The 1977 Dodge Monaco of Airplanes

Cessna 172.

We watched a couple average Joe types saunter out to the tarmac, a 9- and 12-year old in tow, and just walk up to a single seat plane like they belonged there.

I thought, “Oh shit. The gate wasn’t secure. They’re about to have a real bad time.”

You know, because they didn’t look like airplane owners.

Until they all climbed into the small plane parked next to it, fired it up like it was a common car, and rolled on out with one arm out the pilot’s window.

It wasn’t a new machine, either. Faded blues and polished aluminum, weathered and loved, not the fastest or prettiest thing, but generally regarded as a decently styled, easily serviced workhorse.

It was the 1977 Dodge Monaco of airplanes.

And then it was like, those are regular guys and they belong there. Which means I could belong there too if I prioritized taking action on that dream.

And it’s been a dream of mine to fly since you knew someone who drove a 1977 Dodge Monaco. Way, way back before Top Gun and Iron Eagle.

And that’s when P says, “Look Daddy! Those boys are riding in that airplane!” And then, disappointed, “I wish YOU could drive an airplane.”

#karmaistookindsometimes

Project 1042 Begins

Today I am officially 41 years old.

40 was a real gut check, but the past year—despite all its ups and downs—has me feeling like the 40s are going to be everything the 30s were supposed to be (and the 20s hadn’t even figured out yet).

Part of me feels like I’m past my prime. Part of me feels like I’m about to hit my stride.

All of me appreciates the reminder from Gary Vee that I’ve still easily got another 60+ years ahead of me. Plenty of time to get a business launched, profitable, and change the world (my life along with it).

Whattayouwannadowithyourlife?

I wanna rock.

One year from today, I’ll be 42—the answer to life, the Universe, and everything.

Four months after that, GBXM will be 10.

Project 1042: GBXM will be my full-time job by the end of 2019.

Here’s to that 2020 hindsight.

#BHAG

Escapism & the call of adventure

I’ve got that feeling again.

The feeling I need to aggressively downsize, divest, and disappear. You know, more so than usual.

I am unabashedly in love with the idea of living simply aboard a 40-foot sailboat. No mortgage. No electric or water bill. Just food, data, and the odd splash of diesel for the Doldrums.

And for the same reason, I also love the idea of downsizing into a lightly used RV for a couple years, taking the show on the road, and living to work more than working to live (while saving up for said 40-foot sailboat, naturally).

But I’m starting to notice these voices get louder in times of stress. When the site goes down, when deadlines loom, when the best laid plans of mice fall apart—the urge to run away grows stronger.

I don’t think that means all my hopes and dreams stem from the wrong side of “fight or flight,” but I DO think it’s something worth doing some deeper thinking on.

Fortunately, I’ve got some good friends I can think about this stuff with.