Rhonda
Today was a rare day of working from home. I say rare because it is not often that I can be at home all day, the entire day, whether working or not. And well…this one started out great…and rare…but it ended up being an ordinary day after all, and not so rare. A grandmother assignment knocked on my door and I was called out to active duty.
I was sitting in my jammies and it was almost noon. The morning had consisted of plowing through mounds of work, answering emails, talking to folks on the phone, setting up appointments, housework and anything and everything that was on the “to do” list. Yes, it is an actual list. I keep a physical list…written on a yellow lined legal pad…updated daily, sometimes hourly…and yes, I do get a lot accomplished and marked off that list each day. But the one thing that always bugs me is this: there is ALWAYS a list. I never get done, it is never empty, and I never find myself saying “Holy cow, what will I do now?” I was about halfway down the list when a voxer message came through from my daughter (look it up if you don’t know what that is, that is subject for another blog), about nothing earth-shattering or intense, but I could tell in the conversation that it was an edgy day for her. She wasn’t feeling too spunky, the boy kids were being rascals and the girl kid was occupied and peaceful for the moment but that is a volcano ready to blow anytime…she’s six. Enough said.
After a few messages back and forth I could see Samantha was not really feeling like getting out later to take my granddaughter to her square dancing lesson. It is an event taking the boys, busy little beavers that they are. They really are quite good, but by the time she gets them up from naps, fed, snacks ready for dancing because it runs late, everyone piled into the car, driven there, un-piled from the car and inside to watch young Sassy Sue do her stuff, then home and doing it all backwards to get them into bed for the night before they turn into pumpkins, it is pretty exhausting and leaves one wondering if it is really worth the effort at all.
I could see this wasn’t working for them and their family, but I also knew my granddaughter was loving every minute of it. She is a free-spirit and anything that she does in the creative field is like putting wind under gossamer wings for her…you can just see her lift higher in her confidence, her belief in herself, her talents and her pure joy in living. Her words to me after her very first lesson were pretty telling. “So, did you like this Lorelai, did you like square dancing?” to which she answered “I LOVE this, it is my THANG!” I snicker now to think of how sincere she was, and really how true it seems. So today when it began to look like she might have to stop doing something this important and nurturing to her, well, GiGi stepped in without a thought. I did take one tiny look at the piles of papers still on the desk and I winced. I knew my schedule was already crowded this week with an upcoming estate this next weekend, followed by meetings with vendors to get the home cleared and cleaned out next week and Thanksgiving holiday shoved into the middle of all that. Every moment this week and next was booked and planned and…on the list.
I told Samantha I would come get Lorelai and take her to class tonight, and I would designate myself her chaperone each Monday and make sure she got there for her classes. As I put down the phone, I did what I often do when Divine Intervention comes to visit…I make a little sighing sound, take pen in hand, mark out the non-essentials on the list leaving only the most urgent, and move the non-essentials to other days and hope for the best they will get done, too. This time I did a write in of ” GiGi pick up Lorelai at 6:30″ on all my Monday nights for the next several weeks, and perhaps months, because this had become an unexpected priority for me.
Unexpected priorities come in all shapes and sizes. They come in people who have a need for money when you just happened to get a little windfall in your mailbox this week. They come in the sudden extended illness or injury of a co-worker that places an additional workload on you when you are already a bit overburdened with your own job requirements. It comes in the little girl who loves to dance, the boys who need to run free on the playground even though there are dirty dishes waiting in the sink, the kitty cat who needs to sit in your lap, cuddle and purr and make both of you feel better and cared for. They may even come as strangers who teach you that you will either evaluate the substance of your days, or the substance of your days will one day evaluate you.
