I am going to tell you ahead of time that this post is not meant for you. Please feel free to read along if you would like, but I will warn you beforehand that what follows is yet another futile attempt by Dan's colliding brain hemispheres to debate an internal argument.
Today's Debate: Suiting Up - Bunker Gear vs. Pinstripes
Why don't we just agree right off the bat that Dan Workman is one finicky bastard? Seeming to be tossed to and fro by every gusting wind of choice while simultaneously suffering his mini-midlife, this self-centered boy watches gray hairs emerge and realizes the time to become a man is at hand. Will he choose the best path for his family? Will he grow up and finally set aside his cargo shorts and skate shoes? We'll find out... on next week's episode!!!
Just what the hell am I supposed to do with my life?!
For some reason the "Get busy living..." line from Shawshank Redemption has been in my mind lately. Anyone who reads this blog (though I can't for the life of me imagine why) already knows of my fascination with the passing of finite minutes.
As of today, November 5, 2010 I have spent exactly 28.35 years on this earth and internally that seems to be the exact deadline to stop "floating" through my career.
Smarter men make this decision much earlier in life. Braver men never feel the need to make this decision at all. I, on the other hand, am flogged every waking minute with the urgent need to stop wasting my potential, whatever that may be.
And here I am, 28 years and change into my life in probably the best overall shape I've ever been in with a job that I'm not passionate about but at the same time in a very advantageous position. I also happen to have a great boss who truly wants me to succeed at whatever I decide to do. This is where the battle begins...
In the red corner we have the "natural man" (no religious connotation intended). This version of Dan is so dominant over the being that he must be restrained in order for any progress to be made. He is the one who will pull over on the side of the freeway, delighted by the discovery of a free hat or t-shirt. He loathes spending more than $6 on an entire outfit and--were it an actual possibility--would spend his days running through the forest barefoot in only tattered shorts with a knife in one hand and a spear in the other. He believes firmly in a life without technology, wants to spend time every day chopping wood and dipping beeswax candles and would NEVER be caught dead writing on a blog. This version of Dan wants to embrace everything animalistic within him. He wants to wield an axe and kick down doors. He wants to gorge on undercooked or even raw meat and spend the rest of his days with grime packed underneath his fingernails. He is a nomad. He is brimming with testosterone and craves adrenaline. He is always uncouth. He drives without a seatbelt and raises his middle finger to anything established or organized. He is a man of action, rushing headfirst into every new adventure and wanting to experience everything that life has to offer. Because of all of this, he probably won't live to see 40. He also desperately wants to be a firefighter.
In the blue corner, we have the "rational" version of Dan. This loving father and husband wants nothing more than to provide for his girls. He wants to give them every comfort they desire and then some. He needs work, and help, but has the potential to be the post-bath version of the Encino Man. He cleans up pretty well when he wants to and actually looks alright in a suit. He has a pretty good head on his shoulders and has the potential to excel at a career that requires creativity and people skills. In a blurry haze, a distant future, he can see himself playing golf with clients and picking up his clothes from the dry cleaner. He keeps a schedule and never lets himself forget that he is an adult. He only wears his cargo shorts on the weekend and even then, he ALWAYS remembers to wear socks with his skate shoes to minimize the smell. He shaves and flosses with regularity, not just while driving and running late. He doesn't worry about money, because he makes more than he ever dreamed possible. He still lives in a humble home. His wife drives a 2009 Subaru Forester and he drives a 2005 Tacoma. In the garage next to it sits a $3,000 to $4,000 motorcycle which he always rides whilst helmeted, because safety is more important that thrill. Maybe he still cliff dives or bungee jumps or sky dives once a year to keep from becoming a complete and total pussy, but he works hard to make that adrenaline rush last at least 8-12 months. He sips at it and savors it, rather than looking for every chance to bathe in it. When his kids watch the latest Pixar movie, they get it on Blueray in 1080p and on at least 50 inches. And, most importantly, even though they don't expect it of him, he has the means to take his kids to Disneyland and his wife on an anniversary cruise, just because he feels like it. He thinks about things like retirement and college funds. He wants to give his children a better future than his parents and his wife's parents left to them. Maybe he works for a volunteer fire department once or twice a week. And, only very rarely, when nobody is looking, does he eat steak with his fingers.
The decision looms, demanding attention before January. On one hand we have a ticking clock, reminding me that I will never be able to become a firefighter after age 32 in some departments, age 35 in others. I have a slot waiting for me at the DATC fire academy and applications floating around all over the country. I have the opportunity to do something that excites me personally, but somewhat at the expense of my family. Will daddy come home after work this week? Will I be left raising these kids on my own? Will we have enough money to make ends meet? Is choosing a job for myself and my passion an act of selfishness?
At the same time, dozens (if not hundreds) of men with more credentials and qualifications fight in this job market to get a position just like the one I already hold. Without meaning to I have been working toward a promotion since 2006. I have developed skills and qualifications that may very well have opened up the entire country and the potential of a six-figure income. I have a manager who is backing me 110%, a very limited number of other people standing in front of a very limited number of doors, and only my own dragging feet to hold me back. I am working for a company that will explode with opportunities for advancement during the next 5 years. I don't care about money but after years of working in finance I do understand what it can mean for my wife and daughters. With that in mind, I feel a little like Scrooge McDuck, poised on diving board of gold with a welcoming pile of cash below.
Do I take the plunge or do I throw it away? I don't care about wealth and I know that regardless of my income I will do everything in my power to instill a sense of humility and work ethic in my daughters, but does that mean I should stay poor on principle?
Is there really a line between selling yourself short and selling out?
The brutal truth is this:
On the firefighting front, I am already coming in late to the game. Aside from possible physical changes (for better or worse) I won't be bringing anything new to the table at age 31 than I am now. Now or 3 years from now I am going to be testing against 18-year-olds, which doesn't concern me from a physical standpoint but will always be the case in this career.
During that three year period, at lot could happen with my current job. I could probably get those promotions and there would be new offices opening up all over the country. "You look at a map and tell me where you want to work," my boss says to me. "We'll make it happen." That is, of course, no guarantee. But at the same time, in this industry assurances like that are few and far between.
So, the rational thing here is to give the white collar work a little more time. It makes sense. It is reasonable. But even with that understanding I can't seem to make myself give up my slot at the DATC, even though I know that money might go to waste. I also can't imagine turning down an offer if I make it through the testing process for the Wichita Falls Fire Department in Texas that I will be starting next week.
I don't expect any of you to read this, let alone help me make my decision. But maybe 15 years down the road I will be able to look back at this with either gratitude or regret in my mind. Maybe I'll be working in a nice office and feeling my heart ache every time I see a firefighter in the jump seat driving past my window. Or, maybe I'll be struggling to pay the bills, working a second job on my days off and wincing as I haul some fatass out of a window after my third shoulder surgery and wishing I'd allowed the more mentally sound version of myself take the wheel back in 2010. Either way I am determined to hit the ground running once I choose which direction to take in this fork of life's road. I like to meet all of my bad decisions face first at a sprint.
Eenie... Meenie... Miney... Mo? But even that just leaves me with the new decision on whether or not to include the friggin Tiger's Toe verse...
“All our final decisions are made in a state of mind that is not going to last.” -Marcel Proust
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