The Lie Will Set You Free!

I’ll never forget that day in September sitting on the porch at Mom’s house. The paint had seen better days as it was beginning to flake into large shingles of color, exposing the seasoned gray siding underneath. it almost resembled autumn leaves ready to be raked into piles. The azalea bushes flanking the steps were planted shortly after we moved into the house. Now, they had almost grown too massive, their robust growth about to choke out the entryway. But not so much that the party guests would be unable to gain access. John and I sat on the swing that, with its chains coated with a patina of rust, could decapitate us should one of the links give way under the added stress of two grown men. By now, Most of the guests had started home. The party had quickly depreciated from the levity of Dad’s milestone seventieth birthday to the heaviness of receiving the news of Uncle Tom’s passing just a few minutes ago.

Circle of life.

Dad took the sober news of another death among his group of contemporaries in stride—as always—Preferring to broadcast an air of stolidity. Being a mortician, he had participated in many of their funerals in a more “intimate” capacity than most people would of their friends and acquaintances. An occupational hazard… or rather, expectation… was that he was required to hold an emotionless business-like demeanor during funerals. Most of the time this same emotionlessness was carried through to all his activities, both at work and at home. 

This time seemed different, though. 

Not only was there the sting of the news being received on his birthday, but Dad was closer to Uncle Tom than he was to the other people in his life. Theirs was one of those friendships that most of us hope for. Although they grew up less than thirty miles from each other, They hadn’t met until they were in the military, the Marines. Uncle Tom was responsible for introducing Dad to Mom, his sister, on one of their leave weekends. Fast forward to the years after my parent’s wedding—and my being born—and hardly a week would go by without one family playing host to the other for dinner and drinks.

This one hit home.

Certainly for both Mom and Dad. But also, I think, the party guests, my brother, and most of all… me. We sat on the swing… first in silence as we digested the untimely news, then in conversation which somehow naturally progressed from the celebration of Dad’s seventieth birthday and the shock of Uncle Tom’s death to my looming fortieth birthday. 

It’s funny, how a triple dose of reality can light a fire… or, at least, stoke it well.

“I should have moved to Florida twenty years ago,” I interjected, breaking our pattern of heavy thoughts about the events of the party. And pausing my, internal rant of reflection— bitching to myself about work, and my thoughts of getting older. There were so many things I had planned to do. Places I had wanted to go. And things I had hoped to be. I had unintentionally changed the topic of discussion from Dad and his party to me. “Why am I still living here? I hate my job. I hate the cold. I’m going to be forty in a couple of weeks. A lot is going on. A lot to think about, today...”

“I don’t know why you stay here, or there. This isn’t the first time you've said you hate your job… How did you get this one?” John casually asked.

How did I end up there? I knew about the company, it was just up the road a couple of miles. I knew my friend worked there. And I knew what the company did. But, I never thought of working there or I would have started there several years ago. 

“It’s kind of funny when I think about it. I was finishing up my degree. I had a couple of months left. I planned to get a job with the new career I’d been studying, now that the old business was closed.” The company that I was working for had just lost its lease on the building and decided to shut down. So essentially, I was unemployed with about two months of school to go. “I was standing in the kitchen with Mom, I said that it would be great if I could find a job in my current field for a couple of months to tide me over while I finished school and then pursued a new position with my fresh resume. Twenty-four hours later—almost to the minute—I received a phone call. They asked if I could come work for a couple of days. It was for a special project, and I would be doing the same thing I had done at the other business.” 

My friend had re-connected with me on Facebook a few weeks before. We had worked together at a similar company to his current one, and he had mentioned my name in a meeting when they needed a few more temporary contractors with skills like mine for a project. It was a quick two-day gig, but it allowed me to show off what I could do. 

The money was decent too. 

“Once my foot was in the door, and they saw what I could do, I was getting more contract work with them. Then some project-lead gigs. And then I was offered a salaried position.” I proudly told my brother.

John looked at me with a quizzical face, “Wait… That sounds familiar.” 

It did sound familiar. At that moment I finally recognized that I had been here before. As I was finishing up my last degree the same thing happened. A couple of weeks before graduation and instead of polishing my resume and pursuing an opportunity that I had painstakingly studied and prepared for, I had instead talked myself into resting on my laurels and accepting a more familiar, but less prosperous position. Again, at the suggestion of friends. Instead of putting myself out there and running into the unknown—a thousand miles from home—I was choosing to keep myself in a comfortable, but self-destructive, pattern. Favoring my loyalty to my friends and family over my commitment to myself and my aspirations. The safety of home over the unknown of pursuing my dreams. I was a chronic loyalist… or so I tried to convince myself when in reality I was in some kind of self-destructive rut.

“Let’s go,” John said, snapping me out of my internal dissertation of detest. “What’s stopping you?” 

“Florida, huh…” I sat there in silence, weighing the pros and cons of finally moving away. After my long rant of dissatisfaction, the events of the day, and the realization that I was perpetuating this self-inflicted self-sabotaging self-loathing rut.

Then John said to me, "Let's set a date and move. What do you have to lose?”

 What did I have to lose? That was the last thought that went through my mind as I scanned my memory of the unaccomplished to-do lists, the self-curated reasons to stay, and the iron chains I had forged binding me to this town that I wanted to leave for years. 

What did I have to lose? 

I sat there for what seemed the longest time. 

Nothing was stopping me. Nothing but, well… me. 

It must have seemed like an eternity as I was churning the suggestion and all of the pros and cons through the viscosity of my gray matter because the next thing John scolded me with was, “Don’t talk yourself out of this. We’re going to make this move. This is what you want, isn’t it? You’ve talked about moving to Florida for years. Let’s go.” 

“Oh, I’m not talking myself out of it,” I assured him. “I am planning how I am going to get out of my current contract and make this work.”

There was one thing… not stopping me, but rather throwing a hurdle into the mix. I had to plan my exit while being cautious of which bridges I was going to burn and which were important enough to sure-up while I was planning my escape. I needed to release myself from my chains while at the same time not abandoning my current responsibilities, the current project, and most of all, my friend.

A smooth exit from a tumultuous situation. 

with all the resolve in the universe, we began our exit plan.

It started with a little white lie… sort of.

“Did you know our cousin in Virginia has cancer?” John asked me so matter-of-factually it made my head spin. Maybe he thought that the events of the party weren’t enough to light a fire. Instead of being upset with him for sharing the news so abruptly, It gave me an Idea of how I could sneak in a quick trip to Florida and get the ball rolling.

“Our Uncle in Florida has Alzheimer’s.” I blurted back.

“Dude! What is this? Some kind of one-upping?” John asked, disappointed by my statement. 

“No! Our Uncle in Florida really has Alzheimer’s,” As I delivered the plan my voice had a tone of jubilation. I was going to break free of the cycle of self-sabotage sooner than later. “We can plan a visit to see our cousin, and our Uncle because they don’t have too much longer. Uncle Tom died suddenly and we need to say our goodbyes. And in the process, we can move into an apartment in Florida.”

“OK… Are we visiting them?” John asked, not quite sure how this plan was going to work.

“I have a lot of my tools in the company warehouse. I need some time to get everything moved around. If I put in my notice tomorrow, they’ll tell me to leave right away…” My plan was coming together. “We’ll move you into the apartment. Then I’ll come back to finish this last project I’m sort of obligated to do, and get my stuff moved around using the company truck before I can officially leave. while I’m finishing up here, you can get established down there.”

It’s been ten years since we moved to Florida. Ten years since my brother helped me to climb out of my rut.