A painful skin problem has forced me to re-evaluate everything.
As I write this, my left hand is bandaged. The skin is raw and cracked like I’ve suffered a caustic burn. My left foot is swollen and looks even worse. A hideous red rash blights my ankle and leg up to my knee.
At times the itching is so severe I claw at my skin like a crazed animal until the blood runs. Thoughts of grabbing an ice pick and stabbing the itch flood my brain. The other day I heard myself say I’d trade a guy with a prosthetic leg straight across for mine if it were possible.
When…
When I retired and moved abroad, everything I had known was swept away. I had to think hard about my priorities.
Seven years ago my wife and I pulled up stakes and set off to Uruguay. Getting out of Dodge proved to be no easy task — surviving a shipwreck might have been easier.
Eventually the chaos and turmoil of moving overseas subsided. We settled into a small, thatched-roof casita in the idyllic coastal town of Balneario Solís.
For the first time our lives were blank slates. The tyranny of wage slavery was over. We were free.
Most mornings, after a leisurely breakfast, I’d head to the virtually-deserted beach that stretched for miles along the Río de la Plata. …
Reflections on some of the tradeoffs, the infamous bureaucracy, and general quality of life after living in Italy for over three years.
It’s easy to imagine that living in Italy is one long vacation. Daily strolls through narrow cobblestone streets. Meeting friends at the piazza for an aperitivo. Hikes up steep mountains with gorgeous views and constant travel to new and exciting villages.
There is plenty of that, but once you live here — like anyplace else — it’s easy to settle into the daily routines of taking care of the house, walking the dog around the neighborhood, and wasting time on the internet. Life is life. Still, it’s Italy.
Here’s some reflections after being here full-time for three and a half…
Our pasts cast long shadows.
My roommate and I had been given permission to scope out the downstairs apartment. Our ne’er-do-well neighbor was in jail after a week-long bender. Word was, he was going away.
Being in some other guy’s apartment felt weird. Beer bottles lined the floor in front of the sagging couch. Clothes were strewn everywhere. A blue nylon bomber jacket heaped in the corner drew my eye. It looked bad-ass, like something you might wear if you were fixing to rob a gas station. I put it on and it fit like a glove. …
With travel largely shut down Italy, I've been forced to face the ruckus inside of my own head. The only path to sanity is to go inward and make the arduous journey to that gateless gate, the fabled place of abiding peace.
As experiences of wholeness and unity seep into my life, I realize that, in essence, I'm nobody. Most of what I call "me" is a bundle of automatic, learned responses cobbled together from distorted memories rooted in the past. …
Achieving wellbeing and optimal health requires an interrelated set of disciplines and approaches. All are important.
My entry into adulthood was not auspicious. I was shaky, filled with anxiety and low on social skills. I had some monkeys on my back. The silver lining was it drove me to seek answers. I simply had to.
I asked my transcendental meditation teacher why I often felt like crawling back to bed after meditating. Her answer was, “Do more practice.” A psychiatrist’s answer to my complaints of terrible mood swings and feelings of malaise was antidepressants. Christian friends advised me to surrender to Jesus. Workout buddies pumped iron and took supplements. …
In the end, it was about facing emotional pain.
For months I waffled about the idea of hypnotherapy as a way to get my life-long struggle with compulsive snacking under control. When I thought about seeking professional help I felt a twinge of embarrassment. Shouldn’t I be able to get on track by using a little discipline? There’s no sense obsessing about this, and it could be worse, right? And besides, isn’t everybody battling the fat monster right now?
My hesitation and rationalizations felt suspiciously similar to when I quit drinking years ago. Back then, I didn’t want to stop drinking because — go figure — if I did…
We must face what’s gone, and then find the gems
Most of our lives disappear behind us like vapor. We’re good at remembering trumpet-blaring moments of transition — weddings, funerals, and jobs that start and end. There are lucid moments when our lives pivot irrevocably in new directions, and these remain clear. We can recount the general thrust of things and lots of bits and pieces. The rest is hazy.
Recently, on December 31, 2020, at 7:22 AM, my life had consumed 34,714,080 minutes spanning 24,107 days. What the hell happened during all of that time? It feels derelict to just let the contents of a life drift away like…
A toast to what we had
Greg Hopkins
Retired. Surrounded by beauty. Grateful to have escaped the matrix. Fascinated by our collective evolutionary journey.
