There are events that are considered “life changing” to varying degrees; the birth of a child, the death of a loved one, graduations, job changes, new relationships, or even a major purchase. But I want to talk about the kind of event that causes a change in your entire mindset and personal philosophy. For me, that date is June 14, 2011. Nationally, the day is Flag Day, but for me, it is the day I began to realize that I could not buy happiness. I am not saying that the epiphany happened that day, but that is the day that I began to consider philosophical questions and my place in the world. It was not a momentous event in the grand scheme of things that set me on this path honestly, my house was burned down during a wildfire in Arizona, and I lost most of my possessions.
On Sunday, June 12, 2011, a fire started about 3 miles south of my house, on the border between Mexico and the U.S. By the afternoon, the fire had grown large enough to force an evacuation of the surrounding area, and I was affected. At the time, I had been out of town, and so only two car-loads of “STUFF” was evacuated, along with the pets. This had not been the first evacuation I was subjected to, and so there was no panic, and little fear that anything would happen. By Monday, the fire had grown large enough for the state to receive FEMA funds to assist in the fire-fighting efforts. Initially, the fire was contained within a National Forest area, and the efforts on the first two days was to protect the structures within. However, on Monday night, the efforts were paused while a Federal response team assessed the situation, and by Tuesday morning, the fire had moved close to the boundaries of the National Forest, and was threatening private homes. As is normal, the winds picked up during the day on Tuesday, and because of a hard freeze in February, there were plenty of dead trees to fuel the fire. I remember standing outside of my office on Tuesday, watching the plume of black smoke over the mountains, and I knew that smoke was from my house. My fears were confirmed two days later, when an officer from the Sheriff’s Office said that my address was categorized as “Total Loss”. I was not able to see the place until my birthday that Sunday, when I saw that my home was now four brick walls and a pile of ashes. There was nothing to salvage, but a couple of weeks later, I returned to see if I could find anything. And I did manage to find some ceramics, a couple of wine glasses, and melted bits of gold from the house.
Losing the house was a sting, but I was insured, and I had family to take us in until I could find a new place to live. My possessions were replaced, for the most part, within six months. For a long time afterwards, I would have a thought about something I used to own, and remember that it was in the house that day. Eventually those thoughts faded, and I feel that was due in part to the development of my new mindset. I began to consider why I would suffer a sting of remorse when I would remember I owned something, and for the most part, the memory was not of the item, but of the memory of the experience of coming to own that thing. As an example: one item I lost was a bible. I rarely looked at it, and almost never opened it, it was just another book on the shelf. But I had been given that bible in the First Grade, when I attended a school run by Christian Missionaries in Belem, Brazil, and the value of the memory was not diminished because the actual bible was gone.
I made a choice in the weeks following the fire about how I would look at life in the future. I wanted to stop feeling such a loss over things every time I told a story. I wanted memories that were not tied to loss, but to the experience of the moment remembered. I decided to consider the fire to be a cleansing of my past life. I chose to see the way ahead of me as a chance to find fulfillment in different ways. I began to think of my life in terms of before and after the fire. I took the metal I had recovered from the fire, and had a jeweler in town create a pendant for me. I put that pendant on a necklace, and it has been around my neck every day since. The pendant was in the shape of a flag, with the date of the fire inside the flag. It serves as a daily reminder of the need to strive for something in my life. A couple of years later, I designed my first tattoo, and it serves as a counter to the pendant, helping me remember that I do not need to settle for who I am, but that I can always change parts of me that I do not like anymore. The tattoo is of a U.S. flag, hanging from a pole, and folded in on itself. The tattoo is deliberately unfinished, it fades out halfway down. I believe that rather than just survive, I need to consider how what I am doing is going to be a story I can tell in the future; one that will bring me joy or serve as a lesson. I have found that thinking this way has helped me frame my experiences. Even mundane tasks like commuting or sitting in a cubical can serve as a memory worth recounting, if I can frame the experience.
I also began to look into my personal life. I was married, and we had actually been in “couple’s therapy” before and during the fire. Needless to say, we stopped going after that Tuesday, sitting in a room talking about what made love special with an old hippy was not important anymore. I began to realize that not only did I not get along with my wife, I had been wanting to leave for years. I became more interested in being a part of social circles; I put aside my general dislike of people, and began to spend time socially with others outside of my “close friends”. Eventually, the marriage ended, and we divorced. I found love and lost it, and have found love again.
I don’t want you to think I became an Ascetic though. I still have “STUFF”, but I spend time and money doing what I felt would make a memory I can enjoy in the future. I am much more cavalier about sharing with other people, if a friend is in need, and I can help, I will. I have moved jobs, and even states since the fire, and I am a happier man. Depression is still a real thing, and it spends time along its close cousin anxiety rummaging through my brain, but I don’t let them stay in there for the long vacations like I used to.
I have become a different person than I was. I am not content, there is still so much to change, but I no longer need the constant reminder of the fire to strive for meaning. I have moved past the fire, it is no longer the touchstone in my story that it has been for the past six years. So today, I am putting this away, and while I may take it out now and again to remind me of the journey, it has become another memory, which does not require a talisman to invoke.
This is what I’ve worn for almost 6 years.