and rarely see 10pm.

Sometimes I think you can tell a place is getting inside your heart because you know that someday when you leave there’s going to be things you really miss.

This is a really cool thing we’ve done.
The concept of moving towards mobility is exciting.
Being debt free is awesome.

Also, one of the biggest and greatest coming-soon(!) events is a January addition to the family by way of a grandson. Rachel and I already have plans for pool days, bike rides, wagon rides, sleepovers, falling asleep during Disney movies during sleepovers (me), wrestling before bedtime at sleepovers (me), and doing my best James Earl Jones voice for Dr. Seuss and Shel Silverstein bed time books during sleepovers.

Normally by this time of year we would have spent time at the Arizona Baby House. Not yet this year. We are missing it intensely and daily. Events have arranged (or perhaps more accurately ceased to arrange) to postpone our life there. In that regard, it has been a time of just-when-you-think-you’ve-got a plan: Grr. Shifting ground, rug pulling, not lining up, and all that. Reevaluating. Neither of us like the inability to make goals and march towards them in very measured strides (read: my head is about to fly off and then explode).

We won’t wait much longer (is that fly buzzing I hear?); we’re still evaluating, praying, testing, arranging, allowing time for responses, trying to figure out the better. Depending on what we decide, life could look very different.

The amount of restraint I’m showing ought to be rewardable (like winning a Life-Oscar for Most Patience Ever Since the Beginning of Recorded Time).

It’s a time of Quiet. Some of it is cyclical. Fall brings a time of reflection as days grow shorter, colder, and life pulls in and gets smaller. It’s a time of assessing and quiet conversation and listening. Maybe some of it is that I lived so much change and adventure for so long that it’s time to be quiet for a bit. I don’t like it and want to take it off like an ill fitting jacket.

Maybe downsizing life is more than just downsizing stuff. Maybe in the same way a football receiver takes off at great speed and then pivots to change direction on his route, so too I’m doing a slow-motion life-pivot.
Inertia.
The forced pause.
It makes me twitch (I’m holding my head on).

I am anxious to be on (and write about) the next adventure, but it’s not time yet. Decisions are outside of our control until we get more pieces in place. What I do know is that it’s a time of Quiet.

But if it lasts much longer I’m buying a frickin’ crochet mallet.

Get Debt Free or Invest?

Sometimes we can’t really know a thing from a distance. Often, it’s impossible to really experience the truth of a thing until we get close, or even all the way inside it.

When we start to really get inside something, we start to see it for what it is, not what we thought it would be. Sometimes that’s really cool and amazing and we love it. Other times it starts to get dark and awful. Sometimes we push through because we’re going to finish what we started. Other times we reevaluate and make new decisions. It can be hard to know which way to go; to know if we should hold ’em or fold ’em.

I had a dream of being an attorney since I was a kid. I like to argue and wrestle with abstracts (Ok I like when people listen to me talk too). But being a lawyer is probably nothing like the lawyers I see on the TV shows. I’ve heard and read enough stories of attorneys walking away from practicing law that I probably would not have been happy. Maybe some things are better left dreamed about.

This blog post will be a little different in some ways. It’s a bit of the same in that I’m putting out there our financial plans and where we are so far. It’s a bit different because I’m hoping to get a bit more personal. I’m going to be a little more open about how we fared on selling the House of Wales; not in an attempt to boast as much to help anyone else that might be following.

So let’s just dive right in. Through years of hard work, consistent upkeep, smart upgrades, and market timing, we did very well selling the House of Wales. It’s been one of the major decisions in our lives; not just because we sold the house but also because we changed lifestyles. When all was signed and done, we sold for about $130K more than we owed.

That’s not counting paying off the Baby House, which took about $40K from that profit (debt free Baby Howwwse!) That’s also not counting fees, some upgrades, and other associated costs from the process of selling (If you ever need a realtor, seriously, please contact me), so we put about $70K in a money market fund account until we could settle on the exact plan.

Our current plan was to be debt free by October 1st 2020. We made this plan before we decided to sell the House of Wales. We were killing it. We had our debt whittled down to just three more loans: the car ($20K), the truck ($20K), and my school loan ($25K) and were throwing gobs of money at them every month.

We had originally planned to invest the entire profit and leave it for 10-15 years while we added to it slowly and continued our October 1st 2020 debt free pursuit.

A few weeks ago, like we always do, we began checking down the action plan and reviewing the timing. In other words, we got a very close-up view of our options. One of us (not sure which one) said, “And we’re sure we’d not be better off finishing the debt free journey and then starting to invest?”

Sidebar: You know how when someone asks a question and it’s more than a question and then the person says something like what? I’m just asking only you know their actually not just asking and everything kind of starts to unravel?
Uh huh.
Like that.
(Insert open can of worms).

