My diploma.

I'm sitting here staring at my diploma. It's sort of different in that it is formatted vertically as opposed to the typical horizontal style of diploma. It is framed, and it has followed me around the United States wherever I have been. It's sort of pretty I guess.

My colleagues keep their diplomas (fabulously framed) close by their desks at the office, as well as certifications, licenses, and the like. It's as if they need constant reassurance that the hours spent doing pointless route memorization while giving untold thousands of dollars to said educational institution somehow lifts these worthless pieces of paper, and the meaning of their work, from mediocrity.

My degree isn't any more or less hard fought or valuable than theirs in my opinion. Yet there exists for some people some amount of "degree discrimination" that I've encountered which I find distasteful, especially since I do not hold a Masters degree in the traditional, university sense of the word. I am pleased that I hold my own with the invaluable experience of owning my own business, which actually paid me when I was done.

So, who is smarter?

I suppose it could be argued that a Masters or Doctorate would pay you just as well with the kind of work you could get, but those jobs are hard to come by. It took my sister almost a decade to get the job she wanted once she had obtained her Masters. Then you have the added cost of the degree itself to pay off, unless you were blessed with a scholarship.

I would rather open another business and learn something completely new simply by doing it rather than going back to school, unless someone else was footing the bill. And in that case I would have to think long and hard about the time I would spend back in school versus time just spent actually doing something, which is much more exciting and interesting.

Learning something new is always valuable, no matter the venue; however, academia and the whole college experience as an integral part of the American Dream has lost its cache with me. Universities are in business to make money. Period. I gave the university money, I got my piece of paper. Whoo-hoo. Big deal.

I'm so ready to start another business, and my diploma will not matter at all when that time comes. But wherever that might be, I can guarantee that it won't be hanging anywhere in my place of business. Maybe I'll put it under the bed, or in my closet, or where it is now, close to my home computer area.

The Ocean.

I rarely travel alone. It's not that I'm incapable of doing so, it's just that I don't get a chance to do it very often.

Lately, I've had a lot on my mind. The economy sucks, therefore I work a lot less and get paid less than I did. And my job could go away at any moment, which would make me very sad. The whole moving-to-the-Southwest plan sort of looms in the background like a thunderstorm in the distance. You can see it coming and hear the thunder every now and then, but it sort of doesn't matter 'right now.' Not very much anyway. Not to me.

However, points of contention arise as to what to do about the future, how to go about getting to wherever it is that we're going, and what to do about the whole job thing/economic situation. Arguments with myself--and my significant other--are common. Nothing is certain, and nothing seems clear. Weeks of calm can turn into a weekend of calamity with one wrongly shaded word, or a reminder of past painfulness. About two weeks ago I reached the limit of tolerance and bought a plane ticket. I went to see my sister in Florida and swam in the ocean for a couple of days.

As much as I love the mountains and the canyons, the ocean has always been the least of my favorite natural experiences because it's so damn hard to enjoy beyond splashing at the shore.

The ocean is unforgiving. One bad mistake, one bad storm, and you're dead. Out on a boat? I hope nothing goes wrong, because you'll probably die. Yep, the ocean will kill you. And I haven't even begun to discuss giant manta rays or sharks or jelly fish or any of the wildlife that could kill you. If the mountains are the the pillars of the earth that you may depend upon, the ocean is the dark abyss that is the unknowable, unconquerable, undependable dark night of the soul undulating upon the earth.

My experience with the Atlantic Ocean this weekend was happily splashy--never mind the "deadliest catch" hype. The irritating cold of the Pacific, even in Southern California, pisses me off because I can't even splash without freezing my ass off. Not so in Florida. The water was the perfect temperature. The waves were the perfect size for body surfing. The sun stayed out from under thunderstorms long enough to actually enjoy the beach until I was saltwater-cured. In fact, the first night I was there my sister took me to the ocean in the dark, with thunderstorms lighting up pink and orange far into the distance. It was the most perfect ocean swimming experience that I have ever had. The only thing that would have totally rocked my world would have been for the rest of the clouds to roll away and to see the last of the Perseid Meteor Shower while swimming in the waves (I have seen the Perseid meteors many times in the perfectly dark night skies of the Colorado Plateau. The Leonid shower can be quite good, too, although their November time frame can make for a very chilly viewing experience in the mountains).

I left Florida somewhat sunburned, calm and collected, and with a new soft spot in my heart for the ocean. There are now three tropical depressions/storms churning toward Florida as I type this. I guess people that live down there actually love the ocean a lot more than I do, because they endure the storms and keep coming back to be at the ocean's side.

Hm. Endure the storms. Keep coming back. Hm. It seems so emotionally unhealthy.

Hm.