Tag Archives: travel

Traveling on the Tenth Anniversary of 9-11

Posted by dkrashb on

It’s just after 10AM and we are packed and ready to leave for our two week vacation in Germany. We are flying out of Atlanta because the flight schedule to leave from Chattanooga will not get us home in one day. We have a plan for today: we will drive to the Atlanta airport, check two of our bags, leave our carry ons in the trunk, and take the MARTA downtown for a few hours before our flight. We divide our bags between us and head out the door looking somewhat like pack mules.

The weather has cleared and warmed up again. It’s cool this morning, but promising to get into the upper eighties. We are preoccupied with our plans and have not given much more than a passing thought to the significance of this day. But as we cruise down the highway around Chattanooga, we pass under a high overpass with a group of people on it unfurling a huge American flag and waving. I wave back as we pass under the enormous flag, and am instantly returned to ten years ago.

I was at my desk on 9-11, thankfully on a reprieve from the constant travel that I did at that time of my career. My phone rang and a colleague in NJ excitedly informed me that a plane had just crashed into one of the World Trade Center towers. At first, I waited for the punchline, assuming it was a joke. He didn’t yet know that it was an attack; it was just a crazy event for the next half hour until he called me back and told me that a second plane had crashed into the other tower.

I went down the hall to talk to my boss. He was getting updates and it was clear now that this was, in fact, the first attack on American soil since Pearl Harbor. In that moment, the sense of security I’d never known I had was shattered. Many of us gathered in the halls, talking quietly of people we knew who worked in the area. More news came in and we heard of the two other planes, one still in the air. Most of us decided to go work from home the rest of the day–it felt safer not to be in a building that once (decades ago) employed over 18,000 people.

When I got home, I turned on the TV and watched the news. I was on the phone with more friends and colleagues in the NY area, each of us recounting the stories we had learned of missing loved ones. For me, it seemed close to home even though it was a distant event. I was happy that all travel was suspended for two weeks–no one seemed to want to have a meeting in light of the tragedy. I had no desire to go get on a plane.

When I flew into Newark two weeks later, the airport seemed like a ghost town. I met with customers that day who had regular meetings in the trade center prior to 9-11. Two of them recounted their 9-11 stories. One missed being on the 11th floor of the first building when it was hit only because he’d stopped to get a cup of coffee. The other was in the street when the first tower collapsed, diving behind a dumpster with a woman he’d never met before and running for shelter in an abandoned building, barely escaping unharmed. They still didn’t know if the people they were on their way to meet had survived. I never learned the outcome.

I add these stories to my collection from people who had relatives in the city that day–one of my colleague’s daughters had a terrifying day just trying to leave the city to get to the safety of her parents’ home. Photos of one of our customer sites across the street from the destruction were forwarded around. An entire wall is missing from a data center that houses the equipment we make. Those of us who know the people that work there are stunned by these photos. These stories make what might just seem like something in the news feel next door. I am reminded of a person I once met who was sent to Grenada (or was it Panama?) in the military. He described walking through a suburban neighborhood while under attack. I imagine war in a whole new way when I hear his descriptions. I try to imagine where I would hide while soldiers go through my quiet suburban neighborhood shooting at one another.

These are the images that come to mind as we cruise along the highway. I think about what it would be like to live somewhere where personal safety is a foremost concern on a daily basis. In the ten years since 9-11, we have collectively forgotten the fear that the attack created and been more annoyed by ridiculous security rules in the airports that are hard to connect to increased security than worried about repeat attacks. I suppose that’s a good thing. After all, what would being afraid accomplish? At the same time, prior to 9-11, no one would have thought that a terrorist would crash a hijacked plane. Since that day, I’ve swapped many stories of “what we would do” with fellow travelers, each of us feeling personal responsibility for the safety of each flight in a way we never considered before.

I received a news alert from the Wall Street Journal that plans for car bombings on 9-11 were discovered and foiled. I feel oddly reassured by this news, I suppose the fact that they were found out and prevented is reassuring, but it always makes me wonder what else is going on that they haven’t found out about yet? I think the majority of the relief is purely selfish–the attacks were about car bombs and not planes and, after all, it’s a plane I’m getting on.