We started reviewing our options again, making sure of our choice. It really came down to two options: invest 100% of the profit or get clear of 100% of the debt. Right now.

We talked about it alot.
A-lot.
The cool thing about talking about something alot is that often it serves as a catalyst to review other areas of life: plans, dreams, the future (and to have another martini. Gin, of course). It helped us boil down what we were really chasing.

Paying off debt cuts stress and creates a sense of freedom. It takes away some of the “have to’s” of life. Living expenses don’t go away, but the financial drag of payments and interest does. It also creates a really cool sense of accomplishment.

Someone once told me that it’s not how much money we make; it’s how much debt we have. If we don’t have any debt, we don’t need much money. (Just enough, really, for a 1-week trip on a cat in the Bahamas. Every year. With martinis).
Being debt free makes good sense and is never a bad idea.

We also knew we could use the $70K as a quick-start towards creating passive income through investing that would add to my two pensions; one from the Coast Guard (already drawing that one) and one from the state when I eventually stop full-time work. I plan to add another 5-7 years of state employment before taking that step.

Those pensions will create a bedrock income for retirement for the rest of my life (~$3K per month) before any passive investment income and before social security (no plan yet on when to draw). A cool additional benefit of my Coast Guard service is lifetime healthcare (huge, I know).

Rachel also has a 401K that’s worth about $40K right now that we’re also deciding how best to grow.

The investment idea was intriguing because we’re late to that game. I’ve let the awareness of my pensions make me lazy. I also liked the investment idea because I wanted to ride up and down the condo elevator checking my portfolio and saying cool things like “oh yeah, diversified” and “market share” and “Dude this ROI is toasting my nuggs.”

Yes, we would still have time time to invest but we’re losing the amount of wealth a $70K chunk could jump start (and my elevator trips wouldn’t be nearly as cool). It might take us a few years to build that core amount back into an investment with our income. Although we really don’t see ourselves coming to full-stop retirement until we’re really old (like 116), it might be hard to hold down full time work from a 40′ cat in the Bahamas.

When it came right down to it and we could really see everything up close, we decided to bring home the prize that we started chasing 9 months ago:

We’re Debt Free!
Happy Birthday to me!

When we started our debt free journey in January of 2019 we had NO idea what would become of this adventure. It’s been quite the ride!

It hasn’t really sunk in yet. I keep going to the school loan website and flipping it the bird while laughing and dancing around in little circles (I also have a little song I made up but it’s mostly naughty words). It’s fun to keep seeing zeros. It’s a huge chapter finally closed. I might keep doing my dance for awhile (probably close the shades next time though).

It’s the same with the vehicles. That’s not as fun though because we paid by e-check (and I don’t have a song made up for those). Still, the sense of there, that’s finally over feels really good (I might drive past the dealerships and flip them a bird too).

I think we’re going to live in this for awhile.
Small, quiet, 4th floor balcony celebrations are the best.

I guess I’m going to have to find something else to write about.
I don’t think that’s going to be too hard.

I’m proud of us.

Debt free Middle Age life feels really, really good.

Downsizing Life

“Geeze we have alot of stuff”

If you’ve ever moved, you know that it’s a “considerable undertaking” (I originally had a much more profane term), and is usually punctuated with aches, pains, a mountain of boxes, a lot of moving parts, and intermittently questioning one’s sanity (ok, and not a small amount of gin).

The statement at the top of the blog is one that Rachel and I have said back and forth to each other over the preceding year as we began downsizing, and ever increasingly over the last few months. It’s usually accompanied by some sort of verbalization of discomfort (grunt, groan, sigh) as another box is hefted, along with a breathy cuss-word either before or after (I’ll let you fill that one in).

On this blog post, I’ve invited a sexy guest writer to help me unpack the moving adventure (all real blog authors should have sexy guest writers). My wife, published author, and Life-Adventure-Sidekick Rachel is going to help me on this one. She was, after all, the first one to speak the foreboding message: “I think we should sell the house,” so this is all kinda her fault (I try to do a pretty good job of reminding her of that when we’re lifting heavy things and making aforementioned cuss word noises).

Rachel serves as the Middle Age Mark blog editor already, and I’ve asked her to go through and add her thoughts in italics. We’re not so much conversing back and forth as we are just sharing our thoughts. I have no idea what she’s going to write, and have agreed to not edit or revise (like a blogger trust fall. Lord).

Thank you for the invite to be a guest blogger. This is another first in my life, Mr. Plummer.

It’s one week ago today that the movers came and removed all of the furniture we were keeping from the House of Wales and delivered it to the 4th floor Condo.

Really? Just one week ago?

