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The Second Mountain

A few years ago I reached the pinnacle of what everyone and everything had told me was the top of the mountain. I was living in downtown San Francisco, I had a great job, and I was making new friends, reconnecting with a few old friends, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I didn’t really let myself dig much deeper into why I wasn’t feeling the way I expected to feel at that point in my life. I just kept treading water and distracting myself with all the fun I could have with friends in an amazing city.

Then the first of several rugs was pulled out from under me. A bit of background. I’m an intellectual property attorney which means I help people get patents on their inventions. I work in biotech because I graduated from medical school before going to law school. (I never practiced medicine, maybe that’ll be a subject for another post. Let me know if you want me to talk about it—and yes, I’m crazy, I know).

This first setback was that one of our biggest clients was going to put a hold on the work they were sending to the firm. The partner I worked for assured me there was nothing to worry about. It wasn’t that unusual and she would have plenty of other things for me to do. The next month or two might be slow but we’d get back into the swing in no time. I tried not to panic, but one thing you learn working for law firms is the first signs of trouble is often a work slow down—for any reason. Having learned this the hard way, I reached out to other partners and other sections in the firm. The litigation section was always looking for help, so, with the partner’s blessing, I opened the flood gates to them and started doing anything they wanted to send me. I told myself everything would be fine. It was steady work and I love working in teams.

Then, two weeks later, the second rug was pulled out from under me. I was evacuated from my apartment and told there was a “little water leak” coming from the roof and we would need to be out of the building for the weekend. It was causing problems with the elevators and the electrical systems. I grabbed a backpack of clothes, my laptop and a couple bottles of water and off I went. They put us up at the downtown Hilton and I rolled with it. First world problems.

Monday came around and I went into work expecting to get the all clear email or text saying to come home that day. Nothing. Next day, still nothing. A week later we got a flurry of emails apologizing and explaining it was going to be a bigger repair job. They would need to move us from downtown SF to Daly city. I was new to the area still so I pulled out my trusty Google maps and saw that Daly was a hell of a hike from the city. If I moved down there I’d have to deal with rush hour traffic on the 101 to get into work every day. Something I knew I didn’t want to do. So, I said thanks but no thanks. I didn’t need them to put me up, they just needed to not charge me rent on the apartment. I’d find my own way.

Thankfully, my renters insurance kicked in and they helped with a stipend to get temporary housing that would last a few months, even at SF housing prices (PSA: always have renter’s insurance). I thought I’d make some lemonade, so I rented a cool AirBnB a few blocks from work and was determined to make it a fun adventure.

They let us go back to our apartments by making an appointment. When I stepped in the building I started to suspect they were underplaying the damage the building had suffered. The elevators were out and each floor had significant water damage. I trudged up the twenty-seven flights to my apartment, praying the entire way that my stuff hadn’t been soaked. I got lucky. No water damage in my apartment. I threw away everything in the freezer and anything that wouldn’t last a power outage in the fridge. I packed a duffel bag and my carry-on and watered my succulents and headed out.

One month turned into two. I moved AirBnB’s trying to enjoy this silver lining. What did I have to complain about? Yes, I didn’t have all my stuff but I was still in an awesome city, with an awesome job that said they were fully supporting me in this “difficult time.” Everything would be fine.

Two months turned to three. I stayed in some funky apartments all over the city. This is a drawing from my sketchbook of one I really loved.

It is off of a path called the Greenwich Steps and it sits on the hill leading up to Coit tower. The only way to the apartment is up and down these steep steps. It was a blast. There was a steady stream of tourists exploring the steps most days. My neighbors, most retired, kept bees and the garden was something out of Alice in Wonderland (check it out if you visit SF, it is awesome.)

I made another trip to my apartment. Still no elevators. Walls were knocked out. Rugs were ripped up. Dozens, if not more, workman roaming the halls. The apartment next to mine had been converted into a bathroom for all the construction workers. Some of the plants hadn’t survived. I threw away even more food. I grabbed a few books, some drawing supplies, and packed more clothes. This time when I left it felt funny. Like maybe I wouldn’t be back any time soon.