I feel like I should pause for a moment and honor the dead, the injured, and the chronically ill that resulted from 9-11. Yet, in some respects, do I honor them by flying on this day? Does the fact that I feel confident enough to get on a long, international flight say that we recovered well? It is impossible to know what the people most horribly affected by the attack would say, but since I am going to Germany today regardless, I choose to think they would be pleased. I say a silent thank you to the men and women who responded to the attack and an apology to those who did not survive. Then, I tuck away my fears and focus on the road ahead.

Returning to Chattanooga

Posted by dkrashb on

Having completed three days of corporate training, it’s time to go home. I’m not sure if it’s the intensity of the class or the late hours trying to keep up on work, or the early morning wake up time I can’t seem to get past, but I am exhausted by the end of the class. Four of us are going to the White Plains airport together, but we have over an hour to kill before we leave. We agree a drink is in order, but by the time we all get served and settled, it’s almost time to leave. We drink our drinks quickly and head to the lobby to order a cab. Then, we have to wait 15 minutes for the cab to come. It occurs to me that we did things in the wrong order.

Another group waits for a cab in front of the building. They are dressed in suits with ties and we wonder if they were here for executive training. A regular blue cab and a black town car pull up at the same time. The men in suits approach the black town car, but it turns out it’s ours. We get a slight chuckle out of that. We don’t have to squeeze to get three in the back and all of our luggage fits into the trunk along with a soccer ball that I assume belongs to the driver.

The airport is crowded when we arrive, but the line moves quickly. We sit and chat some more waiting for our flight to be called. Perhaps I drank my wine too quickly, but I find myself exhibiting a less-than-professional sense of humor. I seem to be in “one of the guys” mode. This is an old habit I’ve developed really starting in my teen years. Perhaps I discovered at a young age that men have certain advantages and think being perceived as one of them will make those advantages rub off on me, but I have learned that men are as different individually as everyone else and sometimes I am more “guy-like” than they are comfortable with. Unfortunately, this lesson is lost on me today. After making a few comments that were not office-appropriate, I head to the ladies room. When I return, my colleagues are swapping stories about colleagues who say inappropriate things outside the office. I try not to think that there is a direct relationship between this topic and my earlier comments, but I make a mental note to behave better in the future.

Thankfully, my flight boards and I get seated. I flip through the airline magazine, impatient for electronics to be allowed so I can get back to the novel I’m reading. As much as I love my iPad, this is the one time when I lament not buying a paperback. I can’t pull my iPad out fast enough when the announcement finally comes. Unfortunately, no matter how much I want to read, my eyes keep closing and I find myself re-reading the same pages over and over again.

In Atlanta, I board my plane early. We are parked at the gate and seemingly ready for push back, but they don’t close the door. We sit for 15 minutes and finally, at our scheduled departure time, several more passengers arrive. One of them sits next to me and two more sit across the aisle from me. They talk across me in my aisle seat. They were on the same connection from Texas and had to run for this flight. They are sweaty and disheveled from running with bags. The woman sitting in the window seat on the other side of the aisle talks loudly and continuously, first to the woman next to me and then on the phone. Apparently, she has a spider infestation back at home. I am always amazed by loud talkers. While I am not what anyone would call a private person, I cannot talk in public without feeling uncomfortable with the knowledge that others can hear me. I often find myself talking so quietly that whomever I am speaking to constantly asks me to repeat myself. When I encounter a loud talker, I cannot help but feel that they operate on the assumption that everyone must hear what they have to say. There is a certain presumptuousness about it.

The woman from Texas continues chattering loudly through the safety announcements, through take off, and right up until the moment I get out my noise-canceling ear buds and crank up some music. After hearing only two songs, the announcement to turn off electronics comes on. When I pop out my ear buds, she is still jabbering. She doesn’t stop when the plane stops at the gate or when the seatbelt sign goes off or when she jumps up and pushes her husband to step out into the aisle so she can step out as well. Maybe she is too busy telling the woman next to me about her spider problem to notice that there is a certain etiquette to de-boarding a plane because she fails to wait for the passengers in the seats in front of her to step out before charging down the aisle. I hear her voice fading as she continues talking her way off the plane and I wonder who she thinks she’s talking to–her silent husband clearly stopped listening years ago.

