My meetings with Bob Rogers have been great, but we seem to be at an impasse. Bob doesn’t understand why I want to pay off the mortgages. He feels that the best way to build wealth is to buy properties with as little money down as possible. He says that every real estate investor he knows does it this way, and almost never pay it off like I’m planning to do. And he’s right. If I want to build real wealth, then the right way is to continue buying properties with mortgages for the next 7-8 years, and then stop working if I really want to.
But there’s a problem with this logic, and I can’t exactly explain it to Bob. I can’t really explain it to anybody. But I’ll explain it here. This is gonna be one of those posts that I’m probably not going to read again. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to write this, as I’ve seen the varying effects of putting something extremely personal “out there”. Most of the time it’s good for me, but sometimes it just makes me feel… strange. So Ahkenaten, if you're about to read this and you're in a good mood, think twice. Okay, deep breath. Here we go…
One of my earliest childhood memories was a weekend morning. I must have been two or three years old. I was eating breakfast when I felt this… thing. After 30 years I still have trouble describing it, but I call it the Void. It was this powerful chasm of hopelessness and nothingness that came down on me out of nowhere. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on, so I started crying. I cried so hard, and I remember my mom Anita asking what my problem is. She thought I didn’t like the food she made, so she told me that I can cry all I want but I’m gonna finish that food. Funny woman she was, but I couldn’t really blame her. Over the next few years I’d have these same attacks. They’d happen at times that made no sense, and would take days to get rid of. Eventually, these attacks would change my entire view of life, and give me a sense that I was gonna die soon.
It was during my last year of college that I got my diagnosis and, while I was initially miserable and angry at the time, I remember a small sense of relief as I rode the train home that day. It was as if my mind was saying, “Ah, so that's how you’re gonna die!” It took a while to get used to, but I made that feeling a part of me. I continued living every day as if nothing was wrong but, as I got into the real estate game, things started to change. I started thinking about my life and what reasons I have to actually be here. I could never come up with one before, but then I thought about living life without jobs. “I’ve tried everything to feel like I have some kind of purpose here,” I would think to myself, “but paycheck retirement sounds kinda good.” So I fought back and beat my illness, hoping that paycheck retirement would end the Void and that sense of impending doom. And you know what? It hasn’t.
Nothing’s changed, and I get the feeling that I’ll feel the same even after I retire from the jobs. Even as I write this, I’ll always question whether I should have fought back in the first place. I’m not afraid of death, seeing it as more of an unknown adventure rather than a final end. I like thinking about death because there are so many possibilities, and it feels good knowing that no one has any idea what happens when we die. My morning routine is to never get out of bed until I’m comfortable with the idea of that day being my last.
I’ve never felt that there was anything for me here, and all I have left are curiosities like:
I wonder what it’ll feel like to retire from jobs?
I wonder what it’ll feel like to go to the Met and take in an opera?
I wonder what it’ll be like to learn different languages?
I wonder what it’ll be like to learn to play the piano?
These are things that I’d like to do, but certainly nothing to live for. If I died before I had the chances to accomplish these feats, it would suck but I’ll get over it pretty quickly. I remember identifying with Radiohead’s “Creep” when I was a teenager. That chorus which went:
I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the heel am I doing here
I don’t belong here
That defined how I felt and still feel to this day.
So when Bob Rogers tells me that I should work another seven or eight years, he’s talking to someone who doesn’t believe he’s gonna make it to 40. His advice was like a death sentence, so I know I can’t take it. Besides all the doom and gloom, there’s the mental issue I’m having. I’m… I’m kinda losing my mind a bit. I do things that make no sense. For example, I would go to take a shower in the morning. Then I would get out of the shower, wrap myself in the towel, and then go outside as if I was going to work. When it was cold outside I was quickly able to realize that I wasn’t wearing clothes and run back inside. But, about a month ago, it happened again and I almost made it to my car before I realized what was going on. That and the whole “talking to myself without knowing” issue leads me to believe that my mind is coming undone. Even if I do make it seven or eight more years, I’ll probably be a drooling lunatic.
It’s important to note that I’m not a suicide guy. I tried it once when I was 17. I found the most depressing song I could find (The Tea Party’s “Release”), laid down, and took a shitload of Advil. After a while I stopped, realizing that suicide didn’t feel right. I stopped at around 40 pills and, for the next two weeks, I had a massive pain in my stomach/pelvis area. I believed then and now that suicide is for people who can’t handle life… weak people, and I’m not one of them. I can handle just about anything, and my ego would never allow me to go out like that. And it’s also important to note that there’s not a single complaint in this post. I’m very comfortable with the way I see things, and have no problems with the way my life has turned out. Sure, sometimes I’ll bitch and moan about this or that, or be very excited about something. But deep inside I know none of it matters. It’s life, and that understanding helps me sleep at night.
Having said all this, it would be nice to have a couple months after retirement, just to see what life is like when I don’t have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning to go to work. Just a couple months where I can take a trip somewhere and not have to ask for vacation time. It’s not necessary, but it would be nice.
