As anyone who travels knows, you can meet the most interesting people when you BreakAway from your daily grind. Today’s proof arrived in the form of Bob & Jen Westerfield.  

While beaching at scenic Trunk Bay, this handsome couple strolled by with grins on their faces and pink drinks in their hands. They paused to admire AllBoy and CurlyGirl body-surfing (it’s common that the kids break the ice) and we began to chat. Soon the sun was moving across the sky. And I learned all about “The Dart Vacation.” Wow.

Bob & Jen, vagabonds & entrepreneurs.

The concept is simple: Every year on January 1, they throw a dart at a US map—and that random landing becomes a vacation target. No exceptions. No rejections. They are five-for-five in five years. So far, this courageous twist of destiny has taken them to…

Marsh Islands, California
Happy, Texas
Zuul, New Mexico
Two Buttes, Colorado (population 45)
Superior, Nebraska

Next year, they will circle their wagons at Circle, Montana. (What goes around comes around?) And like this year’s vacation in Nebraska, the next outing will include their twin sons, now age 1.

They MUST spend some quality time in the place the dart landed. No matter what. That’s not always easy: In the case of Marsh Island, California—which is actually a game reserve with no humans—they had to court a local car dealer and attorney to take them out in a boat.

The price for this slice of bliss and chance? One case of beer.

Once en route or in the area, they do allow themselves to meander, get lost, and see the sights that speak to them. Those broadminded guidelines have taken them to the likes of New Orleans and Wrigley Field. And though their list may not make Conde Nast’s Top Ten lists, they describe each place as fun, appealing, and beautiful.

No wonder they make friends wherever they go, and have even made the front page of a local newspaper—along with their twins and rented Winnebago.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Nor can you concoct the many connections we found within less time than it takes a pelican to find a decent supper.

They vacation at Lake Superior too (on the other side). They also have kinfolk in Brookings, South Dakota (OMG!). And they are also self-employed and hacking their own rules.  In their case, hard work is balanced by frequent and extreme outings of all kinds.  

Sabbatical? Radical? NOT! This spirited couple wins the award for Most Radical Escape Artists.

A dear friend whom I’ve known since I was 5 sent me this. RULES from a club we had as 4th graders. We met twice a week (or more) under a stairway in his house. There were old Playboys (he had 4 older brothers) there! We learned to BreakAway from those brothers, our parents, and all the RULES of the world…only to make our own.

CLUB RULES

No cussing.

No teasing.

No yelling.

Don’t damage other people’s property.

No bribery.

No stealing.

No ripping magizane.

No prank call to nobody you know.

No squealing.

No hiding.

No locking people in the club.

Don’t tell anybody our secrets.

No leaving the light on.

No writing notes about club members.

WOW! Can’t believe we came up with all that, in pencil-perfect, as 9-year-olds. What might we be learning about rules through this exercise in nostalgia?

Rules are smart.

Rules change. (Some no longer apply, like that one about cussing.)

Non-puter text was primitive, though poignant.

Do unto others…

Times were tough! (Tough times don’t last; tough people do!)

Life was sweet and pure…in the day…

Is there a bigger lesson here? But of course! The four young men who wrote those rules and met often for soft porn, bowling, pool, and ping-pong were simply escaping their dads, moms, sibs, and more…to hang out together in some parallel universe where there was not cussing, teasing, yelling, or squealing!

To be sure, there was probably plenty of cussing, teasing, yelling, squealing, and more. But in The Club, you could claim Higher Ground and stop such nonsense by merely invoking….The Rules.

So what are your Rules?

What are mine? Who wrote them? Do they still work? Or did we write them in the 4th grade? Or did we just inherit them from our upbringing? Are they as dated as the Mayberry RFD? Polaroid? Milli Vanilli? WebVan? Why are we still sticking by them?

“Hack” is a word, they say, that suggests living by your own rules, carving your own path through this planet. My advisors say it’s a good word to use in your blogs and things.

Hack! Hack! Hack! (Excuse me. Got a Kleenex?)

Yes, rules are everywhere. Omnipresent. As a community, we are better for it. Beyond that—and there IS life beyond rules—hack away. Remember the Goldens, do no harm, and hack your own bliss.

Debt news is everywhere.  Are not we all forever indebted?