I call Pat as I exit the airport, letting him know that we’ve arrived several minutes early. We agree that we will meet at baggage claim although I’m not entirely sure where that is. I follow the signs and walk outside only to discover I’m not more than 10 yards from passenger drop-off where Pat left me three days earlier. After all, it is a small airport.

It’s 11:30 by the time we get home and I am beat. I get myself ready for bed and take some extra vitamins when I remember the number of people coughing on my flights. Now I am awake again and don’t feel like sleeping yet. We turn on the TV and, magically, I doze off before Pat has time to pick a channel. Minutes later, Pat is waking me up to tell me to go to bed. I climb between our amazing sheets and feel like I really am home just before I fall into a deep sleep.

Getting There

Posted by dkrashb on

After staying in Atlanta overnight, I wake at my usual 4AM and prepare for the trip. I go through my old routine for getting ready for work including make up and hair, two tasks I’ve grown accustomed to skipping. I put on my comfortable business casual clothes. In fact, I’m wearing jeans, but they’re so dark and cut so full through the leg that most people don’t notice they’re jeans. I pack up all my belongings and head for the door. I turn back one more time to check that I have everything–it’s so easy to lose track of a bottle or a charger.

The airport shuttle waits outside the hotel lobby and I board it unassisted. On the way in the day before, my suitcase was whisked out of my hands and I was offered a bottle of water, but now, the driver isn’t in sight. I find a seat and park myself amongst the other weary travelers, all of us looking like we should have spent at least another hour in bed.

When I get to the airport, it’s busy. Atlanta cannot be mistaken for Chattanooga. It’s early and I have two hours before my flight, so I am in no hurry, but I never relax until I’m at my gate, so I make my way through security and down to the tram. A man passes me on the escalator, worming his way around those who don’t stay to the right and rushing for the tram just seconds too late to make it. For a moment I think he will try to jump between the closing doors and I close my eyes, but when I open them, he is safely standing on the platform, although he’s cursing.

Making it to my concourse with still plenty of time, I stop at the only open restaurant for breakfast. The waitress is impossibly friendly and efficient for this time in the morning. I use my meal voucher from the airlines since they didn’t get me on the plane last night, but I tip extra generously since I figure the happy waitress should benefit from my voucher, too.

As I make my way to the gate, I pass dozens of people wrapped in blankets, still sleeping from the night before. I have never spent the night in an airport and feel grateful that I’ve always been able to get a hotel room when the need arose. I cannot imagine what it would be like to wake up among strangers with no way to get cleaned up and to have to get on a plane.

At the gate, I set up my MiFi device and get my work laptop out. I manage to get several things done while I wait for my plane to board. I’m in zone three. Although it’s now been years since I flew often enough to have the kind of frequent flier status that gets you free upgrades and early boarding privileges, having been spoiled for so many years before makes the lack of those benefits sting a little. This flight is on a relatively small jet with gate check for roll-a-boards and only a “fake” first class with slightly wider seats, so I’m not sure why I care.

I remember boarding a plane for Newark when I was on my way to Italy when I was still in my twenties. It was a Sunday flight and I was dressed in jeans and a black leather biker jacket. Back then, companies still paid for business class tickets for long flights, so I was in first class on this connection. But when I got on the plane and went to put my carry-on above my seat, a flight attendant called to me, “Miss, that overhead is for first class only!” I muttered “uh-huh” at him, but he didn’t understand his mistake and said, “Are you in first class?” with a little more surprise in his voice than was polite. Having finished stowing my bag, I looked directly at him and said, “Why yes, I believe I am!” as I slid into my first class seat. To this day, I don’t know if it was my youth, my jacket, some combination thereof, or something entirely different that made him think I didn’t belong in first class, but it’s a memory that sticks.

Back to today, I board with my zone and get over myself, happy that I have a seat at all. The plane takes off and soon I am lost in my iPad, enjoying a book I’ve not had time to read nearly as fast as I would like. Recommended to me by a friend, “The Help” has me hooked and I’m dying to know what happens. Unfortunately, the flight is not long enough for me to find out, but that’s just as well–I’m always disappointed when a good book ends and find myself wondering what happens next.

