Yo, passenger in 12D,

So, when you have a choice between putting your bags in the overhead compartment over the row in front of you or in the overhead compartment over the row behind you, choose the row in front of you. Especially when the one in front of you is empty, and the row is already full of people. You know, people who put their small carry-ons under the seats in front of them.

By choosing the row behind you, you prevent not only the people in the row you put your bags over, but also all of the people behind that row, to have to wait for you to get yoru bags. Worse, we have to wait for you to push your wabay back, then be equally annoyed when you believe you ahve the right to push your way back to your row before the line starts moving.

With all of your bags.

Next time, spare us all your anyoying lack of plane manners, and put your bags over the in front of your row, or better yet, UNDER the seat in front of you, so that you can gather them on your way out of the plane.

Oh, and your three year old child? Does she really need to push the seat all the way back? I rmean, really?

Okay, we're on our way!

This is the first vacation in a LONG time that's neither ultimate nor family required. I think our honeymoon was the last one of these kinds of trips we've taken, and we know how THAT one turned out (think "missed flights" and "birds pooping on me" and "bladder infections" and you'll be on your way to the joy of that trip).

We're off to raft down the Colorado River from the Bright Angel Trail to some place close to Lake Mead. I had done this trip ten years ago, with Mom and Eric and Guy and Guy's family. It was fun. I'm not 100% sure what possessed me to suggest it again, but a 10 year gap is long enough to have forgotten much of the adventure, and I wasn't writing at that point, so this'll be somewhat new to me. It'll be completely new to Kris and Andy.

In the car to the airport, I wondered out loud if I had enough memory for the camera, as well as enough batteries to make it through the whole trip. I have enough memory for 4700 pictures, and 4.5 batteries, all juiced up (the 0.5 comes from the crappy Lennar camera battery, which seems to last half as long as the Canon camera batteries do). When Andy's dad heard my lamentation, he commented I better start taking pictures.

Andy let him know I already had.

Someone tell me how the dogs know that we're leaving. I mean, yeah, I know that they can tell from body language and all, but, to turn on the "Don't leave us!" cuteness? Gah, it's so painful to leave such cuteness.

How many of you expect to die?

I read the post on the NY Times entitled "How many of you expect to die?" Haven't read it? Go ahead. I'll wait.

The line that struck me hardest?

"The reward for living past age 85 and avoiding all the killer diseases, she said, is that you get to rot to death instead."

The post discusses the three most common ways of dying, which doesn't include the tragic, often violent, accidents that people hear about for the young (car accidents, fires, etc.). Instead, the speaker offers cancer (your body eats itself), chronic heart failure or emphysema (your heart or lungs give out), or frailty and dementia (the slow decline of health and mental capabilities, coupled with a slow decline in the quality of life - in other words, rotting to death).

I've maintained for years that I'm dying on my 120th birthday. That's my plan. Kris isn't too happy with it, having promised to try to make it to only 75 himself, but granting me permission to kick his headstone if he dies before 75. Sometimes I say my 121st birthday. Sometimes I tell Kris he has to live to 80.

Regardless, the plan is much longer than my grandparents' 80 years.

Being able to look at my grandparents' deaths, and extrapolating, I'm looking at cancer, lung cancer, Alzheimers and a broken heart. Yeah, not kidding on that last one. I'm pretty sure that's how my grandfather died after my grandmother passed. The will to live didn't last long after she went.

I used to be completely terrified of dying. I know the source of that fear was that I hadn't lived. Stuck within myself, I didn't know how to be comfortable with who I was. I'm not explaining it well.

Kris on the other hand, just doesn't think about it. Guy didn't either. Part of their charm, I think. When I talk to Kris about, he'll say, "Well, I've lived a good life."

And that's the point. Those who live a good life, full of adventure and purpose and enjoyment and fun, those who see the world as a good place, there's not so much fear. I live in one of the safest places in the area, but I lock all my doors, and close all the windows before going to bed at night. I always lock my car door. I worry about the house. I worry about the dogs. I worry about my world crashing down around me, through no fault of my own, but rather because of a vindictive peripheral person, or a governmental computer error.

The world isn't a good place for me as it is for Kris (even though it's much better than it used to be, that's for sure). I worry too much. Even Kris says as much.

Yet, I worry less about dying than I used to.

I can't say quite yet that I've lived a good life. I've tried hard to be a good person, and surround myself with good people. I've done a great job with the latter, always working on the former.

I don't want to die, though I'm coming to expect it, to understand just how finite my time is. I'm finally less inclined to say yes if I don't mean yes (thank you, Andy, for that lesson), but still need to work on not collapsing into myself, to take chances, to head to social events outside of ultimate, outside of my comfort zone. That's a hard part for me.

You get 80 summers in this life, if you're lucky. You get 80 winters in this life, if you're lucky. You find love if you're lucky. You find good friendships if you're luckier.

So far, I think I'm doing okay.

I think it's time to give up this consulting gig.

I have to admit I enjoy the work very much. I like solving different problems each week. I like the short term nature of the projects. But, I think I liked these more when I was working with Mike. I think he provided a good buffer for me, good support. He knew what he was doing. I feel like I'm just fumbling in the dark for this business stuff.

I'm good on the technical side. I'm not so good on the business side.

And the personal side.

A friend of mine (not sure if he wants to be named here, as it's his story to tell, not mine) once told me that his mom would express disappointment in him when he was growing up, and just how much that disappointment hurt. In retrospect, that's not quite true, as I'm sure he wasn't able to completely convey how much it hurt, that's something you have to experience yourself to understand. And disappointing your parents? Geez, that hurts.

I feel much the same way about my clients as of late. I feel like I'm continually diappointing them. I'm worried about taking too long to complete projects. I'm worried about not understanding the requirements correctly, but annoying the client by asking too many questions to understand fully. I'm worried about doing a good job, sometimes not knowing if I've done well or poorly as the targets changed before I've aimed.

It might be time to get a real job, I think. With a "real" job, knowing if you've done a good job is easier, as there's one person to say, "Yup."

Though, sometimes I'm not so sure about that, either. Having run a business (can I say successfully? It supported three people for three years. That sounds pretty good to me), I'm more aware of just how much people fake it in business. Sometimes I just can't understand how some businesses stay in business, either. Even with a job, I might keep asking, "why?"

Maybe I'm just in the wrong business.

I have enough saved up for two months of focusing on plan B. Maybe it's time to stop with the client work and see if I can make that one work. Maybe that's the place I should be.

Maybe nothing. It is.