Few Original Thoughts

Sermon Transcripts For Sale


I'm just not sure what to do with myself these days...

Everything's changing, and my carefully crafted, cloistered existence is crumbling around my head rapidly coming to an end, or so it would seem.

The worst part of it all is that I am the one responsible for making the changes, and I have to act like I enjoy it when at times I'm not so sure that I do.

Then there is the fact that I have no one to blame but myself for instituting such radical lifestyle modifications in the first place.

For instance...there's important things like:

No more sitting on the sofa all day and night with a computer in my lap whenever I want to.

No more wandering around the island on my bike in the middle of the night on a whim.

No more trips to the beach or over to the marsh to make pictures of sunrises or sunsets or to capture foggy morning scenes most of the population manages to sleep through...just because.

No more bitching and complaining about the difficulties encountered living the life of an unemployed derelict a delusional self-worshipping blogger a professional beach bum.

Soon all of that will be history as I move back into the "real" world for my encore engineering tour. I hope I can make it through at least a month of getting up in the morning, shaving ahhhhggghhh, combing my hair, and putting on socks and shoes to go out and interact with real people, in person, on a daily basis.

Get this...maybe this proves I've lost my mind...

I'm actually thinking of cutting all of my hair off--nearly five years worth of growth--because it's easier to face the public with a sweaty head of 1/4" stubble than to deal with the preconceived assumptions people make about you when you run around at my age with a 8" pony tail flanking bald temples and thinning fringes.

Am I losing it?

Am I right to worry about things like that?

Do you guys out there in the real world really care about hair these days?

Then in addition to facing the weekly 9 to 5 ritual again for the first time in nearly ten years, there's the reality of having less than six weeks to find a new house, pack everything we own into boxes, and hand it all to total strangers to move 500 miles inland away from paradise.

Voluntarily...

I've never lived north of Atlanta. Now I'm spending money to move beside the Tennessee river three hours north of there.

That's right, I'm PAYING someone to move us AWAY from the BEACH.

This, after spending most of my life PAYING to get to the beach on vacation, and living within earshot of the Atlantic Ocean or the Gulf of Mexico for most of the past five or six years.

(vigorously shaking my ever greying, ever balding head)

I don't know if there's something in the water down here or if I've just lost my middle aged mind in a fit of insanity and infirmity or what, but sometimes I have second thoughts about this whole process I've undertaken.

Is it just me?