On a Side Note

A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a Forecast Review looking down upon a ginormous spreadsheet of numbers printed in a the official font of Gnome. There were columns after columns of tiny little numbers with tiny little headers on top and tiny little explanations off to the side.  We have all seen these spreadsheets and all have worked our way tirelessly from one column to the next listening to some vacuous droid elucidate on how relevant these numbers are to the current economic outlook.  Sometimes, though, it is our turn to ramble endlessly about the numbers.  As fate would have it, this was one of those times.

As my turn came near, I thought I would take a gander at the numbers for my department - you know, so I was not speaking entirely out of my backside.  I had been thoroughly briefed by my team several days prior and was confident that with just a simple perusal of the data, my memory would be jolted and all would be well.  I looked over the tiny sheet only to realize that this time, I actually could not read the damn thing.  The numbers, headers and nicely crafted comments were all a blur.  I tried to focus my eyes, bit to no avail. "Had someone printed the sheet even smaller than usual?" I thought shifting nervously in my seat.  Try as I might (and try I did, because I was now in a full-fledged panic), I could not read it. No memory jogging, no brain ticklers that would ignite my brilliance and let my light shine in the meeting, - just blurry, faint shades of gray on the paper in front of me.  Son-of-a-Monkey, I was going blind! 

Yes, yes, I get it - spare the lecture.  I am not in my 20s (or 30s) any more, but aging was not a big deal to me (you are only as old as you feel and my wife reminds me constantly that I act like a 12 year old).  It did not bother me when I lost my hair (thank you, DeVillings) and it did not bother me when my cholesterol shot so high I was officially declared a solid (thank you, Woods) and it did not bother me when I lost my Thor-like  physique (OK, Thor-like may be a stretch, but you get the gist), but my eyes!  Geez-o-peets, it was my last sanctuary of youth.  

So, after a few weeks of denial, I troddeled down to the local ophthalmologist to have my eyes checked (secretly hoping to be told it was just fatigue).  I went through the battery of test with my face locked in the giant eye-testing apparatus and the clicking away of the different apertures.  Which is better 1 or 2?  2 or 3? Apparently, the number I choose won me a new pair of glasses (which I picked out without any ability to see up-close due to the eyedrops).  I can only image this is the beginning of many age-related tests that I will undergo for the rest of my life.  Oh joy! At least this one did not involve a rubber glove and lubricant!                                                          

The Dates Are Set!

As time passes, the transition schedule is getting more and more firm. I met with my new boss this week and hammered out a pretty solid schedule for the next 2 months. I will going to Hong Kong the week of June 21st for 2 days of meetings and then she and I will be going to Delhi mid-week to meet my new team - all 100+ of them! It is my intention to stay there for the next 4 weeks and then return to Minneapolis for more meetings and the ritual of packing the house the last two weeks of July. We are shooting for total relocation by the end of July.

I have spoken to a ton of people from New Delhi this week during our Vendor Conference and they have all smirked when I tell them I am moving to India in July. Apparently, not purely the hottest month (that would be May), July has a unique combination of heat and monsoons rarely found anywhere else at any time. Bonus!

So with dates in hand, the move begins to become even more real. Contractors need to be called to repair what needs-a-fixin, rental companies need to be interviewed, crap needs to be hauled away and cars need to be sold. Nothing we have not done many times before, but it never gets any easier. Actually, as I am learning in this move, as you get older, it actually gets harder. You have more crap that needs hauled away, you have less time to do it and you have less patience for the complete incompetence of those to whom you must surrender you fate.

I, like my sibling blogger over at 'Why Dwell", have been prompted to take stock of my moves in my adult life. Including this move, I have lived in a total of 19 places since I was 18 which includes a total of 10 states and 4 countries. Since my wife and I have been together (provided she does not leave me during this move), Olga and I will have moved 7 times, though 4 states and 3 countries. You would think we would be tired ..... and you would be right.

The Meeting Milestone

Today, Olga and I met with the relocation team from my company. This is a major milestone in the relocation process as it clears up any questions you have about every aspect of your new life as an ex-pat. We have a top-notch group that ensures that the transition will be as painless as possible - with the understanding that there will be a tremendous amount of pain administered. The group consists of a Human Resource Manager, who coordinates the other elements of the team, the security people, and the benefits people. Missing from today's meeting were the outside help: the Tax Accountants and contracted Relocation Company. We will meet with them later in the journey.

So Olga came to work today and we sat through a few hours with the aforementioned team as they outlined our new life in New Delhi. We were told for what the company will pay and for what it will not. Each line on the offer was meticulously read and explained and all questions answers. We learned of our new ex-pat health benefits (Health Care Reform be damned!) and were told of the blanket of security that would surround us and protect us while in India. (To be honest, though, I stopped listening to the security briefing after they told me my new driver has already been through a security screening and vetted - oh yea! I have my very own driver!) All in all, we are really happy with the final package (not only because I have my very own driver .... but that helped.... a lot).

