Failure, utter and complete, has been the incredible picture my life has painted over the course of the past few years. You’d think I was saying this to garner sympathy or at the very least comment. I’m not. It is just a little realization that came to me in my sleep. And, like my Grandmother used to say, “I’m not complaining, just explaining.”
A few years ago, I owned my house and had a pretty decent job. The family was pretty happy living out in the Midwest. Things were good. I enjoy shoveling snow during the winter and mowing the lawn during the summer. I enjoy the extreme cold and wet heat but nothing beats the wonderful spring and fall days of pure comfort, breathing in some of the cleanest air to be found. Life was grand. I guess I took it for granted.
Have you ever read the book Who Moved My Cheese? Well, my cheese has been totally decimated, leaving me with nothing nearly as comfortable as what I had back then. In an attempt to gain some grasp on that wonderful pile of cheese, I moved first to Chicago then to Los Angeles. It seemed for a season I had what I sought. The cheese supply has not been enough, though. I need to find another source of that commodity.
It’s nearing a year since I last worked at a normal job. My prospects are almost all dried up dust in the perpetually blowing wind. I’ve wandered through this maze of life, having no luck with a new source of cheese.
My wife suggests I need to embrace what life has offered. I don’t like it. Although I used to consider myself a cheese lover, it seems my taste for cheese is quite limited. I’ve got to figure how to force my cheese-desires to expand. The question is how.