As we approach the White Plains airport, I stare out the window, scouring the scene below for signs of Irene. From the air, all looks well. I find my way to the taxi counter and am put in one of those big, black Lincoln Town cars that people in NJ call a “limo.” As we make our way to the training facility, I see downed trees and ask the driver how bad the storm was. He tells me that the area was not hit too hard as we pass bands of men with chain saws trying to clear more fallen trees. He does say that some still have power outages, but all-in-all, they seem to have weathered the storm well.

Nearly a day after I left my home, I arrive at the training class. I walk into the room at roughly 11:30 in the morning and am surprised to see half a dozen colleagues from Columbus. I knew 2 would be there, but didn’t realize there would be so many others. I smile, wave, and silently greet my familiar colleagues as I’m led to a seat waiting for me with my name tag in front of it–both my first and last name are spelled correctly and fit on the tag. Now that is a good omen!

Flying and Irene

Posted by dkrashb on

Returning to the weekday feels like being pulled down under water slowly and gasping for breath. The problems that I managed to forget about for two days wait for me with evil grins. I quickly find myself embroiled. But, I have only half a day to tackle work before I have to get on a plane and take my first business trip out of the Chattanooga airport. The airport website boasts of direct flights to 8 cities. To complicate matters, I am trying to get into White Plains, NY via Atlanta. Atlanta is not a problem, but hurricane Irene has just passed through New York while I was busy enjoying myself over the weekend. I was supposed to fly out Sunday, but my trip was postponed a day to accommodate Irene. I mentally prepare myself for a difficult travel day.

We check the directions to the airport several times, not being familiar with the route. The GPS and google both say it will take about 18 minutes to get there. We allow plenty of time in case there is traffic or long lines, since sometimes small airports are the hardest to get through efficiently. The drive to the airport takes us on some back roads on the Southeast side of the city. The houses we pass remind us that times have been hard and not everyone has a fantastic view of the riverfront.

I am on a conference call as we drive and, of course, am mid-sentence when we get to the airport. Pat takes the drive in and, confused by the signs directing us to long-term parking but not to passenger drop-off, picks a drive that takes us right back out of the airport. I laugh out loud that we have driven less than 50 yards and managed to go right by the airport and find myself explaining my laugh to the folks on my call. Fortunately, it’s a laid-back team call.

Pat finds the drop-off on the second pass and I manage to mute myself long enough to tell him good-bye. The airport seems abandoned. There are only a handful of people in the ticketing area. I continue my conference call while I use a machine to print a boarding pass, attempting to get a seat assignment on my second leg with no luck. It never bodes well to not have a seat assignment.

I find myself with time to kill, waiting for my conference call to end before attempting to go through security. I walk around a display of photographs of Chattanooga. Listening to the call makes it hard to appreciate the photos, but it at least gives me something to look like I’m doing besides lurking. When the call ends, I get into a security line that has 3 people in it and, in spite having removed all metal, a beep goes off, I am told I’ve been randomly selected for additional screening. Seems like I am frequently the target of random forces. In this case, it just means they test my carry-on for traces of explosives. I always wonder what kinds of dust might attach itself to my suitcase that would register as explosive, but so far I’ve always passed this test and today is no exception.

When at last I am sitting on the plane, lifting into the sky, I bend down to look out the window. We curve up and back over the downtown area. I am surprised by how flat it looks. With most of the buildings being less than 10 stories, they don’t register as office buildings from above, but flatten into the landscape, looking not much taller than houses. The river bends crazily through the town and I spot the now-familiar bridges that we have so often crossed. I try to feel like this is my home town, but seeing it from the air for the first time makes it seem completely unfamiliar.

The flight to Atlanta is so short that by the time I get my iPad out and start reading, it’s time to turn off electronics again. The pilot startles me several times as we come in for a landing with sudden drops in altitude and quick turns. I don’t startle easily on planes, but I haven’t been flying often the past few years, I wonder if I’m getting rusty. We land hard and stop fast; I’m thrown forward against my seatbelt. The pilot seems to be racing and I find myself looking out the window again, fearful that he’s crossing a runway in the path of an incoming plane. But, we are safe and we arrive at the gate on time and uninjured.