I had gone to lunch with a friend a few weeks ago. It was spontaneous and unexpected and I had that “list” going for the day. But I quickly decided to go to lunch, enjoy the food and conversation, and cross off a few things on the list so I could do just that. As we sat and talked I noticed a couple, about our same age, at the table across from us. The conversation between them was more one-sided than mine and my companion’s chatting, although it appeared the other couple was related, but maybe not married. She rattled on in a light manner, talking about family, about church and so forth. The man was hyper-focused on his food, and after a bit I could see he was struggling with his utensils and seemed to have every bit of effort being used to just eat his meal. The woman didn’t let that keep her from carrying on cheery talk. The man, after a few moments, got up from the table and headed to the restroom. My dinner companion was already away from the table. The woman leaned in after a few minutes and asked “Will you tell the waitress to bring our check if I have to leave the table?” nodding in the direction of the restroom. I said I would, but the waitress returned and I watched the lady pay, chat with a smile to the young girl, and continue to wait on the man, who I had found out in more small talk was her husband. “He is on heavy medication, but I try to let him do things on his own if I can. He has been ill a long time but only this ill a short while.” I could tell she wanted to talk to someone, so I said I was sorry to hear that and she teared up a bit and said they were celebrating their anniversary today. I wished them a happy one, but I was surprised when she said their real anniversary was not till January, and this was November. She then told me he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer the week before, and had been told he had only 3-4 weeks to live, and they decided to celebrate today. He was three weeks away…a bit more, a bit less…from completing “the list”.
I have thought about them often since that day. It is very possible he is still here, still working the list, still being her husband as best as he can. But chances are, if the doctors were right, he is no longer making choices about how he spends his time, who he spends it with, what he puts on the list, and what he takes off. Those choices have been made for him now, and also for those he loves. The wife had been taking care of him for almost five years and now that would no longer be on her list. All the errands, appointments, picking up prescriptions, crying in the darkness, wondering what she was going to do when she did lose him…was gone, too. An unexpected priority had presented itself in the care of a suddenly ill husband. A different priority was a now terminally ill husband’s care. Priorities had changed again and it was time to take care of herself, alone. I wonder if he would have made different choices in his moments, the things he placed on his to do list for his days if he had known this was how it would all end. More importantly I wonder if she would have chosen differently if she had known she wouldn’t have all the time in the world with him as one part of “them”?
Three weeks is such a short time when you are living the last of something…and seems like such a long time when you are living the first of something. We don’t have all the time in the world to get this thing right, we can’t always make it up later. Later isn’t always there for us or for those we love and have in our care. I think maybe it’s time to sharpen my pencil, get out the rubber eraser, and start eliminating some things that maybe were on the priority list but have moved on down or off the whole legal pad. It may just be time to pencil in a little more dancing and a little less “do it”. Dancing through my days…well, it may just be my “thang” very soon. You too?
Tomorrow marks a very important day. It is the long-awaited retail shop opening for my estate company. It is almost surreal that it is finally here after all the months, moving, money and monumental hurdles we have passed. But…it is here. The first day of what I hope to be my greatest adventure yet.
The journey has been full of many firsts. From placing first deposits on utilities, to making first assessments of what we wanted to see happen, to moving in the first truckloads of items. We experienced our first “oh great” when the bathroom ceiling caved in under the overflow of a strained water heater. We experienced our first sale to someone who came by to just take a quick peek at the store as we were moving in. There was the first full staff work day of shelving and sorting and laughing over several voices being heard from the depths of the piles every so often saying “oooh I want to buy this!” We went through our first challenge of rezoning so we could even have a storefront in the area we had chosen to make our estate home. We were never so excited as when the unanimous vote came through from the Planning Commission and the Mayor and Aldermen…and we knew we were really on our way.
This week was full of firsts in other ways too. My 6 year old granddaughter lost her first tooth and it was on the very day she started first grade. It is so funny to see her gappy little smile and hear the softest lisp when she talks or sings the songs she is learning in theater class. Her mom was a bit teary when she told me “This is the first time I will have my first child lose a tooth…ever.” I hadn’t really thought about that till she voiced it, but that is true. This is the only time the first of my grandchildren will lose the very first grandchild tooth. Ok, enough of that…misty here for a moment myself.
I thought a bit today about how that little ole tooth got loose enough to be the first tooth lost….what it had to go through, how it all came about. Lorelai has been growing teeth since the womb, even though we didn’t all see them. Enamel was forming, along with nerves and all the gooey little stuff that teeth are made of was there all along just waiting to “become”. She had to drink only milk for a very long time, then the teeth started to cut the surface and push out into the world of her mouth. Soft food was added bit by bit, then table food cut into microscopic pieces so she could chew with her tiny little tooth buds. Once the baby teeth were fully developed she could tackle anything and everything she wanted to eat.
Then…one day the tooth started feeling funny and not quite right. It kind of ached and hurt a bit. When she would chew it would zing her and zap her gums. She began to chew on one side trying to avoid using the tooth so it would feel like it used to and not hurt anymore. But eventually this wasn’t working because the tooth was loosening its grip in her gum. Her mom told her about the Tooth Fairy, how it all worked and in exchange for a tooth she would get MONEY. It made her change her whole outlook. That tooth suddenly had to go!
