To Be a Mailman

I’ve avoided writing about this for a few weeks because it’s exhausting, and I’m not one for pouring salt in a wound. I just assume forget about it, like we all do. It’s one of those things in life that we file away in our subconscious and hope to never revisit—until something wakes it up, and the beast is knocking on your door with an angry fist full of hairy knuckles.

I call them psychological landmines.

You could be out for a walk, as peaceful as a soaring dove, and BAM!!! One of these sons of bitches explodes out of nowhere.

So, what am I talking about? A N X I E T Y A T T A C K S.

I’ve dealt with this plague for two decades. It traces back to when my brother got sick and died. I learned you can’t pour six gallons of emotions into a five-gallon bucket—let alone sixty. The mind can only hold so much before it erupts like a volcano.

That said, my brother died a long time ago, so I can’t place the blame on that situation anymore. Fortuitously, like a jackass, I found a substitute in the form of entrepreneurism. Instead of being like every guy I went to college with, I couldn’t find a corporate job, put in my forty years, and enjoy the life of nine to five. I tried, and I failed (spectacularly—many times).

I used to be embarrassed about my track record in corporate, but after years of building businesses, I learned that it’s normal for someone with my disposition. I’ve yet to meet a business builder worth his salt who survived in corporate—let alone thrived.

Back to why I’m writing this. I’ve spent the last three weeks battling anxiety. And I don’t mean being anxious like a normal person. I mean debilitating dizziness, taking naps at eight in the evening, and constantly questioning every professional decision I’ve ever made.

“Why can’t I be like everyone else?!”

“Why can’t I hold a job like Chris, Tom, Kevin, Bill, Matt, Kristian, Tyler, and Tim?”

“Why did God give me this awful brain?”

After years of failing and not understanding why, you begin to hate yourself. You hate the way your brain works. You hate how you see the world. You hate the confusion it causes. And your professional inequities are obvious to everyone around you, which isn’t a big deal later on, but it’s an ENORMOUS embarrassment when you’re young.

Once I accepted I had a snowballs chance in hell of surviving in corporate, I knew I had to start a business or move west and become a ski bum. If I was single and didn’t have two babies at the time, there is a one thousand percent chance I’d would’ve gone west.

But alas, I choose to be an entrepreneur, which can be lonely at times; very monk-like. I have a habit of pulling the proverbial hood over my skull and isolating. I spend an inordinate amount of time walking alone in the woods. Dozens of miles a week; staring at fallen leaves that sit still beneath wine-colored puddles, listening to squirrels bounce through the forest, and letting my mind do as it pleases.

The questions I seek answers to can only be answered by a small group of men, who, coincidentally, are entrepreneurs too—which means they’re not easy to get ahold of because they work hard and also tend to isolate.

It’s probably appropriate to stop and address the elephant in the room: I chose this life. Actually, scratch that—this life chose me. I never planned on being a business owner. I went to college with a simple plan:

1st – I’d learn everything I need to know about business in college (ridiculous, I know).
2nd – I’d get an entry-level position with a Fortune 500 (which happened).
3rd – I’d climb the ladder and eventually be the CEO.

Simple…right? Put in my forty years, retire with millions, and fly my grandchildren to Jackson Hole in my G7. Easy peasy.

In lieu of being a CEO, I considered being a United States Senator or joining the military and becoming a general. Hand to God the truth. Three paths—that’s it. The world was quite linear back then.

It took about ten years of getting my ass kicked to realize I wasn’t a corporate man. But damned if I didn’t try. No one ever accused me of being lazy.

So I ended up being an entrepreneur, which led to me spending the last three weeks battling my own brain—nothing new there. I’m in a constant chess match with my psyche. The only difference is I was playing checkers for the first decade. These days I know the rules to the game, so when anxiety hit me like a Mack truck, it felt like the old days when I didn’t have the tools for the job.

I got dizzy out of nowhere—enough so that I immediately laid on a couch for two hours, just breathing. And I don’t mean lightheaded, but like a lightning bolt struck my brain. It amazes me how the mind can do something that takes two seconds but zaps you for two hours. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it—the body keeps score.

As a young man, I was foolish enough to believe that I could pour more than five gallons into my five-gallon bucket. I suppose you can when you’re young because you’re too dumb to notice it’s overflowing. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become…what’s the word…everyone says it these days…oh, mindful.