Here’s where I got creative, or so I thought. I decided that while I was a nomad, I’d take advantage and take my parents on a road trip and work remotely. It was going to be their sixtieth anniversary and my uncle was turning ninety so I thought, hey let’s make this a special year. I planned the two week road trip and headed home to Utah to pack up my folks and get them down to the chapel where they were first married. It was amazing. The road trip was a blast. My mom and I talked for hours, or I should say, she talked for hours and I listened to all her stories. Most I’d heard before but I was just glad that we were all together. My folks, my sister, my brother and his wife, my niece and nephew, friends, and all the extended family gathered in Las Cruces, New Mexico for a post-COVID family reunion. It was two weeks I’ll never forget.

We drove home, exhausted but so happy to have seen everyone. The highlight for me was seeing my mom with her sister and older brother. My uncle Pat wouldn’t live for more than another year. It was the last time the siblings would see each other, three of the last four siblings from my mom’s eight siblings (they were good Catholics). When we got back to Utah I headed off on a solo trip to Mexico City for a another week before I’d get back to the Bay to “normal” life. I love Mexico. The food, the people, the art, there isn’t anything (except the traffic) that I don’t love there. Finally, I was home in SF, maybe not in my apartment but back to my routine.

Then the third rug was pulled out from under me. My section leader at the firm wanted to have a meeting. Not good. Human resources was going to be there. Worse. The partner I was working for was unhappy. She wasn’t at the meeting but she felt I wasn’t living up to expectations. I explained about the work slowdown, how she’d promised it wouldn’t reflect on me, how I had only taken the work from litigation with her blessing to take pressure off of her needing to feed me work. It seemed to help. They sent me away saying I needed to work harder to make her happy. My anniversary with the firm came and went. Nice party, everyone seemed happy with me again. Christmas came and went. I thought I had weathered the storm. The New Year came I was in my sixth or seventh different AirBnB, hard to remember them all. Then the hammer fell. It wasn’t working out. Even though litigation loved me it wasn’t the reason the firm had hired me and my last day would be at the end of the month. The offered a severance and I was out. Fired.

I was staying in an apartment in Berkeley when that all went down, and my sister and her friend had already been planning to come to visit for a weekend. I gave her the news. They still came. We tried to have fun. I tried not to think about it. I started the job search. And I told myself everything would be ok.

Many months later, I ended up getting another job. A decent firm but nothing like where I’d been. I moved to Utah and worked remotely for them. Good salary and nice people so I wasn’t going to complain. Another work slowdown. Another layoff. Then, a couple months after that, and almost two years to the day from the evacuation, my apartment was finally open to me. Not the best timing, but I hit the road for SF determined to pack it all up and be back in Utah in a month.

Walking into the apartment was like opening a time capsule. Past Javi’s apartment. All my things, all my art, all my books, my favorite chair, my big comfy mattress, it was all where I left it. Mostly. The workers had packed my closet into big boxes and left them in the middle of the room. I was able to get the power back on and the internet shortly thereafter. I looked out my windows and saw a city that had rejected me from a past life and was in an apartment I couldn’t come close to affording. Something had to change.

I’d try and find another legal job. I’d try to get my life back on track. I’d try to climb this mountain again. But should I? Somehow, I came across David Brooks talking about a book he’d written called The Second Mountain. He talked about how people who climb that first mountain of success and fall have a choice. They can try and climb back up or find the second mountain. He talked about people volunteering, creating foundations, finding their true passions and letting that lead their lives. Maybe a more moral life, less concerned with the trappings of that first mountain of “success.” It left me really thinking about what sort of life and career I wanted.

