The break up: Why getting fired is the best thing that ever happened.

“I’ve got some bad news,” the crooked face on the computer monitor began as he muted the video before finishing his sentence. “We’re terminating your employment…” Just like that 10 years of proven success in an industry attached to a career of daily sales metrics and quotas, had ended. Whereas most at this age would be aghast and overcome with the feelings associated with unemployment and paying for their own healthcare, I couldn’t help but sigh a sense of unexplainable relief. It was over.

I waited for reality to sink in. Surely the crushing blow to my self-esteem was on its way. I just got dumped after all, where is the mourning period? How did we get here and why it didn’t hurt as bad as I had always feared? I was single again. Yes, in their eyes I deserved to be fired. We had to break up; after all, in several managerial one-on-ones my boss harped that my attitude proved I did not want to be a part of the company. After presenting an online training platform to the entire company during an all employee trip to Lake Placid, I chose to work on my graduate school finals instead of attending the company’s pie eating contest. Furthermore, I intentionally avoided the karaoke contest, so that I could finalize my submission and have it uploaded in a timely manner. Putting my passions and future before the need to be visible on the employee stage was unacceptable. It was me, it wasn’t them… and after mild consideration I’m able to admit they were right. I was in a committed relationship with an employer who didn’t share my morale compass, yet demanded my loyalty and interest in building the relationship. Miss a pie eating contest? You may as well have not sent the arbitrary text to see how their day was going. How inconsiderate. As the stale man on the phone finalized my severance agreement, the albatross flew from my neck opening a floodgate of relief throughout my Lowertown apartment. The relationship was over, and we’re both better off for it.


Employment is much like any relationship. It can grow and blossom, providing long term satisfaction while helping to shape who we ultimately become. It can also restrain, preventing us from who we ultimately aim to be and what we truly want to accomplish. This note is a reminder that we all deserve better than being married to toxicity in any aspect of our life. Much like a quality partner, the career you love should never be a burden or fight against your ethics… Personally or professionally we should never allow ourselves to simply “have a job.” The right fit can teach you valuable lessons and reward with the feelings of success and positive direction. After this experience, I spent the next several months committed to finding that fit.

Liberated, I searched for that fit in myself – in Thailand while being blessed by Buddhist monks, and in Australia during Vivid Sydney. The arbitrary sales quotas removed from my shoulders, I stretched across the entire continental United States. While sleeping in hostels, tents, and my car, I shared some of the most fantastic experiences and conversations throughout an entire globe. I was reminded of how truly large and unruly the world can be when not bound by quotas or video conferences and agendas. Simply put, I found and fell in love with my new partner – discovery and understanding.

This never would have happened without the crooked faced man from the northeast, his unethical business, and his nonsensical demands. As this is all I’ve ever known of a career, I would’ve stayed and let him continue to abuse me emotionally at the whim of his own ego.


I fully understand life without a safety net can be intimidating, whether it’s a workplace or a relationship; however there comes a time where we must ask ourselves what we could truly accomplish, or who we could truly be without these securities to bind us to the life and relationships we’ve created. If you’re unhappy in your relationship – leave. If you’re unhappy with your job – leave. With the finite amount of time we have on this planet, we owe ourselves the search for those people and experiences that truly enrich our lives. It’s just a job, homie… don’t let it define you… After all, there are plenty of fish in the sea.


Small Town Pirate and the Dreamer of Dreams

15672877_10209771269577269_6498425815005380054_nWhen I was a child, I had a pirate ship for a Huffy. It’s name was The Dreamer of Dreams. 12 speeds which I would sail to and from my small town everyday. In fact during the summer in a generation of easier times, my mother would load my pirate ship into our 80’s big brown van and bring me into the city, where I would spend the day sailing the vast sea of strangers, adventures, and accidents waiting to happen. Every morning that summer I’d wake up early with my parents as if it were Christmas, excited to face the adventure that awaited. I remember these days as if they were yesterday. We’d have breakfast at the table. My mother always trying to fill me up with food before the voyage, before slipping me $10 for the day’s rations. My father talked of my previous days bounties and autographs I hunted while meeting professional footballers outside of Lambeau Field.

Those days I was completely alone and in love with every ounce of the world. I could feel every blade of grass behind the Brown County Arena, every gust of wind, and every moment held through the wide eyes of a child. Those places I reported back to my parents, and those discoveries I never dare, were mine to absorb as I could go anywhere on my pirate ship. As a pirate in between expeditions, I learned local crafts such as how to steal quarters from the bottom of arcade games and use them for free play, where a super Nintendo was located in the k-mart and how to get free refills on your big gulps. That summer became I learned the resourcefulness of a rogue, and daydreamed of my future travels on a real pirate ship.

Every day after my bag lunch, I always found myself deep in a small wooded area next to the highway. I climbed trees and made a home for myself, even storing candy bars and Diet Coke cans I nabbed from my parents before they could take note. I would sit in my house and listen to the traffic on the highway, dreaming of the adventures the commuters were partaking on. Where were they going in this big bright world? Their ships sailed so much faster than my Huffy. One day my friend Kirk joined me in my tree house. We tried chewing tobacco he stole from his dad, and we shared a Diet Coke I stole from my mom while desperately rinsing our mouths. That day I vividly remember telling him “If I could have a ship that fast, no one would ever catch me. I mean this world is so big. I’d spin the globe and sail forever. I’d never come back here.”