On this day I wasn’t mindful, and it led to weeks of hell. Waking up in the middle of the night with my mind racing faster than an F1 driver down the straightaway—begging God to stop it. And if you’re not careful, you start believing the hell will never end—like a prisoner with a life sentence. I couldn’t read a book or even write. My mind was a mess. Even watching television was a chore because I could feel a pulsating wave course through my innards.

So, I’d meditate, and it worked. But twenty-minute breathing sessions several times a day are exhausting. I started getting angry—at myself. You get to where you don’t want to live.

And I know I have every conceivable privilege known to man: I live in the 21st century, I’m an American male, white, tall, educated, I have a loving family, etc. I get it. I really do. I’m not struggling in a war torn third-world country. I have warm water to bathe in, a car to drive, and a fridge full of food. I’m not battling a disease, and my kids are healthy. By all standards, I am blessed.

But this brain of mine would’ve been a nightmare had I been a Roman soldier or a Medieval poet.

That said, there’s a solution that’s obvious to everyone but me: get a normal job. Put this entrepreneurial stuff to pasture and act like everyone else. Trust me, I’ve not only thought about it, but I also regularly dream about it.

A friend from high school recently became a mailman in his mid-forties. My first thought was, “That lucky son of a bitch.” I used to drown in envy when I heard of someone making a lick on Wall Street. It killed me. Took me right to my knees. Back in those days, I was incapable of feeling joy for someone else (at least in business). Everything was about me and my sense of professional entitlement. These days, I’m not only happy for others' success, but the only thing I envy are those with “normal” jobs. I’d give ANYTHING to be a mailman.

Anyway, after dozens of meditations and miles of walking, I turned everything over to God. Isn’t it funny how the solution is always there, but it’s the last one we take when it comes to God? I’d rather wear myself into the ground, like a cowboy boot putting out a cigarette, than rely on God. There’s something in me that says I can figure it out, and everyone and the entire world can piss off. Let me outwork it because there’s nothing I can’t do (famous last words of every moron).

All the while, God sits up there shaking His head with a loving grin on His face, just waiting. Free will is a double-edged sword if I’ve ever seen one.

So eventually I acquiesced. I collapsed really. My tank was empty (yet again). Only then do I call upon God for help. Only after I’ve exhausted every resource. Only after I’ve lit every match. Only after I have absolutely nothing left. And, as always, He loves me and embraces me.

You see, I don’t understand Christianity. I was raised in a Christian family and come from a long line of Protestants. But I don’t get it. I don’t know how to read the Bible. Hell, I’m just learning how to pray.

I’ve been an atheist and an agnostic. I have explored different religions. I have tried damn near every self-help guru. But most of all, I have relied on me. I always figured my intellect would be enough. And if it wasn’t, I would backfill what was missing with the aforementioned. For some reason, the very last thing I was willing to do was trust God.

After all, He took my brother from me. Jeff didn’t die by the hand of another man. He was perfectly healthy, and in a span of hours, he started losing his life. How anyone can trust a God who does that, or allows that to happen, was beyond me. And even if I could come to terms with it spiritually, I was still angrier than hell.

All the while, my companies were failing, my marriage was a train wreck, and I was finding solace in the worst of places, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to give in to God. No, sir. But eventually, I realized nothing was working, and my intellect was a hindrance. Talk about rock bottom.

So, I started looking at God differently. I started looking at Him as a partner. I’d try the Bible on one more time. I had nothing to lose. And when I finally let go—and I mean really let go—EVERYTHING changed. It wasn’t overnight, but it also wasn’t years. My experience is God can move at the speed of light, and that is highly attractive to me. So, I leaned into Him more. And more of my life started to turn around. I started by giving a little and ended up giving everything.

I got to the point where it only made sense to completely abandon myself to God.

But I’m still a moron. I still find myself shutting God out. I try to fix my problems without His counsel. And when I do, I get what I started writing about earlier—A N X I E T Y.

I engineered a self-inflicted wound for three weeks by not turning EVERYTHING over to God. And damned if I wasn’t aware of it. In 20/20 hindsight, it sounds insane—which it was, but I didn’t see it.

What I’m learning is my path to entrepreneurialism was my path to a relationship with God. It hasn’t been easy, but what is? Life is tough, but it’s a hell of a lot tougher when you’re going at it alone—without God.

I’ll keep building this business of mine, but if I come across an ad for a mailman, I may have to fill out an application.