I have actually been dreading this meeting. Up to now, I know, rationally, that we are moving to India, but emotionally it has not really sunk in. Yes, we cleaned out the basement (we had 4 irons - not including the one I actually use to iron; 2 microwaves - not including the one in the kitchen - can you say pack-rat!). As well, we have gone through all the closets and streamlined the wardrobe. Both tasks of which should have done that years ago, so mentally they are not directly "Move-to-India" related. Now though, after the meeting, there is a sense of inevitability that this move is going to happen and happen fast. Decisions have to made, storage locations must be found, movers need to be arranged, etc. I believe we are passing from the acceptance and anxiety phase into the phase of anxiety and stress.

The House - Rent or Sell?

The big and immediate dilemma that faces us currently is what to do with the house. We live in a nice little 1930s deco city house in a great neighborhood in South Minneapolis. It has a small front yard and a beautiful, private English garden in the back. We really like the house, the neighborhood and the proximity to the city center (it takes me 12 minutes to get to work). It would be hard to find a better place for us.


That said, it obviously is a huge investment that cannot be left empty for two years. As well, I would really like to be a liquid as possible if I am going to be overseas for any extended period of time. The market in this part of the world has not really been impacted and Realtors with whom we have spoken have indicated that we could most likely get what we paid for the house 3 years ago. I want take this opportunity to thank my sisters who, amidst adamant protests and endless debates over house size and affordability, insisted that I move to South Minneapolis, otherwise we would currently be in the disaster which is the Twin-City suburban housing market.

So, rent or sell? We have spoken to both Realtors and Property Managers in the area and, after two agonizing weeks of debate, have finally reach a decision. We will rent! Now both arguments have merit. On the one hand, selling relieves me of all the responsibility and worry of the asset. It makes me more liquid and frees up the cash to work somewhere else. Renting, on the other hand, retains the asset, provides a potential income stream and actually reduces my taxes (which is important because apparently the president has an issue with people at my tax level). So all in all it makes more sense, at least for the next two years to rent it out. To be honest, though, the real factor that tipped the scales for me was the Real Estate Agent's commission. Holy Crap!

Just on principle, this pisses me off! I would never begrudge someone a living, but the way the game is rigged, you have no choice but to pay an outrageous fee for someone to sell your home. I get there are associated expenses, but to be able to snatch $50,000+ on a single sale seems a little high (unless your associated expense is a new BMW). There are people who do not make this in a year. Forget Wall Street reform, how about capping the yield in this little racket (and Hollywood actors while were at it). The best part of it is that it is totally unnecessary. This little band of larcenist have cleverly created all sorts of forms and rules, so that John Q Public does not have a chance. This will be the 4th house I have purchased (companies have always paid the fees, hence why the shock this time) and the process is very easy. You make an offer, the offer is accepted, you hire an inspector, you pettifog (look it up) over the report, you settle, sign the papers, pay and you have a new house. Done! The Real Estate community would say, "Well, that is not exactly that simple" - and I would agree, because the freak'n Real Estate community has made up all the complicated rules! I also understand that the actual agent is at the bottom of this iniquitous food chain, so I hold no personal grudge, but will simply vote with my dollars and withhold my 6%.

Anyway, we will be renting the house. Check that off the anxiety list!

Moscow, Russia - 1997

So it not like I have never been to India before. I know roughly what I am getting myself and Olga into – roughly. I have been an ex-pat before, so I roughly know what to expect in the generic sense – generically. I also know that visiting a place as a temporary interloper, no matter how often you have been there, is nothing like living there. I know this, because I fell for it when I accepted the position in Moscow Russia so many years ago.
Moscow was wonderful the 4 or 5 times I visited prior to moving there. I spoke the language, began to know my way around and really felt like this was a place I could live. When they asked me to go, I had just returned from 2 weeks in Moscow in August. The weather was beautiful and they were celebrating the 850 year anniversary of the city. Little did I know that millions of dollars had been spent to clean up the town, beef up the police force, seed clouds for sunny days and bus the less desirable element to the surrounding villages. Also, I did not have to get myself from point A to point B because I had a great driver named Igor and a brand new Saab 9000. So I agreed to move to Moscow, because apparently in my little demented world, Moscow Russia in the late 1990s was always 85 degrees and sunny and there was no crime.

I arrived in Moscow in December to a slightly different city than the one I left in August. The Anniversary Party has subsided, the weather had broken (read -10 and snow), and my driver and Saab were no longer at my beck and call (or even at my request). Things had changed.

I got pretty lucky in finding a great apartment in one of the elite Soviet style wedding cake buildings. It was a beautiful 1930s, Soviet Art Deco design and towered over everything on the embankment. The walls of the apartment were at least 5 feet thick of solid concrete with two sequential doors – one of solid oak and one of two steel plates with 2 inches of concrete poured in between. If I needed medical assistance and to door was locked, they would have to call a demolition crew to get in to the apartment.


