I’ve always had an independent streak. “Streak” may be generous; “low-grade rebellion” is probably more accurate.
At 16, freshly licensed and apparently full of ambition, I drove to a local legal-aid attorney’s office to ask about emancipation. He solemnly asked whether I was being abused or forced into anything terrible.
“No,” I said. “I just don’t like being controlled.”
He smirked, suggested I go home, and presumably returned to helping people with actual problems.
At 17, I left the Catholic Church because it didn’t oppose the Vietnam War. I had been reading St. Augustine on just wars—normal teenage behavior—and concluded Vietnam failed the moral test rather spectacularly. The political hypocrisy felt suffocating.
At 20, newly eligible to vote, I ran for city council in my college town—and won. The issues were much the same as they are now: protecting the environment, preserving agricultural land, keeping law enforcement connected to the community, and attempting civilized conversation in a politically divided town. We won a few battles and lost a few. I came away convinced that representative government is awkward, slow, frustrating, occasionally crooked—and worth the trouble.
As a college resident advisor, I met many young veterans returning from Vietnam. Most were changed forever: confused, angry, and often struggling to survive their return. During this time members of the National Guard shot and killed war protestors. I had avoided the draft through a college deferment, a decision that has stayed with me. I avoided refusing the draft and its consequences. Someone else filled the quota in my place.
Then came Gerald Ford’s pardon of Richard Nixon, which confirmed my growing suspicion that institutions are often very good at protecting themselves at the expense of principle. I was angry, distrustful, and increasingly allergic to convenient hypocrisy.
By 27, I had concluded I couldn’t imagine safely raising a child in the world as I understood it, so I had a vasectomy. I loved kids; I simply lacked confidence in the planet—and, frankly, myself.
Work gave me a more practical outlet. I spent years in community development and later developed nationwide programs and projects around renewable energy, and air and water quality. I learned that the space between government and the private sector can produce real progress—especially when people bring civility, skepticism, competence, and less ego than I sometimes managed. The successes and bruises, financially and otherwise, were educational and helped solidify my reputation and approach.
Over roughly 50 working years, I held conventional jobs only briefly. I started my first small company, followed by several others—sometimes solo, sometimes with partners. Entrepreneurship did not eliminate accountability, but it did mean I got to negotiate directly with it. The independent streak survived, perhaps against all odds.
At 39, I met and married my life partner: a smart, passionate woman who arrived with two amazing kids, now my kids in every way that matters. They generously accepted me as parent and grandparent. Through illnesses, setbacks, laughter, love, and the ordinary chaos of life, we have endured—and sometimes even flourished. The core held.
Several years ago, we began traveling widely and eventually found a home in Panama. We love the culture, the beauty of the highlands, and the feeling of having escaped California’s slowly warming pot. Panama has its own surprises, of course—but it is achingly beautiful, endlessly interesting, and feels like home.
At 75, I look increasingly to Buddhism and Taoism for guidance. I’m no longer trying to fix the whole world—an enormous relief to everyone involved. My goals are simpler: be genuine, live mindfully, speak with civility and empathy, and create as few regrets as possible. When I fail, I try to forgive myself and do better next time.
These days, I write stories and articles rather than programs and projects—hopefully bringing a small light, insight, and an occasional smile to dark corners.
That is some of the life behind Peripatetic Musings. I look forward to getting to know you there, and I hope you enjoy the cozy mysteries and articles. If you have questions about expat life, I’m happy to respond.