Of course, the premonition evoked by my lack of a seat assignment on the next flight comes true. I am stuck in Atlanta overnight and will not arrive in White Plains until late the next morning, meaning I will miss the first several hours of my training class. After waiting in line for 45 minutes to get my ticket changed, I am grumpy and irritated. But the woman who helps me seems to take it all in stride,and in a matter of minutes, she has me laughing and feeling grateful for the opportunity to meet her. I can’t say what she did to cause this change in attitude except her best to help me, but I wish I could get a dose of whatever it is she’s got that has this calming effect on people.

I manage to get a hotel room at the near-by Marriott. When I arrive, it is swarming with people greeting each other and catching up on the disasters they’ve worked since last seeing one another. It turns out that Atlanta is FEMA headquarters for the response to Irene. I am reminded that being stuck in Atlanta overnight in a comfortable hotel is hardly a disaster. When I get to my room and my key doesn’t work, I find I am not irritated. I return to the long line in the lobby and feel nothing but patience as I listen to people swapping stories about flooded areas, lost homes, and injured people.

When I get settled in my room, I work for a couple of hours, trying to get caught up, knowing that it’s impossible, being in class for the next three days will mean I get woefully behind, but I look forward to the class anyway. I have missed the mind-bending of corporate training classes since working for a smaller company who didn’t worry so much about creating a culture. I’m interested to know what direction the mega-huge company that purchased us expects our minds to bend.

I put my work laptop away and call it a night. I feel like I will not sleep for hours, but when I pull out my iPad and start reading, I find my eyes closing almost immediately. Apparently travel (or lack there of) is exhausting.

Being Home

Posted by dkrashb on

After returning from Columbus and our own bed, I sleep soundly, but still awaken at 4AM. It seems to be the magic time for me these days. Perhaps I really do need to re-prioritize with yoga going to the top of the list? But here I am, at 4AM, wide awake. I take my laptop out on the balcony and sit down to blog. This is my favorite place in the morning. The city traffic trickles by instead of roaring and the cool morning wind makes me feel like someday, it really will be less than 95 degrees. I pause and look out over the city lights–many of which are solar powered. The lights make Chattanooga seem like a bigger city than it is, glowing with the insistence that it matters. I think about my sister-in-law and my nephew. They are in New Orleans,when sister-in-law returning my nephew to college after summer break. She will drive to Chattanooga today, staying with us for two nights as our first visitor. I think about how the city looked to me the first time I saw it and wonder if it will charm her in the same way.

I relax for a moment, realizing that today will be a relaxed day compared to the previous days in Columbus. With no one to see and no need to commute to work, I will wake Pat up in a couple of hours and we will take our morning walk by the river. I check my work email and take care of a few quick items, making sure There are no emergencies that require changing the pace of my morning. As the first rays of sunlight start to hit the bridges below, I pause again to appreciate the changing scene. A bat flies by, probably to retire for the day, and I wonder how many Mosquitos it ate last night.

I go in and open the refrigerator. It’s completely empty except for a water-filter pitcher. We have been buying groceries European style–buying only what we need for a day at time. In some ways it seems a waste of an American refrigerator, but the walk to the grocery is short and carrying groceries home limits how much we can buy at one time. I smile as I think of how many small things have changed in our life by moving to a new community. We could have walked to the grocery store in Columbus every day, but it didn’t occur to us. Changing places makes us think more about changing habits.

I putter around for a bit in the kitchen and then return to the balcony, still thinking of my nephew going back to school. I remember going back to college myself. It was not such a dramatic change for me. For one, I didn’t leave my home town. In fact, I didn’t leave home until my senior year (although I still paid rent). For another, I took classes every summer, so my break was limited to 3 weeks between summer and fall quarters. I also worked, so the continuity of my job(s) kept that break from feeling much like a break. Even so, the feeling of going back to school always delineated the summer from the fall even when the weather belied the shifting seasons. It was always a time of reflection with a sense of starting fresh. I wonder where that feeling went after so many years of work with no seasonal changes. I now look forward to fall for the shift in weather. The cold nights and sunny days feel like a burden lifting, but gone is the excitement of starting over as the seasons change. I wonder if, in this new place, that excitement will be reborn.