• 10 Percentage of Americans who are taking out more cash advances on their credit cards than in the past.
• 20 Percentage of respondents who indicate they are “sometimes” or “always” unable to pay their credit card and/or loan balances each month.
• 8 Percentage who say they can make only the minimum payment required.
• Source: Standard and Poor’s ExecuComp

The good news: These numbers, floating in air, don’t mean much without something to compare them to.

The bad news: Only a dummy would see any bright side to those numbers, with or without something to compare them to.

Folks, we are finally getting spanked for our squandering ways. Sure, it’s just numbers on paper. And so is money itself—and that was before computers made money a “virtual” concept and paper an ungreen commodity. But some big, fat RESET button in the fiscal sky is getting hit violently.

Ever see a thug play pinball? It’s not pretty. It usually breaks the machine, and then the rest of us can’t play our game with touch and intuition any more. Not until it gets fixed, which, of course, most pinball games don’t.

Who’s gonna pay for this stuff?

• The bailout(s)?
• The Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac bailout programs announced today (which failed to make stocks rally)?
• The car company bailouts?
• Overall government debt?
• Stimulus policies?
• A new New Deal?
• Evermore credit card debt—as illustrated above?

In the old days, you could find economists who would say things like, “Government debt doesn’t matter, because it’s only money a people owes to itself.” That argument doesn’t work not, though. The world is one big, broken piggy bank. And the U.S. owes gazillions to other countries. Do we expect them to give, forgive and forget?

No. So who’s gonna pay? You know who: Anybody with any cash. Anyone with taxable income. Anybody with a decent job and investing habits.

Bummer—if you should be so blessed, but that’s what you get for being “in the black.”
Nothing new about that, of course, but the stakes keep getting higher. Expect higher taxes, pathetic interest rates, little appreciation on your house and other hard assets, a stock market that will take years to get back to its recent highs, and possibly inflation. Stagflation. Deflation. Systemic, worldwide flatulence with not enough Gas-X to go around.

What’s this got to do with Sabbaticals? Plenty. If you’re waiting to get rich, or pay off all your debt, or have time to burn, it may never happen. Only you know. Or not.

Get out of town, while you still can. For now, you may have to overlook the debt. The banks. The government. The global meltdown that may or may not produce a kinder, gentler, stronger planet. You may have to stop hugging your dayjob, even though these days they are things worth holding onto.

Worry about YOU. Find a way to make time, take time, and let go of the numbers on paper that are crippling too many lives. Even if you’re about to file bankruptcy and lose your house, there may be a way. Life goes on. All you have is today, this moment, this breath.

As for the crisis? As usual, the experts and politicians are united in this one opinion: This too shall pass.

Have a sunny day.

This article from a week ago, by WSJ’s Sue Shellenbarger (the hardest working woman in work/life balance) came to my attention today. It’s worth a read, and a comment.

To summarize in a word: Bummer. Recessions are not only bad for portfolio values, but also family values, it appears.

People cling to their jobs during rough times. They also take jobs beneath them, and are forced to find new ways to pay the bills.

This is nothing new, as the article states:

“Data from past recessions tell the story. The proportion of people working part-time by choice fell in the recessions of the early 1980s, the early 1990s and 2001. And although the percentage of at-home dads among married-couple families rose in the 2001 recession, that turned out to be an economic blip — caused mostly by heavy layoffs among men. The ‘trend’ waned when the economy recovered.”

Dang. Call me the world’s first Masculist, but it often seems that women have made more strides in creating life choices than men. Sure, pinstriped (and sometimes pinheaded) men still rule politics, Wall Street, and more. But women keep making progress, and expanding their menu of possibilities.

Men do too, but not so much. There is still a stigma of shame or shirk that greets stay-at-home dads. And they are about as rare as, well, female senators. I ought to know. Despite a flexible but infinite workload at all times, I know what it’s like to be the only dad among gaggles of women picking up your kid at daycare, preschool, school, sports, and the like.

One can be completely left out of the invitations for playground meetups and coffee klatch—to say nothing of Tupperware and Avon parties (or whatever women sell to each other at such events these days). Some assume I’m a single (divorced) dad—taking my turn in the custody turnstile. (There IS a lot of that.)

But back to family (and other) values. For the record, YES, it’s very hard to spend the money we’re about to spend right now; many a family skips the vacation, daytrip, or movie night when the economy sours.

In my case, 2 Heads is a little business that sits very low on the food chain, and gets punished (if not vaporized) during recessions. Freelance creative consultants rarely seem indispensable. So it can take years to grow billings back to where they once were. And by then, it’s about time for another recession, right?