The next several weeks were spent wiggling it, touching her tongue to it every chance she got, pushing it and prodding it till one night this past week it finally gave way and popped right out. But it wasn’t because she was pushing and prodding and wiggling it. It was because, unknown to Lorelai, a new better tooth had formed and was making its way into her gum. It pushed its way to the surface and encouraged that baby tooth to leave.
And that is where I have been in this journey to today. Looking from the outside in, it appears I am doing something “suddenly” to most folks who know me. I hadn’t ever conducted an estate sale, but three years ago I found myself doing just that. I have never opened a storefront, but tomorrow…well, I am doing that. I haven’t decorated or staged a shop to sell vintage and antique items, and now I am. It would easily look like this business just popped up. But it didn’t.
I spent many years loving the old junk. I loved having it in my home, learning about it, buying pieces at yard sales because I couldn’t afford new stuff. People complimented me on clothing my family wore, or furniture and decor in my home, and I smiled knowing where it came from. I also learned a lot about the things I had in my home and educated myself on what a good buy was, and that is aiding me today. I spent much time three years working at my church as the back drop prop person for the church cantatas and children’s programs. I also spent two summers doing nothing but making bulletin boards for my church and the preschool where I was a teacher’s aide. So I became very adept at making something out of nothing and frugal backgrounds and staging are second nature to me.
As an employee of a local Christian Bookstore, I learned merchandising and how to set up booths and displays. When my family had a craft business many moons ago, I did the same there and spent much time putting up and tearing down displays quickly and effectively and making sure our booth stood out among the others, but was never the same any two shows. I also did professional organizing for several years and helped others get their purged items ready for sale, priced and even aided in the sales from time to time.
The most recent venture was a cleaning company where I did my own books, had a full staff, dealt with employee and customer issues daily, balanced spending against profit, did a business plan, and virtually anything that was done in that company went through me first. And all these things…from bulletin boards to business plans…were “firsts” for me then, but represented a wiggly tooth now.
All those places in my life, all those activities and moments had their day, then they were gone. It took them leaving and my life that I have now pushing through to the surface for me to know that they were all just bits of the puzzle, not the completed puzzle itself.
I could be wrong, this may not be the final thing I do. I may have yet another “tooth” under the surface and this business is only a means to an end. Time will tell. But I do know that life is not so much about the destination as it is about the journey. I also know sometimes you have to let things get pretty wiggly and scary for a while, move around a bit, and maybe even eventually fall completely away before the new growth can take up its rightful place.
But until I know differently, I will move forward…first one step, then another…till I reach that destination and I will not question the process. And with my personality, trust me…that will truly be a first.
It is Saturday morning and I am home. Tomorrow about this time I hope to be in exactly the same place, home. I have determined to take the weekend off, get some rest, catch up on some of life that does not involve the chase of the next cool thing I want to offer for sale in my antiques and collectibles business, and just find my peaceful place. I have decided to hang out with my dog, Charley, go nowhere, do nothing but home-ish things and rejuvenate for my next leg of the junkin’ journey. This weekend is all about coasting.
The last three months have been such a whirlwind I probably could spend an entire week describing them. There was no real time for personal refreshment, no time for meals with friends and spontaneous fun, no time for reflection and blogging…just no time for anything but doing the next thing, taking the next step, climbing the next hill. Looking back, I truly marvel over how it all, at least so far, has gotten done, there were no real missteps, no stumbling and faltering on the road I have traveled since April 1. It all just…happened…and somehow, control freak that I am, I stayed out of its way.
To backtrack a bit, I received a call around the last week or so of March from a friend I have known for years. He is a property manager in the area and had a vacated property for me to view. The former retail tenant had skipped rent, left it a monstrous mess and there were many new items in the building that needed to be sold or cleared out. My company came to mind and he asked me to do the business liquidation. I agreed to take a look, and we met the next day.
