Snow snow snow snow snow

It has almost been a year since I retired. I had once thought that those folks I worked arm in arm with for so many years were my best and closest friends. Perhaps they were. If so, what a sad life I was living. True justification for where I am now and why I made the change.

​Many folks look at what they have or what they think that they have and are fearful of making any changes. They hear the expression about the grass not always being greener. They stop and fall back into their normal routines. They accept where they are now as it is better than the unknown. They hang out with people they don't necessarily like because it is better than people they don't know.

​I'm here to tell y'all that you may stop at any time.

​We all have a little something special. There is something about us and what we do that separates us from the world. We do this or that just a bit better or at least a bit different and that is our unique button we can push to find the money it takes to live our lives. It truly does not take much of that money at all.

​Think of living comfortably and not in excess. Can you manage that? Are you strong enough to forget ego and how you feel others may see you?

​In my closet one year ago today I had a wardrobe that would challenge anyone's. It's almost all gone at this point. I kept one pair of Gucci's in need of heels and my favorite suit, just in case I die. The rest were handed to those in need. (In my mind I picture a man who is down on his luck walking into a Goodwill store and leaving in a $3,000 suit and how amazing he just may look.)

December 18th, 2003 my life changed for the better. I was living in Ventura, CA with a wife and three amazing sons ages 5, 7 & 10. That particular day was the day escrow closed on the home we sold and the day we turned left out of our driveway and headed off toward the unknown.

​For the next year we travelled the U.S. going about 90-120 miles per travel day, staying 1 to 3 days in state and national parks along the way, drawing the country while learning about our history first hand together as a family. Why we left and where we landed are stories for another time. (Ask me and I'll share.)

What I wish to write about specifically was the box lesson I received from my seven year old son the day before we pulled out on our journey.

​I'd picked up five clear plastic boxes with lids that measured about 18 X 8 X 6. These boxes slid neatly and out of the way into shelves in our travel trailer. Each family member had their very own box. Due to limited space in the 30 foot trailer, everything we wished to keep and bring with us on the journey needed to fit into our individual box.

​That's correct. You read that right. If you had a personal item that you wanted to keep it must fit inside a box that is 18 X 8 X 6.

I struggled with this, as did my wife. We placed items in the box and took other items out. Our boxes filled to the brim, lid barely on as we found another this or that that "must be ours" and we opened the box, poured out its contents and re-organized and stuffed. We spent a good amount of time that day trying to find what truly mattered to us that "must go" with us.

​Around 3PM my son Daniel who was seven years old at the time, ran into the house to let me know he was heading out to play with his friend. His box had a couple small rocks, some various pieces of currency in change and a pencil. It was mostly empty space. I asked him to take a few moments to finish filling "his box" thinking he was procrastinating. He said he was done.

​I opened his box and poured the change from the box into my hand thinking I would give him a five dollar bill, which was almost double the amount of quarters and pennies and such he had to begin with. When I looked up at his eyes as he sat quietly watching me I didn't see the reaction I had expected. Instead of smiling and happy to have the extra money he was in tears. I asked him, "What's wrong, son?"

​"That's my change. You gave that to me. Remember when we went to the park? You bought ice cream. That was the change you said I could keep."   

Each rock. Each coin. The pencil. All these items were specifically items I had given my son and each one he had kept. They were the memories of us together. Though we did not spend much time prior to that day as I was working I saw what the time we did spend together meant to a little boy.

​It is not what we can keep in a box, no matter the size. It is what we do together that matters.

​If you happen to see a man who is down on his luck wearing Ermenegildo Zegna . . . he just may be the richest man alive.