But for us, it’s rather now or never. An alignment of times—our kids are both in elementary school, and their teachers and principal have kindly issued extended “hall passes” that (some say) will not be so forthcoming in middle school, when advanced placement discipline hits.

Economic slump or no, this much I do know: A crucial goal to shoot for in life is to NOT let economics and crashes and things affect day-to-day OR big-picture plans. Maybe that goal is achieved simply by running away in this case. Plug your nose and go. After all, when is there ever a perfect time for anything?

I’ve been an aggressive investor in equities since 1984 (mostly stock mutual funds, nothing too fancy or short-term). So like all who’ve held stocks: Been there, seen that. I’ve lost many a night’s sleep to shrinking numbers. It didn’t help. It pays to take on less risk as you grow older (and richer), learn from mistakes, and test your risk tolerance—again and again and again.

Or as one rich old right-winger once told me: The more you have to conserve, the more conservative you become.

As the article suggests, pumpkins and bonfires don’t cost much, and can bring more fun and meaning than a day yachting. Maybe people learn to simplify—and enjoy the simple pleasures—during downturns. Bring on the apple pie. Homemade (it’s cheaper!).

We still have an amazing standard of living here in the U.S.A. We still have more housing space per-person than ever. We know that what goes up must come down…and what goes down usually bounces back.

As my Grandma always said,

“It’s not so bad we are off.”

She ought to know. She and my Grandpa homesteaded in South Dakota in the teeth of the Depression. There probably weren’t any stock portfolios, or even salaried jobs, but there was always plenty of fresh jam, home-grown meals, and yes, apple pie as a family at their farm.

Restore family values: Be together. BreakAway together.

Lucky me. I’ve got a mini-BreakAway in progress, having ditched the relentless routine to sneak in some more summer at lovely Lake Okoboji in Iowa. (Yes, Iowa.) Remember Iowa? The state that first endorsed Barrack Obama and brought you Field of Dreams?

Moonlight Graham: “This is the most special place in all the world, Ray. Once a place touches you like this, the wind never blows so cold again. You feel for it, like it was your child.”

Shoeless Joe Jackson: “Is this heaven?

Ray Kinsella: “No, it’s Iowa.”

Ahh. In that dreamy script. Iowa is not just a state, but a state of mind. Guess what: So are Sabbaticals! They’re not just free time, but a place where “the wind never blows so cold.” Especially for those of us fixing to excape Minnesota in the winter.

So I sit on a deck overlooking a calm lake with a waning moon fading into it, the reasons for a Sabbatical seem clear as the brilliant sky. It’s the relaxation, stupid. A chance to dissipate some mental clouds, if only for a while, if only now and then.

A guy can achieve looser muscles and calmer mindwaves by escaping the daily grind, like I’ve just done by visiting this old, favorite vacation spot. Seems simple enough.

Here at glorious and blue Lake Okoboji, yesterday featured a sweet bike ride on new trails along lakes and through woods. Many a grassy knoll called my name and made me stop and chill a while.

A funky coffee shop (a shrine to Hendrix) provided live entertainment from a family of blonde ladies who served me quiche and salad. (Real men don’t eat salad, right?) Who gets even a slice of all that serendipity on a demanding day at the desk?

Meanwhile, a friend from Mankato escaped his day job and joined me by 2 yesterday. We were cruising on the pontoon by 3. We were out of beer by 5. We did a quick happy hour at the family shanty (named Itldo) before heading to a waterside restaurant for sundown with a steel-drum soundtrack and mahi mahi.

Hmmm, now where have I routinely devoured that before? Ah yes, the Virgin Islands.

An omen? Mahi mahi is by far the most common (and affordable) local fish around much of the Caribbean. (Some call it dolphin fish, which offends some diners so they won’t eat it, even though it has nothing to do with mammal dolphins.) I eat it often on St. John at Skinny Leg’s (one of Esquire’s Best Bars in America—and it even features “same day service!”). Their mahi burger is best with lots of the local hot pineapple sauce.

But back to the here and now: Today will feature golf, more boating, bar hopping, and another fine meal out. Not even sabbaticals promise days this easy and lovely. But they might, right? We’ll only know if we try. Absent my skeds and kids and egos and ids and doubts and pouts, I feel more like trying. Today, anyway.

• ODDS OF GOING: 75%. (What a jump from just three days ago. It can pay to BreakAway.)