It’s almost time to wake up Pat. When I return inside, he is already up. I check my email again just in case something is going on in another part of the world where the offices are shutting down for the day. I wonder if my colleagues on the other side of the globe are watching the sunset as I watch the sunrise–each of us witnessing the same event from opposite directions.

On Visiting

Posted by dkrashb on

After arriving in Columbus, I quickly realize several things about coming for a visit:

  1. Friends are more important than errands–scheduling tasks from getting my iPad fixed to getting my hair done leaves little time to see friends in the few waking hours left after work.
  2. Co-workers are more important than errands–missing happy hour with colleagues in favor of appointments wastes a rare opportunity to socialize with people I enjoy.
  3. Making a list of everyone I want to see and scheduling time with them before I leave and before I schedule any kind of mundane task should help make time to see everyone next trip.
  4. Spending time with people I care about is important because I don’t know how long it will be before I get to see them again, even if I just saw them 2 weeks ago.
  5. Having a mobile broadband connection that works makes like easier.
  6. When I pack, I need to count carefully and not get distracted in the middle of packing.

These lessons were, of course, learned the hard way.  Thinking I could take care of tasks in Columbus more easily than in Chattanooga because I knew where to go caused me to pack my schedule with stuff I really would have preferred not to do.  I missed out on the opportunity to spend time with people.  We ended up with only 3 evenings that we could schedule anything and one of them was shared with a 2-hour hair appointment, making for a late evening on a work night.  I mentally go through a list of the people we didn’t get to see and groan inwardly.

On the plus side, staying with friends worked out well–at least for us.  Sharing a cup of coffee in the wee hours of the morning with my fellow insomniac made a great way to start the day (although I suppose we both would have liked an extra hour or two of sleep).  And our schedules were offset just enough that we got to spend some quality time together without getting in each other’s way (I hope).

Driving was interesting.  I didn’t think about having only one car to share with Pat while in Columbus.  As it turned out, he did all the driving until we were on our way home again, so I went almost 3 weeks before I got behind the wheel again.  Not having a car also made it difficult to arrange time with friends at lunch.  I managed to have lunch with work friends, but missed the chance to get together with a friend who I could have seen if I’d had a car to meet her for lunch.

We left for Columbus on a Sunday with Pat doing the driving so I could get caught up on some work.  Unfortunately, my work laptop refused to play nicely with our USB broadband device and we found ourselves wardriving for a WiFi network so I could get a document emailed that needed to be in Hong Kong in time for the start of their Monday morning.  Worried that I would forget to send it when we got to Columbus, I wanted to make sure it went out while I was thinking about it.  Fortunately, McDonald’s now offers free WiFi, accessible from their parking lot.  But driving around looking for internet access does not make for an efficient car trip.

As for getting distracted while packing, once we are in Columbus, I discovered why my suitcase looked so empty.  I’d stopped packing before I’d finished gathering together everything I needed for working out (especially my workout bag) and I’d mis-counted the number of days I needed work clothes.  With no workout bag, I ended up packing my change of work clothes for after my workout into my laptop bag, which caused me to forget my lovely heels.  I ended up having to wear my fivefingers shoes all day the first day I went to the gym.  If you’ve never seen fivefingers shoes, check them out.  While they are the best shoes I’ve ever worked out in, they aren’t exactly complementary to work attire.  I comforted myself that not that many people would see me in my silly shoes, but, of course, we have a firedrill at the office that day and I ended up in the parking lot along with the entire population of our building.  As I walk across the parking lot, I count the number of times I hear, “Nice shoes!”  Oh well.

