but shorn lambs usually take the punishment.
― Samuel G. Freedman
There’s no romance on Wall Street.
I lasted five years at Goldman Sachs, and then, walked out one day and never went back.
In a career of short-lived stints, it wasn’t a bad track record for an investment strategist, considering volatile markets.
But I had enough of obsessing over slight financial tremors.
I divested myself of stocks, bonds, and real estate and put everything into precious metals and digital assets.
I was looking forward to a passive income and wanted time off—a sabbatical in Toronto, returning to my roots—a year of becoming and finding out who I was.
And I certainly didn’t like who I had become.
My first impulse was to settle in a quaint Victorian village on the outskirts of the GTA, but eventually the Siren call of water lured me into purchasing a lakefront mansion, complete with dock and sailing yacht.
What better escape from technology and financial entanglements then on a sail boat in the middle of Lake Ontario?
Or, so I thought.
My parents were hippies in the 60’s and their mantra of ‘Come the Revolution’ influenced my upbringing.
It didn’t stop me from being part of the establishment, but when my ancestral genes finally kicked in and a wave of disillusionment swamped me, it helped to provide some guidance—not return to the land, but to a reasonable facsimile thereof.
Call me Ishmael—I was a wild ass of a man.
I was in the Big Smoke, or the Six, as Drake calls it, on my way out of the TD Center when I ran directly into Evelyn Winters. Immediately she brought to mind a rush of memories of Massachusetts’ autumns and a haunting sense of wistfulness.
“Kane Wilder—the prodigal returns!” she sang cheerfully. Aren’t you still running the bulls with Abby Joseph Cohen?”
She looked incredibly beautiful—more mature and elegant, but still stunning at forty.
“C’mon Ev,” I laughed, “you know the life span of a financial forecaster—and there’s only one Abby Cohen.”
She leaned in and kissed me lightly on the cheek and allowed me to inhale the spicy incense of Caron's Poivre, a fragrance as indefinable and elusive as the enchantress before me.
“I’m on lunch. Care to join me?”
How could I resist?
I didn’t realize I would later look back on this moment with mingled regret and horror.
We ended up at The Chase on Temperance Street in the financial district.
I smiled ruefully at the restaurant and street names—irony on so many levels—and the cynical laughter of the gods continued onto the menu.
It was such a wry twist of fate for a sailor dining with a Siren, when the specialty tuned out to be seafood.
And the Fates continued to conspire into the night.
Evelyn did not go back to work that day...
And my odyssey in search of a more meaningful and authentic lifestyle continued, albeit I didn't realize merely leaving the firm didn't break the chains that bound me but merely changed the scenery around me.