As I toured the building and told Jim what I could and could not offer in the way of services, I felt an overwhelming sense of something I couldn’t put my finger on. I could only describe it now as a feeling of coming home. By the end of the tour of the property, I knew this was going to be the next location for my estate company. It was large and open, had attached office space, a bay where I could park my trailer and get it out of my home garage, and was located on a busy highway in the historic district of my hometown. A few months before, I had starting praying for a place to open up at just the right time, in just the right way for me to relocate and I just kind of laid it all out there and said what I wanted it to have, how I wished it would look, where I would like to be. This property was like an artist’s sketch of what I had thought, and prayed about, so I knew when I saw it that it was where I was meant to be. Now it was time to convince the powers that be, a.k.a the property manager and owner, of the same.
At the end of the tour, I asked about the property and when the amount of rent was given, I knew financially it was astronomically out of my range at the present time. I had a lease at my old location for 6 more months, I was not in the position to pay double rent even if I wanted to, and well…it just seemed pretty impossible.
But Jim and I talked, and he in turn talked with the property owner and told him what I could offer in the way of rent which was far below what they had set as rent price and also included a request for 4 months of free rent. They came back with another price, I refused knowing what I could and could not do and said I knew I was asking for the impossible. But God came through for me…and they ultimately took my offer. I had a feeling they would…His business IS the impossible.
Since the day I signed the lease, I have been in a flurry of building and fire inspections, paying huge deposits for the building rent, deposits for utilities, filling out applications and getting costly signs made for board hearings to try and convert the zoning to suit the needs of my company, hoping the landlord at my old location would miraculously sublet my offices so I would not have that rent hanging over my head for 6 more months, and a host of other things that also seemed impossible to accomplish. But to date, all deposits have been paid, all inspections have been cleared, all paperwork is in order for the zoning hearings and the planning department is “in my corner” …(well so far). Within 10 days my landlord rented out my entire office space. No advertised vacant spaces had been rented in that building in over two years so this looked really impossible, but it happened. I had four months free rent at my new location, and no rent at the old location, and this amazingly was going to pay all those expensive start up costs, almost to the penny. As I read over this myself, I am tearful and pretty overwhelmed by it all.
There have been moments, if I had been faint of heart, I would have quit physically if not mentally in the middle of this road. Right after I signed the lease, my 2003 SUV had some issues and was in the shop….$2000 later she was on the road again, but the bank account was more shy than I hoped for, especially at that time of start up costs. During this same period of time, the new location had to be trashed out of all the non-saleable items that the former tenant had left, and it was trailer loads of items, not just a bag or two that headed to the dump. Several sales had to be staged…five in all I think…to liquidate the building contents. All my own inventory in the old offices had to be moved to the new location in the space of four weeks, and it was a massive amount of items. Two weeks in, I injured my arm and have only been able to lift it to my waist most of the moving time. I have had most of my help moving from Dwight, who has health issues himself, and 63 yr old Barbara, and somehow the impossible happened and it was moved. I had four estates that got processed and accomplished within the same 6 week period and impossibly, those were done, closed, and cleared. My oldest grandchild, Lorelai, had serious surgery during this same period of time. Sadly, Dwight and I lost Brendon, our oldest male grandchild during this same 6 weeks and were both under that stress and sadness. So many other things I could describe…ruts in the road…opportunities to detour and quit…but I knew one thing deeply in my gut. Most of a person’s growth of character, building of strength, and ultimate perseverance happens when you are in the middle of the road you have set upon.
We all have dreams. We all have the capability and the tools to make those dreams come true. The difference in those who only dream, and those who dream and do, is the way they handle the middle of their road. Because most of the road in dream making is lived in the middle. If you hesitate or you stop, the dream stops too. There is no elevator or escalator to the top, folks. It is all done in dusty sandals with a broken strap, and one step at a time.
Things aren’t always easy, but they are always possible in this life. There are times you just have to know that you know that you know…then lean in hard, and hang on. Those that hesitate and stop for a moment will get run over. Those that step back, often fall into a hole of helplessness.
One of my favorite motivators has been the story of the fallen donkey. A farmer heard loud braying one day and went out to investigate. He discovered his donkey had fallen into a hole in the road leading to the barn, and was so far down it would be impossible and quite costly in time and effort to pull him out, and in the meantime the donkey would be suffering and ultimately die anyway. He enlisted the help of some farmer buddies, and together they decided it was just better to throw dirt into the hole and bury the pitiful creature now to put him out of his misery. As they threw shovelful after shovelful of dirt into the hole, at first the donkey kicked and screamed, braying loudly and was fighting the dirt with all his might. Suddenly, the sounds stopped and the farmers assumed the creature had given up and resigned himself that he was destined to die in the hole in the middle of the road. But instead, the donkey realized the dirt was not an encumbrance, it was to be his way of escape. Each time dirt and debris and messiness was thrown into the hole, the donkey shook it off, let it settle a bit around himself, then climbed on top and waited for the next raining down. Imagine the surprise of the farmer when his little donkey lumbered out of the hole no worse for the wear and was free again to move on down the road toward the barn.