There was a second door in the apartment, though, hidden behind the refrigerator (What Moscow story would be complete without a little intrigue) - smaller and less insulated than the front door. I once moved the fridge to see where it went, but it was locked from the outside. Now understand, this building was built by Stalin for the Soviet elite - the same elite that had a habit of disappearing in the middle of the night. Just to be safe, I taped a piece of string across the door and broke a light bulb behind the refrigerator. If they were coming, I wasn't going without a fight!

Anyway, the wonderfully colorful and simple city of Moscow that I had visited so many times before quickly digressed into a quagmire of frustration, corruption and ineptitude. I had a car provided to me to drive - a new Volkswagen Polo. Littler than a Golf, it had all the quality and amenities one would expect from a VW including attracting the attention of the local police for their daily handout (I would refer to my car as a mobile ATM machine). The first time I was pulled over, my eldest sister was visiting and almost had heart failure as I disappeared into the police jeep with my two new, machine-gun toting, best friends to negotiate the deal. Final cost was roughly $10 US. But that adds up and the frustration of being fleeced begins to take its toll.

So goes the life of an ex-pat. You do not always get what you thought you bought!

The anxiety of continues……

The Offer

Last Thursday, I was given my offer for my overseas assignment. I knew we were being considered for an overseas assignment and had already interviewed for it. As well, I was asked, point blank, is there anywhere I would not go (I cited Bangladesh and Pakistan as my only no's). There was much discussion around several locations during the month+ process, but never was India mentioned. I am a researcher, so I had my data on what I thought were the most probable locations and had spent a great deal of time managing my anxiety of change by developing transition plans with the available information on the internet. I was a busy bee! On Thursday, my boss's boss asked me to come down to her office and dropped India in my lap. Needless to say, it hit me completely unexpectedly and I got that feeling when you actually can feel the outside of your head as a separate, detached entity. Immediately, I thought "Olga (my wife)is going to kill me - I do not mean figuratively. I mean physically smother me in my sleep, poison me, or push me down the stairs!" I tried to outwardly recover as quickly as possible in front of the President, but I suspect I did a poor job. She gave me the weekend to think about it.....

Now, any of you that have ever been offered a promotion to a job that will "take getting used to" understand there are many check-point in which you have the "choice" to remove yourself from the process, but once the offer is made, you are a little beyond the "choice" point. For instance, when they asked me if I would be interested in an overseas assignment, I had the "choice" to say "no". When they asked me if there were any locations to which I would not go, I had the "choice" to say "no". When they scheduled my interviews, I had the choice to politely say "no". But after they had rearranged the global organization to accommodate me, I no longer had the choice to say "no". So when they tell you, "take the weekend and think about it", what they are really telling you is "take the weekend and reconcile yourself with your new home". Now in this case, after the initial shock, I was actually pretty excited about the opportunity, but there was a moment when I realized I had agreed to something I may not have really thought out (and my wife was going to kill me)!

In the end, we had some great talks and we both felt this was a great opportunity. We have moved from shock and denial stage to acceptance and anxiety and apparently where the blog should get interesting.

The Blog

I have had numerous complaints from family and friends that I live a fairly sequestered and secretive life. Now, they may be right - I have no Facebook page (being over the age of 16 ), I would not have a clue how to tweet (maybe the single most narcissistic invention to feed the millennial ego), and I would not have a cell phone if it was not provided to me by my company (although I never answer it anyway). So, yes, I concede, they may have a point. I just do not feel my life or opinions are that significant. So...... why the blog?

Well, on Tuesday, it was official announced that my wife and I were moving to New Delhi, India. This is not the first assignment for me overseas, but it is true that the last time I made another country my permanent address, email was just emerging as a viable technology. This meant that as I lived in relative seclusion (happily), I had all the excuses (too expensive, etc) for not communicating. This time, though, I feel it may be different.

I have spent some time weighing the feedback and comments and balancing them against the options on the table.

Facebook: There is no way! Plain and simple. This is the 1970s / 1980s equivalent of leaving school and running home to call the person you just left. I never understood it when my sisters did it and I do not understand it now. No one needs to share that level of information in any way on any medium. As well, to be honest, there are simply people from my past I do not need tracking me down (various reasons of which I will not be going into).

Twitter: Seriously, get over yourself. Nobody cares that you just left Target and are now at Starbucks. No one is coming to meet you, because if people actually liked you, they would have made plans with you in advance. Done!

Mobile Phone; I get the mobile phone. It is a convenient tool that allows you to call when needed - but this is where we diverge. What is "when needed?" Would it be moving down the freeway at 80 mph in order to learn about someone's new haircut? How about on a Minneapolis Bus, loudly and explicitly explaining how you got "some" last night? How about in the grocery store while you should be unloading your cart and the line is now backing up as you unsuccessful try to lift the 30 gallon jug of tide with one hand on to the conveyor. You get the point! "When needed" for me is more like if a tree fell on you and you needed a medevac.

So I use none of these tools. This is not to say I do not embrace technology, I just believe in quite time and personal space. So, I thought to myself, what is a tool which I can use that would not allow the noise back at me. A Blog. It was so simple. I do not even need to know if anyone reads it - how marvelous.

So there it is. Why I, the man who rejects communication technology, is now on the web!