Riding the Riverpark

Posted by dkrashb on

The Tennessee Riverwalk parallels the Tennessee River as it winds it’s way East through the city and then turns North. As a cyclist, I anticipated enjoying this highlight of Chattanooga on a regular basis. After our move, we didn’t have the energy to explore it until a week after we’d settled in. But, I talked my husband into a short, exploratory ride late on a Sunday afternoon. We didn’t actually get started until close to sunset, so we knew we weren’t going to get far. However, we didn’t anticipate failing to find the route!

We crossed over the Walnut St Bridge and found an entry point, but it involved switch-back ramps that were not designed for bicycles. We ended up heading West instead of East, running into the end of the route after only a few minutes. Although the West route led us through the river park in front of the Chattanooga Aquarium, right on the waterfront with it’s spectacular fountains, it wasn’t much of a ride. We headed back East and searched for a route to the West. We ended up on a cliff in front of the Hunter Museum, precariously perched on the cliff high above the river. Fortunately, there were hand rails. Since the sun had set, we gave up, made our way back to the Bridge and headed home.

What do you do when you fail to find a highlight you’ve been looking forward to? Start up Google Earth. From the vantage point of a satellite, I spotted our mistake–in the Bluff View Art District (another must see spot in Chattanooga), the route East requires riding a short distance on the road to a bridge that crosses a highway and safely deposits riders on the route.

Pat (hubby) takes a trip back to Columbus the next day and I decide it’s a good time for me to check the accuracy of Google Earth that evening. After a long day at work, I have 1 hour between my last office-hours call and the start of my first late call (one of the joys of working with a global team is accommodating vast time differences). I hop on my bike and head out.

Sure enough, Google is right again. The river walk is easy to follow once I find the entry point. I can’t help but think about the San Antonio river walk in comparison. The key difference is that Chattanooga actually has a river. San Antonio created a man-made stream that is akin to the stream that flows through the Venetian casino in Vegas. It’s nice, but it’s not nature. In contrast, riding along the Tennessee River is a polite form of nature. The route is man-made concrete, wooden board-walks and bridges. The river has been dammed and the development is plentiful, but the park areas along the ride preserve natural wetlands and woods along the way as well. It’s like Disney meets the Everglades (minus the mangroves and alligators).

I push myself a bit climbing the hills. One of the climbs gets me out of breath. I push harder, feeling the burn as I stand to climb the steepest parts of the trail, daring myself not to sit until I’ve reached the top. I feel my calves flex, my heart accelerate, and my arms pull against the handle bars. The feeling of strength pushes me forward. I am sweating in the heat, but smiling as I top the final climb. It’s a short climb–easier than the climbs in and out of the river valleys in flat Columbus, even. The views of the river are what make me smile.

If I wanted to train for a race, this would not be the place for me. The slippery boardwalks and plentiful pedestrians make high-speeds dangerous. But I am not racing. I am enjoying. I finish my ride satisfied that this highlight will not disappoint.

Just a few things

Posted by dkrashb on

There is nothing like moving to make you think about things.  And I mean that in the most literal of ways.  I pick up each thing I own, examine it, think about the last time I used it,  think about whether that thing is worth the trouble of packing, lifting, carrying, and placing back in my life at the next location.  When I add into the mix a reduction of space by 1/2, I scrutinize even more carefully.  Is this thing worth my time and energy?  Where will I put it in my new place?  Is this something I will be able to find and use?  Is it something I will replace if I don’t have it?  I never cease to be amazed at the number of things that have found a place in my home that have turned out to be a drain on my energy.

Having purchased our last house from my father, we inherited all the things that he didn’t want in his life anymore.  This included things from four grandparents, my mother, and my aunt–the leavings from their lives that I felt like I should be emotionally attached to.  But none of those things were them. Detaching objects from people was a mandatory step in reducing our burden when moving from our house last year.  Now, we have reduced our space again by half, requiring yet another reduction.

Digital photography is a great tool for dealing with balancing emotional attachment and physical space.  Pictures of the things that represented something important take up only virtual space.  This method, suggested by my brother, has allowed me to unload things I don’t know what to do with ranging from trophies to family heirlooms.  Take a picture, sell or donate the item, move on.  Interestingly, I don’t find myself looking at the pictures of these objects when I want to remember the people and experiences that went with them; I just remember.