Even though we’ve been in reduction mode for a year, it’s been surprising how much stuff we still have. But now (thank God) we’re almost out of the House of Wales and it’s on like Donkey Kong.

What does that phrase even mean?

We’re getting everything ready for the new owners, and we naturally want them to be proud of and thankful for their new home.

Ah, the House of Wales. We’ve made some wonderful memories there.

I’ve lost count of the number of trips, boxes, and times we’ve eaten awful fast food in order to keep on the move (how do people eat like that?).

Right?

We’ve been through appointments with A/C guys and furnace guys, a hot water tank guy, a stager, two home inspectors, a handyman, a window guy, and one CT scan team (I SO can move this couch by myself. Watch this).

I’m pretty sure I remember asking if you wanted help. 😉 To be fair though, MP has been through a lot of appointments with all of those people, because at the same time we decided to sell the HofW, I started a brand new job…exact same week. So he has been the one to meet everyone and get the good and sometimes not so good news. Thanks Cowboy.

I came into the House of Wales kitchen last Saturday morning as we were emptying closets and found Rachel standing at the bar eating half a banana and a pickle.
At the same time.
I stopped. I stared.
She said it was all she could find.
Her face was pure rapture.

That was for sure a first. Pickles (think it was three actually) and a banana for breakfast. Minus the sodium, you can’t say it wasn’t healthy. And we had sh*t to do…no time for eggs and bacon. Chop chop….lets’ go!

We’re selling, downsizing, living smaller, getting out of debt, and moving forward into what we’re calling “Cozy Minimalism.” When we started this debt free adventure last January we had no idea what it would become (probably a good thing), but I’m proud to say we’re still on track to be 100% debt free on October 1^st 2020.

It’s been a fun undertaking. Deciding what’s really important shines a light on everything in your life. It gives clarity and appreciation for people and time and a clearer view of what’s not that important after all.

We’re making the hard decisions and erring on the side of frugality. We kept the bed, one recliner, two deck chairs, my work table, Rachel’s art table, and two bar stools. The rest went to a yard sale (gag) or to the Idaho Youth Ranch as a donation.

Much of the impetus has been that not only are we moving and downsizing (which is always a good time to evaluate possessions), but we’re also changing lifestyles. The myriad of possessions that were needed to maintain a home inside and out are no longer required. We’ve reduced our clothes to items that we wear at least twice a month with the exception of the essential seasonal stuff (like all my Tom Brady apparel).

And some incredibly comfy lounge pants.

We’ve also reduced kitchen ware and clothes by more than half (we increased the gin and wine though, so that’s a plus one).

This was a big one for me. I Love to cook. So really looking at what I used and how we eat was important. Just because it was a ‘cool’ kitchen gadget, didn’t mean I needed or used it. Time to donate! Maybe someone else has always wanted a zester.

I even took the side wings off my Man grill so that it would fit on the balcony.

We have definitely sold or donated more than we have kept. The process of downsizing has at times been an emotional journey. I’ve been encouraged along the way by The Minimalists and their view on “things” and how they affect our lives. Listening to their story/podcast most mornings on my drive to work has aided in the processing of how and what to let go of, including photos, family heirlooms, and 45 purses/bags.

We each have our own Baby Garage (his and hers splurge) so that’s kinda fun. The Man Rig just fits (I’ve only run into the back wall twice).

I share my baby garage with the motorcycle. We both agreed it was a must keep. It provides fun rides to the gym for MP, and incredibly enjoyable date night outings.

She meant to say Man-Cycle but that’s ok. Through it all we’ve had no fights, and not really even any bad moods.

He’s being very kind here… I’ve had a couple of cranky moments. One night I got held up late at work, and when he suggested salad for dinner, I snipped something like, ‘Unless I don’t want salad!’. He just smiled. I took a deep breath, apologized for being cranky and we went to dinner. I had a French dip.

We’ve been very careful to check with each other about arrangements of our new spaces. Since our new home is much smaller, we’re going to be sharing every room. We got good practice doing this in the Mesa Baby House, so now our Condo seems spacious.

I think this might be one of the biggest things to consider when minimizing. Do you like the other person enough to share almost all your space with them? Lucky for us we do. Things like MP’s office was a big consideration as we made this transition. He is VERY tidy and likes his space neat and organized. His office is his domain. I like my space neat too…mostly. Ok, kind of. I am an artist. I make things and create. Scraps of paper on the floor and a little paint on the table make me feel like I’m free and open to create anything that comes to mind. I don’t want to worry about making a mess along the way.

It’s a “growth opportunity” for me. (Lord teach me patience). It is kind of true though; I take 10 minutes every morning to make the bed and fold all the towels and blankets so the tags don’t show.

