No. 241 - God’s Economics … in Park City

It takes at least three days for my brain to start moving into vacation mode. It’s not an easy transition. In fact, it’s awful.

I left Austin last Friday for Park City. Gone were the mid-nineties: I was coming home to cashmere sweater season.

I rented a small condo in Old Town with a river-rock fireplace, just steps from one of America’s most charming ski towns.

I packed a few paperbacks: To Kill a Mockingbird, a gift from a fellow writer, and The CIA and the Cult of Intelligence, another gift, but from my quant in Boston.

I landed in Salt Lake early afternoon to majestic mountains and cool air. I hopped in my rental, a white BMW X5 that I rented last year when I first did this jaunt.

I got to Park City in less than an hour—what a drive! The mountains are just turning: aspens are fluorescent yellow; oaks and maples are every shade of red; and the conifers stoically fill in the background.

After settling in, I grabbed dinner at a tavern and read a local newspaper. All was well.

But the altitude ensured I got a bad night’s sleep, which was expected. I had been in three time zones in six days, and my brain wasn’t having it.

The following morning I got coffee and wrote in a park—felt like a million bucks, but it was short-lived.

The responsibilities of owning a business were working overtime in my subconscious. It wasn’t long before I was battling anxiety, while my Georgia Bulldogs were playing, no less. I quietly whispered, “It never ends.” And it wouldn’t let up for another 24 hours.

Even when I’m exactly where I want to be, there I am with all my fears and annoying issues.

I spent the following day in Deer Valley riding the ski lifts, which ended up being the antidote to the overworked mind of a half-assed entrepreneur.

It’s four days later as I pen this from an outdoor table in Park City. I’m cautiously optimistic that today may be the day I can put my sword down.

The sun is shining, illuminating mountains of indescribable beauty. I just had a hearty breakfast, wrapped up a few postcards, and jazz is playing.

My waiter, an Italian gent named Bruno, said to take my time. Even a stranger can tell I need a breather.

I’ll sit here with my coffee and enjoy the view. My dream truck, a candy-apple-red FJ40, just rolled by, and it brought me peace—I don’t know why.

In a few days I’m off to Jackson Hole—Grand Teton National Park, actually—where I’ll be camping and reading on Jenny Lake.

I never thought I’d be battling the things I battle when I started this business—this life, really.

But this is what I wanted: a life of relative freedom and adventure. It’s God’s economics—everything comes with a price.

*Composed, Edited, and Published at The Bridge in Park City, Utah, 10:29am