Harder for me is balancing reduction and waste.  I hate getting rid of an object that I spent money on that I don’t feel I’ve gotten my money’s worth out of yet. Likewise, I hate to get rid of something I might use.  Clothes are hard for this reason.  I seem to always end up with items I consider expensive that hang in my closet far more than on my body.  I decided that I should get my wardrobe down to 7 outfits for each season.  Then, I won’t need much space and I will save time deciding what to wear.  Unfortunately, that hasn’t been too practical.  I have a wardrobe for work, hanging out, going out, working out, biking, hiking, skiing, and yoga.  I have highly technical clothing for virtually every weather possibility.  These are practical clothes that I use to death, but it’s a slow death.  Now that I work from home, my work clothes will be needed about as often as my ski pants.  Being prepared and being a nomad don’t seem to fit well together.

I think about a book I once read called Your Money or Your Life.  It talked a lot about the concept of “enoughness.”  The stats show that there is an optimal state of wealth, and it’s not what we think of as wealth.  Once you have food, shelter, and clothing, your happiness maximizes at some minimal level of comfort beyond that point and then the stress of maintaining things causes your happiness to decline.  The trick is that there is no formula for determining what your personal level of eoughness is.  I, for one, cannot imagine life without my iPad or iPhone.  Yet, was I less happy before they existed?  It’s a slippery slope.  I introduce something new into my life and it takes hold, becomes part of what I do each day, and I cannot imagine giving it up.  Yet there is a cost to all of these things–even those that don’t require a data plan.  Clothes have to be cleaned, put away, decided upon.  Pictures have to be arranged, hung, dusted.  Collectibles have to be maintained, safe-guarded, cared-for.

I wonder if I should start a website where people can trade homes not for vacations, but for cleaning out the clutter?  If someone else came into my home and made the decision for me about what I needed to keep and what I could live without, wouldn’t it be easier for them to decide?  In the meantime, I struggle to find places for the debris of my life that I cannot part with, but don’t have a place for.  I wonder how we’ll reduce what we have to a set of things that we can take with us and how much comfort I am willing to give up in exchange for more space, time, and energy to do what I enjoy?

Getting Started

Posted by dkrashb on

After struggling to enjoy our mostly mainstream life, the stress and boredom got to us. In 2000, I was working for a company that kicked off the implosion of the telecom industry and realized that depending on a corporate job for a living was not a sure bet. For the next 5 years, I was in a constant state of wondering if my job was going away. This motivated us to systematically eliminate debt, reduce our expenses, build our savings, and think about how we could live without my corporate job. In particular, we wanted to live on the road and really experience North America. RVs are nice, but we’re environmentalists and we couldn’t justify the gas. We imagined a life of living in an area for a few weeks either in a tent or in a cheap hotel and driving on–touring from our Honda mini-van.

However, I haven’t been without some form of income since I was 9 years old and I find I care a lot about my career. As such, living without my corporate job was just a bit too scary of a leap for me; I couldn’t imagine where my identity would come from with no career. But, since the situation I was in really wasn’t a career either, my first step was to find a different job with a growing company that was less depressing than the dying company I was at. This I accomplished at the beginning of 2006.

At the time, we still thought I would have to leave the corporate world all together to live on the road. As we continued to plan for that, we waited for the right time to sell our house. While 2006 would have been a great time to sell in the market, we had 2 English Mastiffs and renting really wasn’t an option. We were content to enjoy our dogs and worry about selling later. Sadly, we lost one in 2008 and the other in 2009. While losing our canine kids was a horrible loss, it did free us up to pursue our plans. Unfortunately, the housing market was in the toilet. However, we managed to sell our house in 2010 during a recovery period. Simultaneously, the company I worked for was being purchased by a much larger corporation. We decided to rent a house and wait things out once more.

As it turned out, the new company has a much more friendly attitude towards working remotely. As a result, we’ve revised our plan to include me keeping my career while we move around. We’re not sure what that means yet, but we decided to start by establishing residency in a state with less tax burden than the one we were in. We now find ourselves with a 6-month lease on a really cool apartment in Chattanooga, TN. So, expect more entries on life from Chattanooga for the next 6 months.

Dianne