Control Freak

A few years ago, I was living in a tiny little town in the middle of nowhere. Fifteen hundred residents. Fifteen hundred scary, old pickup-driving, hunting, four-wheeling, wings-eating residents. And it was so middle of nowhere that it was an hour from the nearest thing that could officially be called a mall (however, as JC Penney was its anchor store, I wouldn’t call that a mall).

It was two hours from the nearest city of any size. And that was a dreadful city with only about a million residents. A cold, miserable, wet city that nobody ever wants to visit ever. The nearest airport that offered the kind of flights that didn’t shake and rattle and scare the bejesus out of anyone unfortunate enough to fly in them was two and a half hours away. Two and a half hours of giant deer waiting to commit suicide in the middle of darkened two lane roads.

Add nine months of the kind of winter where snow starts falling in September and doesn’t stop until May and the temperatures reach negative fifteen and you’ve pretty much crossed the line into Hell.

My move to Hell was a deliberate career move. It was a huge step up in responsibility and salary. They had made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. Well, if I’d known what I was getting into, I might have refused. But I was stupid. And the recruiter caught me at a weak moment.

I was miserable in Hell, nearly every moment. The job had nose-dived into an embarrassing drudgery fueled by the downfall of the company, shady management, and withdrawal of all funding for my projects. While I had a few friends in town, there was nothing to do. No art, no theatre, no museums, no music. I don’t think you could even buy a CD in town and the best radio station played the latest hits from the previous decade.

Miserable.

In time, I decided to quit. I got all my ducks in a row and prepared to talk to the VP on a Tuesday. I was hoping they would arrange to lay me off since the company was in trouble. However, I’d been schmoozing a department head at headquarters (located in another city far, far away) and did everything I could to make his life easier for about a year prior to my breaking point. I thought it was only proper to talk to him before the VP in my department.

He panicked. I knew I was in a position to make demands. He arranged to move me to headquarters, give me the responsibilities I wanted, give me a promotion, and grant me a 20% raise. I was getting my life back. I felt powerful and free and full of hope.

Before I moved away, I got rid of nearly everything I owned. I was moving back to civilization for another career leap and wanted a fresh start. While I had enough furniture to fill two bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, kitchen, and storage, I left with only a chair and a kitchen table. While I had enough books to fill a small library, I left with only those I loved or intended to read again or thought I might share. I threw out my flatware, my dishes, mismatched glasses (not the Riedels), pots, pans, linens, towels, sheets, videos. Everything went. If I didn’t love it or use it, I got rid of it.

After I moved, I replaced everything. New furniture. New dishes. New pots and pans. Knives. New glasses. All new linens. New everything. New life.

Now, I use and love everything I own. My house is filled with things I enjoy, not cluttered with broken junk that reeks of bad memories.

It’s liberating, being so powerfully in control of my surroundings.