How we start our dream journey is important. Reaching the dream journey’s end is equally important. But most of the dream journey takes place in the middle of the road. And that is where the really important…and truly impossible moments…take place. When the debris begins to fall, and the difficulties come, it’s not time to be a quitter. That is the time to shake it off, climb up the hill of dirt, and wait for the next shovelful of testing that will take you to the top…and just press hard into that new beginning God has for your life.
Scanning the yard sale ads this past week, I saw one that caught my eye. The ad read “Moving sale, everything needs to sell. Flat screen TVS. Stereo, House full of furniture, 16 ft fishing boat, Honda Civic, China cabinet, large desk filing cab, printers, laptops, washer and dryer and a brand new deep freezer and much more. ” It sounded interesting enough to make the trip out, especially the house of furniture part, so I set out the next morning to check it out. When I arrived at the home, there was a sign on the door “open at noon.” I looked at my watch, the time was normal “business hours” for a sale, 8 a.m. A little miffed, I got back in the car and drove away fussily thinking ” I may or may not make the trip back. They couldn’t even get organized enough to put a time on the sale ad and then ended up having it the middle of the darned day.”
But as the morning wore on and noon approached I saw a clear path to go again, and headed back out. It was an inside and outside sale, so I entered the home. It was not well-lit, reeked of smoke, and stank of pet urine. Being a former cleaning lady, I was used to all those smells, but didn’t know if there would really be anything of value here for my estate clients. But I was already here, so I moved further inside. A yappy little chihuahua in a doggie muscle shirt named Bruce Lee was all around my feet immediately, and a young woman with an entire set of black front teeth called out from the kitchen “Come on in and look around, we are open”. I guess she felt I warranted that information due to the obvious question mark on my face. It looked as if everything was still in progress as far as living there…cigarette butts in the ashtrays, you could tell they had been eating in the kitchen and den, nothing looked staged or set up, nothing priced or gathered together, it was just a come as you are party atmosphere. I thought to myself…strike two.
I wandered around in the kitchen, then the dining room and finally into the main room and did find a few things to ask prices on. They were planning to get things labeled, but that hadn’t happened like she wanted, so I told her I would pile it all up and she could tell me at the end. Out the front window I had seen others start to pull up so I knew there would be a flurry soon of people pulling items together and I didn’t want to miss out on anything that might actually be of interest to me.
Down the hallway all the doors leading to the bedrooms were closed and I heard a BIG dog barking. “Are there items in there too?” I asked, remembering the words of the ad. “No, I think my son (motioning to someone coming up behind me) got everything out of the back already.” As I turned I was shocked to see the young man she was talking about. He was about 15 or 16, beautiful smiling face, clean and neat teenaged style attire. “I can help you with anything ma’am, I am pricing things and will help you get it to your car, too.” This person looked totally out of character for the picture I was seeing in this home like some kind of jigsaw puzzle piece that sort of looked like it fit, but just wouldn’t quite complete the picture properly.
As the next several minutes went by and people filed in and out, I gathered my items and pretty much kept to myself. But I couldn’t help but hear the woman tell bit by bit the reasons they were moving. Her husband had left her four days before, cleaned out the bank accounts and left her with no money, no way to make the impending rent and the landlord had caught wind of all of it and given them three days to vacate. The other people she talked to were very accommodating in response, a lot of “there, there, you will be alright” was heard…but I was watching the young man. He never disputed what was said, but I could tell as certain quiet looks came across his face, that was not the whole story. And I had a sad feeling knowing this beautiful, polite boy was going to help his needy mother sell all their belongings, pack up a few personal items in a car, and leave his friends and his life for what? Probably more of the same.
I was even sadder when I realized the father had evicted the mother out of his own life and marriage the same way the landlord was evicting her out of the home…and this young boy was suffering eviction that was not of his own making and was expected to leave everything behind and go because he was underage. This young man had experienced strikes one, two and three a long, long time ago. I had to wonder if he had possessed the power if he would have evicted himself a long time ago from all of it. Or was he was like myself and many others…unable to evict ourselves from a situation or circumstance we had become enmeshed in, blinded to the fact it was no longer serving us well.