So, we have a plan to make the space sharable, and an open forum for discussion if either of us isn’t feeling comfortable. We’ll be fine, and good to know we can talk about it if we need to.

As you can tell, we’ve decided to have fun and make it a successful adventure. It does take a lot of communication, allowing for your spouse’s desires, compromising and remembering what’s important, and wanting your spouse to be just as happy to come home as you are.

Smaller life is good. We still end each day on the 4th floor balcony, overlooking the pool, with an adult beverage, and have even ended a few of the late August warmer days with a float in our new pool (and accompanying adult thermos martini beverage) and then a short repose in the new 30-person hot tub.

And here’s the best part: I don’t have to take care of either one of them.

Debt Free Update

At the time of this writing, the For Sale sign in the front yard got a spanking new upgrade: Sale Pending! (Ok, it doesn’t really have an exclamation point, but it should!) We’re very excited! Our latest adventure is proving to be every bit as exciting as we thought it would be.

The graphic above isn’t really the date that either Rachel or I are considering retiring (we are both blessed with jobs that we love), but we couldn’t find a debt free countdown app so we borrowed a retirement app. It’s fun to watch the date get closer and anticipate the feeling of being debt free.

When we originally decided to get out of debt, our intent was to be debt free minus the mortgage, and continue to use the home as an investment. We started last January with monthly financial goals and took aim at the smallest debts first; furniture, credit cards. We held monthly goal meetings and knocked them out in a few months.

Then we focused on the first school loan, which was about 8K at the time, and this coming Saturday night we have a Student Loan Victory Party date planned! (I might get a gladiator costume and drink from a bronze challis). Death to student loan #1! (Exclamation points everywhere – masses cheering) That will be a very good celebration!

Next in the cross hairs will be the second student loan, which will take us out to September 1st of 2020. One added month to finish the car loans off, and if all goes as planned, we’ll have no debt as of October 1st 2020 and begin a cash-only lifestyle.

Zero financial drag.
Lots of possibilities start coming into focus.
Lots of fun possibilities.
I think I might want to catch a swordfish.
On Jimmy Johnson’s boat.

Throughout this process we’ve kept talking, dreaming, reading, sharing, learning. As we continued to talk about our goals and dreams, we started to really drill down into what we wanted our life to look like and who we wanted to be. Our version of being debt free changed to include the House of Wales as well. We decided it was time to make the decision, do the hard thing (pack / move 713,000x boxes, yard sale (gag)), take our earned equity, and begin investing in earnest.

It’s a life rule: You have to do the hard thing before you get the good thing.

We’re behind in investing. Although I have one federal pension that I’m currently receiving (Coast Guard), and at some point I’ll have the state of Idaho pension (two lifetime pensions = dream), we have some really big plans for our future (have a I mentioned a week on a Cat cruising the Bahamas or the fifth wheel and monster truck with the train horn?) so we want to make sure we’re funding our dreams.

And we’re doing just that.

We’re learning all we can about investment options so that we can add more revenue streams for retirement. There are lots of ideas and choices, and we’re learning about liquid assets and index funds. The equity will be a really nice lump sum investment to get us started. If all goes as planned, we should do very well.

I know the planet suffers the occasional naysayer and joy-sucker. To them I say we’re using all the information we have to do the very best we can with what God has given us. The rest is up to Him. In the meantime we’re on the adventure of our lives.

Becoming non-homeowners is not for everyone, but it’s right for us at this point. Although it’s true I may miss getting tangled up in the rose bush (pokey F’er) or attacking the wood pile bees, the fact is we’re becoming more mobile. We have the Baby House in Mesa and we like being there as much as we can, especially during the Idaho winters. I’ve also reacquired my love for Naples Florida and Vermont cabins. It’ll be nice to know that we can turn down the condo heat, close the door, and go get some real maple syrup sans worries.

Our rent, even with all of the amenities, will be similar to what our mortgage was, and since we’re investing all of the profit, we’ll still be leveraging the compounding effect of our money in much the same way (8% annually?) a home might appreciate.

That’s exciting.

At 58 and I-robbed-the-cradle, Rachel and I are looking forward to being a little more unburdened. Without the duties of keeping a beautiful home beautiful, discretionary time will come back. There’s a mountain bike in the garage that’s been missing me, and a drum kit as well (get the band back together?). There are books I’m waiting to read, places I want to volunteer, side hustles that need hustling, and good non-bottom-shelf gin that needs ‘scrutinizing.’

Moving is hard (!) and funny (!), and there’s another blog coming about that with a guest author (!).

Lord the things we get ourselves into. What a ride!

It’s hard to imagine a better and more optimistic life.
Let’s gooooo!