Astute readers recall from my last post that I own a small piece of land in the Ligurian Alps in Piemonte, Northern Italy. Most readers don’t know, however, that my business and my clients disappeared overnight when the “30 day freeze” hit USAID in late January.
Twenty years of fulfilling work, existing contracts, profitable expertise and relationships that transited comfortably between professional and personal, vaporized overnight. A friend described it, accurately, as an extinction-level event.
I may have been among the first to be executed, but many others who play more important roles in Americans’ daily lives than I do will be going through the same. Go read the news if you want to know more about it.
This has required some lifestyle adaptations. Spending time in the mountains in winter was never part of my plan. I had intended to winter in Nice, which has an ideal January/February climate. However, when your livelihood disappears unexpectedly it’s nice to have options. Fiscal austerity, I thought, might more enjoyable in rural Italy. I also needed quiet so I could think about solutions to my problems. So, exercising what I believed to be my least-bad option, I went to the mountains in early February.
Initially, this was a smart decision. It didn’t rain or snow much, making it pleasant to work in the garden. Friends came from Nice to help out. The kitchen fireplace cackled with charm, but contributed little more than atmosphere. Still, the house was warm and there was plenty of wine at the end of the day. Only dogs barking at deer broke through the depth of the dark silence at night
One evening, as it got dark and temperatures slid below freezing, it seemed unusually chilly inside. The radiators were cold. How weird!
I looked at the kombi, which uses gas (LPG, or propane, if you like those details) to heat water and run the radiators. It’s low maintenance, which is good because my troubleshooting skills include the ability to identify only the most obvious sources of trouble.
“It’s like there’s no gas!”
That, however, was impossible. The tank was filled, at enormous expense, in mid-November (this stung even when I still had an income). Since then, I’d only spent about 5-6 weeks total there. I arrived at the obvious conclusion: “There must be a leak!”
Let’s skip over all the extraneous details which make me look dumb. Instead, focus on the consequential details that also make me look dumb. There was no leak. I’d used 1000 liters of gas in 5-6 weeks.
It took two days to get more gas delivered. I was very cold, except when I was outside where it was warmer than inside. I couldn’t cook anything or take a shower. In response, I cried a lot and experimented with self-medication.
But isn’t the point of crisis to force introspection and personal growth? I can share a couple of insights in that regard. First, check the meter on the tank when you arrive and when you leave, so you know much gas you use. That way you know if you’re about to run out.
Second, plan your next mental breakdown in a warmer, cheaper place.