P.S.: After re-reading this a couple of times, I’m still unsure of the effects it’ll have on me as time goes on. There are ideas and beliefs that loom in the background of one’s mind. Bringing them to the forefront can be either reassuring and helpful or destructive and counter-productive. Obviously I’m hoping for the former, but I guess I’ll have to wait and see…
But there’s a problem with this logic, and I can’t exactly explain it to Bob. I can’t really explain it to anybody. But I’ll explain it here. This is gonna be one of those posts that I’m probably not going to read again. I’m not even sure it’s a good idea to write this, as I’ve seen the varying effects of putting something extremely personal “out there”. Most of the time it’s good for me, but sometimes it just makes me feel… strange. So Ahkenaten, if you're about to read this and you're in a good mood, think twice. Okay, deep breath. Here we go…
One of my earliest childhood memories was a weekend morning. I must have been two or three years old. I was eating breakfast when I felt this… thing. After 30 years I still have trouble describing it, but I call it the Void. It was this powerful chasm of hopelessness and nothingness that came down on me out of nowhere. I didn’t understand what the hell was going on, so I started crying. I cried so hard, and I remember my mom Anita asking what my problem is. She thought I didn’t like the food she made, so she told me that I can cry all I want but I’m gonna finish that food. Funny woman she was, but I couldn’t really blame her. Over the next few years I’d have these same attacks. They’d happen at times that made no sense, and would take days to get rid of. Eventually, these attacks would change my entire view of life, and give me a sense that I was gonna die soon.
It was during my last year of college that I got my diagnosis and, while I was initially miserable and angry at the time, I remember a small sense of relief as I rode the train home that day. It was as if my mind was saying, “Ah, so that's how you’re gonna die!” It took a while to get used to, but I made that feeling a part of me. I continued living every day as if nothing was wrong but, as I got into the real estate game, things started to change. I started thinking about my life and what reasons I have to actually be here. I could never come up with one before, but then I thought about living life without jobs. “I’ve tried everything to feel like I have some kind of purpose here,” I would think to myself, “but paycheck retirement sounds kinda good.” So I fought back and beat my illness, hoping that paycheck retirement would end the Void and that sense of impending doom. And you know what? It hasn’t.
Nothing’s changed, and I get the feeling that I’ll feel the same even after I retire from the jobs. Even as I write this, I’ll always question whether I should have fought back in the first place. I’m not afraid of death, seeing it as more of an unknown adventure rather than a final end. I like thinking about death because there are so many possibilities, and it feels good knowing that no one has any idea what happens when we die. My morning routine is to never get out of bed until I’m comfortable with the idea of that day being my last.
I’ve never felt that there was anything for me here, and all I have left are curiosities like:
I wonder what it’ll feel like to retire from jobs?
I wonder what it’ll feel like to go to the Met and take in an opera?
I wonder what it’ll be like to learn different languages?
I wonder what it’ll be like to learn to play the piano?
These are things that I’d like to do, but certainly nothing to live for. If I died before I had the chances to accomplish these feats, it would suck but I’ll get over it pretty quickly. I remember identifying with Radiohead’s “Creep” when I was a teenager. That chorus which went:
I’m a creep
I’m a weirdo
What the heel am I doing here
I don’t belong here
That defined how I felt and still feel to this day.
So when Bob Rogers tells me that I should work another seven or eight years, he’s talking to someone who doesn’t believe he’s gonna make it to 40. His advice was like a death sentence, so I know I can’t take it. Besides all the doom and gloom, there’s the mental issue I’m having. I’m… I’m kinda losing my mind a bit. I do things that make no sense. For example, I would go to take a shower in the morning. Then I would get out of the shower, wrap myself in the towel, and then go outside as if I was going to work. When it was cold outside I was quickly able to realize that I wasn’t wearing clothes and run back inside. But, about a month ago, it happened again and I almost made it to my car before I realized what was going on. That and the whole “talking to myself without knowing” issue leads me to believe that my mind is coming undone. Even if I do make it seven or eight more years, I’ll probably be a drooling lunatic.
It’s important to note that I’m not a suicide guy. I tried it once when I was 17. I found the most depressing song I could find (The Tea Party’s “Release”), laid down, and took a shitload of Advil. After a while I stopped, realizing that suicide didn’t feel right. I stopped at around 40 pills and, for the next two weeks, I had a massive pain in my stomach/pelvis area. I believed then and now that suicide is for people who can’t handle life… weak people, and I’m not one of them. I can handle just about anything, and my ego would never allow me to go out like that. And it’s also important to note that there’s not a single complaint in this post. I’m very comfortable with the way I see things, and have no problems with the way my life has turned out. Sure, sometimes I’ll bitch and moan about this or that, or be very excited about something. But deep inside I know none of it matters. It’s life, and that understanding helps me sleep at night.
Having said all this, it would be nice to have a couple months after retirement, just to see what life is like when I don’t have to wake up at 5:45 in the morning to go to work. Just a couple months where I can take a trip somewhere and not have to ask for vacation time. It’s not necessary, but it would be nice.
P.S.: After re-reading this a couple of times, I’m still unsure of the effects it’ll have on me as time goes on. There are ideas and beliefs that loom in the background of one’s mind. Bringing them to the forefront can be either reassuring and helpful or destructive and counter-productive. Obviously I’m hoping for the former, but I guess I’ll have to wait and see…
No comments:
Post a Comment