How Lovely Things Are

I was sitting at the bar the other night and despite my best efforts, I could not help but contrast what I was seeing with what I have become familiar with in Quito. Call it post-partum depression.

There were no kids juggling for their lives in the streets. Instead, there were a bunch of pudgy, disheveled, suit-types eating dripping mounds of red meat at 10 p.m. on a Monday night.

In addition to the indignity of having to pay $6 for a beer that is half-the size of what I could get in Quito for 80 cents, I was walled in by conversations that were seemingly derived from an Eagles of Death Metal song, without benefit of the hip-shaking punk riffs. Meaning people were talking in clichéd inanities.

There was no discussion about how well eucalyptus trees have adapted to the South American climate. But if you care to know, it took the girl wearing the print dress eight weeks to find the right stone for her engagement ring.

Thus goes our readjustment to life in the good ole U.S of A.

It didn’t take long to fall back into the old routines we’d left behind and it took about a minute longer to remember why we wanted to live overseas in the first place.

Hey, I’m not suggesting that the plight of the third world needs to be in the forefront of everyone’s consciousness, but if someone mentions NBC’s Thursday Night Must See T.V. to me one more time, I might just have to run out, buy a flat-screen, pulsar-radiated, neutron-tested, 58-inch television that is digitally-equipped for a moon-landing and tune in (or tune out, as it were). I mean, “The Office” sounds totally awesome.

On the other hand, I also walk away from the so-called intellectual conversations I’m subject to. All anyone at work wants to talk about is tax law and politics. And frankly, I’m just not that interested right now in either of those topics. The best conversation I’ve had since I’ve been back was with the new attorney hired in my office. We talked for an hour about all the bands that we like. We like the same bands.

Geez, don’t I sound like a cranky old man? This is stupid. He’s a jack-ass! Who cares? Fuck if I know!

I’m 38-years old and I think I’m entering my mid-life crisis years – which is encouraging. It means I have 38 more years to go, right? I just hope I don't go out and buy $1,000 worth of Propecia.

Despite my seeming discontent with the world at large, I like living. I like my kids. I like my wife. I'm not unhappy.

Living is just easier when you don’t have to hear everyone’s righteous opinions. I’m sure the same thing was going on in Ecuador. The difference was that everyone was talking in Spanish and I couldn’t understand all the stupid things they were actually saying.

But maybe people aren't so stupid and it's just me? I’m at a point where I’m wondering what the hell I’m supposed to do. Should I keep going to work or should I quit? Should we stay where we are or should we not? Is anyone going to read this blog if I post what’s actually going on in my head or do I need to write about how lovely things are?

I was due for this period of soul-searching. In retrospect, I feel like I was sleep-walking through the last few months before the summer and probably a few months before then as well. But our adventure in Ecuador has accelerated the arrival of my time to butt my head against the wall trying to find my happy place.

It’s a mixed blessing that we were able to do what we did. It was nice to get up and go. I'm proud of it and inspired by it. But after being reminded of how much the world has to offer, and how easy (theoretically) it is to pick up and go, waking up every morning at 6:30 so I can get on the train to sit at my desk and talk to people about making a retroactive qualified electing fund election for their passive foreign investment company just doesn’t, as they say, cut the mustard.