Then the last of the many crisis hit and put all the previous hiccups into perspective. My big sister was in the hospital and the doctors didn’t know if she’d survive. It was a freak infection that was eating her alive. I booked a flight for the next morning. It was long night. The next morning would be a second surgery that they said would dictate whether she would live. It all depended on how far the infection had spread. It was surreal. I was on the phone listening to my family telling her to be strong. We got my mom to her bedside. She was loopy and I wasn’t sure how much she understood about what was happening. I was glad for that. A priest prayed for her. Everyone cried. I’m an atheist but I begged the universe to let her stay a little longer (I guess it’s true, no one is an atheist in a foxhole). The surgeons came for her. I packed my bag and left for the airport. I tried not to cry in front of the Uber driver. I called extended family. I was a zombie moving through the airport. I got to the gate. I called my chosen family, my friends. Most are doctors who let me retreat into the science and pathophysiology of what was going on with her, what it all meant. What were her chances? Not good.

They called my flight to board and my phone rang. It was my older brother. I held my breath and his first words were that she was already out of surgery. Why? Is she ok? The surgeons were thrilled. My brother put them on the phone. The infection seemed more contained than they’d initially thought. She was recovering and maybe, just maybe, she would make it. More tears. Happy tears. It’s a strange experience to have your world collapse and then come back together in public. I’ve never been less self conscious.

I went straight to the hospital after I landed. She was in the ICU but they were hopeful. I stayed with her little dogs for the long weekend then back to SF to pack the apartment and move back to Utah. That was almost a year ago to the day. She was in different hospitals from July to November. Her recovery was long and hard but she made it through.

The entire time we were worried about my sister, my mom was pretty sick too. She wasn’t eating and she wasn’t walking. That same summer a year ago, we checked her into a nursing facility and put her on a feeding tube. I bounced from my sister’s hospital to my mom’s nursing facility every day for months. I didn’t know whether my mom would make it. She didn’t know whether she’d make it. I watched her say goodbye to people in little ways. I wasn’t sure if they noticed. We checked her out in September and got her home. I started working with her every day to try to get her to walk and eat. My sister-in-law was a hero. She and my nephew stayed with her every night and one of us was with her every hour of every day. She was bed bound. One night my mom confessed she couldn’t eat because of her teeth. Turns out, they were bad. And when I say bad I mean really bad. Rotten. We got her to a dentist and within a week of getting six teeth pulled she started to eat on her own, liquids mostly but it was more than she’d done in months. A couple months of physical therapy and she was walking again. Fast forward to today and she has a normal appetite and though she isn’t exercising like she should, she has her independence back.

So, here I sit. My mom and sister survived. I’ve had more than a few months of my own mental health struggles after these last two super fun years. But, I’m trying to find my second mountain.

I’m changing my focus at my day job (a bit of a process) but I think I’ll find something that makes me feel like a more socially conscious citizen. And I’m going to embrace being a creative. My form of creativity in the past had come from drawing and painting. I’ll share more of that with you all, but I’ve always loved stories, books, movies, TV, RPGs, you name it and I love it. I love talking about it and sharing it with friends. And I know as a part of this second mountain I want to start telling my own stories. I’ve had a full life. I’ve been incredibly lucky to have the family I have, the friends I have, to have seen and done all the amazing things I’ve been able to see and do. I want to put it all into the hopper and see what comes out.

My thought right now for this Substack is to start putting up some essays, some blog posts, some short stories, and maybe some excerpts from a speculative fiction novel I’ve picked up writing again (started it years ago). I’d love to create a community of artists and writers who love telling stories and reaching people through their art. Maybe we could create a beta reader swap community? That sounds fun. I want to support fellow creatives. Talk about life and all its beautiful ups and downs. Maybe we just all support each other’s creativity and leave it at that. Maybe I’ll figure out where to put commas properly, who knows, anything is possible.

I think my newsletter (maybe weekly, maybe more often) will be a mix of thoughts on art, movies, TV, writing, and just being here on this amazing blue sphere we all call home.

This first post is the closest I’ve come to writing a journal entry in decades. But I wanted to lay it all out because I am trying to enter into this next part of my life as honestly and as unafraid as I can be. It feels good. Let’s see where this goes.

Thanks for visiting and reading my ramblings.

I’d love it if you’d join me on this journey.

-Javi