The Building and the Cliche

I spent my day at a professional conference: another day in the realm of business networking. Mornings in such settings usually begin with a breakfast spread of slightly desiccated bagels and mounds of cream cheese set on a polished silver platter. A companion to this meal is a colorfully adorned fruit plate, its arrangement reminiscent of an Egyptian pyramid's precision.

As customary, giant vats of coffee are available, accompanied by creamer and honey for tea aficionados. At such functions, pleasantries flow freely, yet there's a pervasive sense of detachment. It's as though the necessity of attendance prompts introspection, an internal dialogue questioning the trajectory of one's life. Regardless, firm handshakes are exchanged, phone calls and deals are promised, but I often find myself enveloped in solitude amid the crowd.

As I journeyed toward today's location, I tried visualizing it. Could it be The Building I used to jog past all those years ago?

Memories of my training runs near The Building, and my life in that era filled my mind. It was a period filled with both beautiful and challenging times. Now, as a 44-year-old suburban father dabbling in Eastern philosophy and living in a community of predominantly white-collar individuals, I look back at those years with nostalgia and introspection, as if I could go back and change things.

I grappled with numerous life-defining questions back then: testing my athletic prowess, contemplating career choices, debating a move back to Ohio, and questioning the wisdom of rejecting an opportunity to pursue a Ph.D. in comparative literature offered by two professors of Modern Greek at Ohio State.

I vividly recall that moment in 1987 at the quaint Rathskeller deli inside Pomerene Hall. Over a rather tasteless tuna sandwich, I contemplated their proposal. Their concerned eyes scrutinized me as I politely declined their offer, with no beverage in sight to temper the tension.

Growing up, I learned that the word "vocation" in Latin means a "calling," a life's work that resonates deeply within you. However, I couldn't comprehend what those professors meant when they posed their monumental questions. They saw my potential and were eager to help me nurture it, but I needed more insight than I now possess. Unlike them, I had no concrete life plan or calling. Instead, I navigated life guided by intuition rather than a clearly defined blueprint.

For years, I've pondered the profound meaning of "vocation" and my decisions. I experience a bout of existential questioning every five years. Sometimes, I wonder if I should have accepted their offer with zeal. It's an odd thought, imagining an alternate life when my current existence, filled with my loving wife and son, brings me immense joy. Home is truly where my heart is.

Instead of academia, I moved to San Diego to chase what now seems like a fanciful dream. Yet, it felt incredibly tangible back then. I yearned to be a professional triathlete. It's amusing to acknowledge this dream in writing after all these years. Relocating here was a deliberate choice. San Diego, the birthplace of triathlon, seemed like the perfect place to excel in a sport I had already mastered in Ohio. It was akin to a country singer moving to Nashville – a cliché perhaps, but fitting nonetheless.