It's been a big week at the office. Unless I miss my guess, we may be set through the end of the calendar year for work, which is an intersting and good situation to be in. It's bringing the "what's next" kind of pressure to a whole new level, putting our interpersonal management skills to the test and generally upping the stress level another notch.
It's looking like a roller-coaster ride of a summer too. Next week I'm off into the hills for some Independence Day celebration, then to a 7/7/07 wedding in the HC, then flying to NYC to close out a project, then back to Cali where I transition to my Berkeley sublet, then back to NYC for a family visit w/the mom and sis, then back to Cali, then out to Chicago for another wedding and maybe some convention crashing, then back to the Bay/HC for a couple weeks, then Burning Man, then down to Mexico for two weeks for a long-postponed work retreat, in the middle of which I'll fly to Oregon and back for yet another wedding.
That's me through mid September. It's exciting and suits my rambling nature, but it also sounds very exhausting and overwhelmingly work-related. All work and no play makes Josh a dull boy.
So, grappling with the problems of "success" is another weighty luxury. A big part of me still wants to find a little woman and hide out in the HC, the old Hank Stamper dream. Still nothing doing on that front either, naturally, so it's all dreams and fantasies for now, but dreams and fantasies are important.
I dunno; I'm just not feeling the San Franciscan lifestyle. I realize I owe this city more than three weeks in an overworked month to get a taste of it, but I just don't know that I see the point. Where is this scene going? A future vision doesn't seem to be taking root here, and that, more than anything else, is what I'm looking for.
Bashing of my life aside, SF is a gorgeous place. I'm particularly fond of the way the fog rolling in against the sunset often frames my bike ride home. The better the picture the worse the wind -- and the wind, my pedaling friends, is worse than any damn hill in this town -- but it's a trade off I'll take. Running against the wind helps keep me lean and strong, and the poignant natural reminder of my own smallness can't be beat.
I try and imagine the movie of my future life as a way of getting in touch with my real desires, that future vision, and it's not much of a thriller at this point. Where's the action? What's the point? I start tuning out, which means it's not the Real Thing. The conventional settle-down stuff that I want eventually (land, kids, etc) doesn't really excite me all that much directly -- arbitrary markers -- and the ramblin' artist/kid fun-times are sort of old hat, don't seem to really go anywhere. I don't seem to be an interesting character to myself, and there's no love story neither. I miss the revolution, and I miss my friend-families from times past, the Monkeys and the Meek.
What I really want is to break off a new slice of Pirate Utopia and flip the whole thing inside-out, run it viral and take over the world. The new cultural movement again. But at the same time, I've developed that anti-social streak, and a persistent sense of realism that starts taking the broad-strokes idea apart and calls bullshit. It's not a lie or a trick, but it is a lot of hand-waving with no real plan of action.
Maybe I should work on that.