The words of a pirate fueled by emotion of hating the small town he sailed from everyday. The locals were hideous and new my family secrets, and would never let me forget them. In between the dry heaves of Kodiak chewing tobacco my best friend prodded me with jokes about where I would go. “I could go to the GREAT WALL!” I told him matter of factly without knowing truly where it was. A plan was immediately in place for my expedition. A map loosely based on a 12 year old’s thoughts on world geography was diagramed on Hardees napkins with various colors of Sharpies from the autographs. Gold was treasure. This was the instant I fell in love with the idea of feeling the world, all of vast expanses, all of its people, all of its places.

Though summer days faded with time and eventually the vast ocean dried up into a small pond called Oconto Falls, Wisconsin. Trapped in a world of savage peers the dreams of leaving could only burn intensely for so long before its fire was quelled by the ice bucket of normalcy and what is expected in a small town. Despite this, I fought to keep those memories of my summer sailing the seas aboard The Dreamer of Dreams.  Though I remember every ounce of feeling those memories provided, from its smells of popcorn at movie theaters we snuck into, to the way my dad looked at me so confidently when I left every day, I could not remember where I left that map to buried treasure.

Recently one evening,  I came across that same woodland area and decided walk through it just as I did as a child. Digging through the night as branches met my attempts with slaps in the face, I found my map through a series of small cuts and bruises. It appeared in a dark corner I had left abandoned for ages. The crumpled ball sat there abandoned and discarded. But I could not move it. My map to buried treasure lie underneath a pile of rubble of heartbreak, social media status updates, student loans, Donald Trump posts, reality television, sales quotas, the fear of being alone, and the heaviest of stones which pinned the map to its deepest – my fear of failure.  I tried to lift this rock and couldn’t. Without knowing, I reinforced it through 25 years of wanting only what everyone else did. I should be married, I should have a kid by now, I should be working in my field, I should have a lawn and neighbors, I should quit smoking. None of these things ever happened for me. Instead, I chased these things and tried to force them into my life… and they would never fit.

I turned tears into sobs while striking this rubble as hard I could, nearly breaking my heart in the process. Kicking and swinging savagely while demanding it back. With every tear sobbed and a throat burning from yells, I collapsed next to the rubble. Exhausted on exhale, I uttered the only words I could between one final sob and a light of smoke. “I just want my map back.”15697241_10209764556929457_918087379024562894_n

Through all of this commotion in the middle of Mears Park, I did not hear the familiar sounds of a fellow traveler passing through in the night. I raised my head to see the beautiful Bette Davis eyes of Grace O’Malley, the pirate queen herself, as our ships crossed paths. She stopped for a moment in empathy “I know this hurts you,” she said while looking at the rubble, “but your map is no good any more. You simply need to make a new one.” After offering me a small loot bag, she kissed me on the cheek and sailed away as quickly as she came, hopefully not forever. After watching her spirit leave I inspected the bag she left to find only a compass, Hardees napkin and a series of Sharpie markers. I closed my eyes and began drawing. Gold is for treasure.

When I awoke I remembered that buried inside of us, there is a treasure map of some sort. Do not let the rubble and the constant buzz of this world get so weighted it will keep you from it. There was a youthful exuberance we all had as children which made the world feel like magic, and that is truly the only treasure I need. In one form or another, we all do. Thus I have decided to redraw my map to find it. As when I do I will never let it go.

At 35, The Dreamer of Dreams has evolved from a Huffy to a series of terminals and turnstiles. As I prepare to sail the oceans for what could be my final voyage alone – I can’t help but feel my eyes open widely, and my heart begin to race just as it did that summer in Wisconsin. To Ms. O’Malley, I will bring you with me to every port as I rediscover the treasure I lost as a child. When this voyage is done, I will bring it home to you.


puzzles and pirate ships

This is my first blog, and I’m not sure exactly what I’m doing here. At 35 years old I’ve lived a life existing solely in day to day routines of bills, unsatisfying sales jobs, and the relatively isolated existence of a remote employee. I’ve maintained this consistently because at this point in our lives, it’s expected we be with children and loves of our lives, continuing to pursue accolades of employment while our lawns grow in uniform fashion. Truth be told, I wanted this life so badly, but for other reasons than simply growing my 401k solely to retire. I wanted it simply because you did, and I’ve always thought you must know how to succeed better than me.  There is this sense of ownership everyone seems to have over their life, everyone except me. It seems in all of this time I haven’t been able to answer why I’m here, who I am,  or even simply what I want to do when I grow up.

This would explain the consistent calamity and predicaments of loneliness I’ve found myself in. A series of constant heartbreak replacing the heartbeat as we reshape the puzzle piece in hopes that some variant would fit as it should. As it turns out, I am the forever awkward puzzle piece in the box. Maybe you are too? Maybe we are a generation who wants it all, so we decide on nothing? Maybe we are pieces that want to fit every puzzle so badly, we stop looking for that perfect picture?

I’ve never wanted the standard 9 to 5 with a company card.  Your business casual attire and bullshit of local sports teams and monthly sales quotas, pushing us  day to day until all of the days are gone.I’ve always struggled working for someone else’s dream, because I never really had one of my own. I forced myself into this puzzle so long I felt had to belong while never once wanting any of these things, save one. I wanted love. The only consistent want in a lifetime in cyclical pattern always rounded back to the same need. Love. Of myself and of others. The two things I don’t believe I’ve ever truly had.

That is why this blog was created, to document the pursuit of love, whatever that actually is… As a broken and lost puzzle piece, with edges frayed and corners bent beyond repair, I’m ready to search for the puzzle my malformed piece fits into. Whether it be through music or writing, new cultures or places, I want to feel it. I want to experience your passions, learn why you love your life, and share your story. Hopefully these journeys will motivate some of you who stumble across this blog to do the same.