A Most Sudden and Overwhelming Hatred of Business Apparel

In the hope of conjuring up a more well-defined picture of how I arrived at this point in my less than illustrious life, I felt it prudent to share a bit of my backstory.  In an effort to maintain some semblance of brevity, I'll be sticking to what caused the initial "shift" for me.

For years I was on, what many would call, the right track.  I had moved past the trappings of education and progressed onward to the world of professionals.  Working in hotel management for only a handful of years, I clawed my way up from lowly concierge to esteemed general manager (of a hotel on Ocean Drive in Miami Beach, no less).  Mind you, I was high the whole time.  I used to go up to vacant guest rooms and smoke as if the world's supply of pot was quickly and tragically coming to an end.  With great frequency, the front desk attendant would call me on my cell to inform me of guest complaints in regards to the wicked odor emanating through the corridor and to ask me if I wanted them to handle it. "No, don't worry about it," I'd say.  "I'll deal with this personally."  After finishing my bounty and enjoying a most solid and delicious nap, I would make my way back down to the lobby.  As soon as I glided into the attendant's line of sight, he would unavoidably ask, "what happened with the potheads" with a giddy and juvenile smile on his face.  "It's all been taken care of."  And, indeed, it had been.

I kept up this balancing act for some time and was soon offered an opportunity to change industries.  Leaving what had become the comfortable and easily manipulated world of hospitality, I accepted a position in commercial property management.  This was the beginning of the end.  I was to help manage a Class-A property on Brickell Avenue, which was, and continues to be, the veritable hub of high-end commerce in Miami.  Serving as the building's tenant services coordinator, I would function as the primary point of contact for over 60 companies, comprised of over 1,200 individuals that seemingly had nothing better to do than harass me.  For someone who was high all the time, 2,400 eyeballs was just way too many fucking eyeballs.  There was little escape to be had in that environment.  Daily, I would use my lunch time to drive to a nearby park in order to indulge my increasingly needed vice.  I was clean-shaven, well-groomed and sporting full business attire day in and day out.  As time wore on, I felt more and more like an impostor.

I started to develop the distinct impression that I was living a life meant for someone other than myself.  My adolescence was filled with dreams of becoming a successful bohemian sort, and I had unwittingly become quite the opposite.  Apparently, in my youth, I had set up aspirational land mines that were finally detonating, and they were exploding all around me.  A most sudden and overwhelming hatred of business apparel washed over me like a tsunami.   The life I had built would obviously not suffice (despite the paycheck) and was never going to be enough.  So, I left that job (and the paycheck).  Unbeknownst to me, I was setting off in a direction that would make my life all the more challenging.  Let's face it, finding a good paycheck is hard enough, but finding your true north can seem a dubious and terrifying venture.  Regardless of how this all pans out in the end, I had begun my journey back to weirdness, and there was no turning back.

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