In my life, I have been fortunate in my pursuit of interests and have learned many skills and participated in a lot of wonderfully interesting experiences. Many of those were made up of following the path of a current adrenaline-rushing passion. And the passions and pursuits have all varied greatly, which I guess if I believed in astrology, would be attributed to the stereotype of the Gemini, which I was “born under” and it actually does seem to fit. Flip-flopping from one adventure to another, chasing a big idea, dabbling in this and directing that, my life has been short spurts of gathering lines on a resume of sorts. I have been chatting with someone so many times in the past, remarking on one thing or another and how I was involved in this or that, and they will look at me in wonder, and say “Is there anything you HAVEN’T done?” It makes me chuckle a bit, and then I do seem to reflect a moment on what I have been exposed to and how much I have actually been a part of and collected in experience. And the funny thing is, I felt at home in every single situation. It wasn’t a fly into and out of plan on anything I did. I would think about it, have the opportunity to present itself, stay with it to the end of the current pursuit, then move on to my next one. I tend to be a bit visionary and also a big multi-tasker, so this is not really beyond my ken flitting from one thing to another and still maintaining composure, getting things accomplished and embracing the whole thing when it comes to learning a new job or hobby or pretty much anything I set my mind about.
I have done many things from catering to cleaning, directing choirs to writing as a freelancer. There has been crafting for money, speaking for ladies’ groups, traveling as a gospel singer, homeschooling my only child, leading a diet group, working as a teacher’s aide and the list goes on and on. And in each case it was always the same…I was always full in, always on board, always ready to conquer the thing. And many times I did get it conquered, but there were just as many times it almost conquered me because I refused to leave before I thought I was done, even if the handwriting was on the wall long before and the eviction papers had been served.
Having a bulldog mentality and personality can be very good…but at other times it can be lethal. There were certain times I hung on too long, stayed where I was past the time it was beneficial to me, or made some poor choices in my associations and decisions about how to go forward at any given time. The one thing I never did was remove myself from the situation or pursuit until I felt like I had done all and been all, and in many instances, the “pursuit” itself was finally forced to evict me when it limped to its bitter end or reached its usefulness quotient. Sad to say, that didn’t always work for me or benefit the rest of my life and the people in it. There were times I should have said goodbye to something or someone long before my own life got to a point of telling me to hit the road, so to speak, by bringing chaos and confusion into my life, introducing weird characters and situations into my daily routine, or draining me of my own unique essence until I had no other choice but to let myself get evicted by default. Like unwanted guests, I allowed myself to stay somewhere that I was no longer needed or wanted when it would have been so much better to serve myself eviction papers when the first signs of dysfunction presented itself and just move on.
Who we are today is the sum total of who we have been and what we have done all of our lives up to this point…this is a true statement. But one has to wonder…what would the beautiful boy be doing “now” if he had evicted himself “then”? I often wonder where would I be, and with whom, and doing what if I had not waited till the last minute to move on from those unfruitful places but had put something down and moved on in a more timely fashion. Today, I have a great desire to be a good landlord of my own life, but how? If the time comes that someone or something is not contributing to the rent, I have to resolve to step up, make a big ole fist, and start knocking on my own front door first. After all, it’s my job as landlord to hold me to my own lease on life.
Back in the 60’s, Dion recorded a song called The Wanderer. It was pretty popular on the charts even though it was kind of dark for the times. In an age of fun frolics, soda shops, drive in movies and summer parties, this song centered around a fella and his multitude of love interests. To the outside world, he looked like he was having the time of his life. He was embracing fun, carefree relationships with no strings, traveling from one place to another and from one woman to another…loving them and leaving them. But in reality this guy was leaving behind a trail of wounded hearts and perhaps a few broken dreams. More importantly, he was carving away a piece of his own emotional well being and personal integrity as he moved onto his next destination. As the song went on, he found himself even more lonely and with nothing to “call his own”. His calloused heart was the most wounded of the bunch, and his own future dreams were destined to crash around him as he never got much of anywhere… just round, and round, and round…
In a way this song reminds me of the story in the Bible about the Israelites and their journey toward the Promised Land. Once they left captivity and began their travels to the place that was waiting for them, the land full of all good things, marvelous foods, beautiful settings, family and friends and prosperity, we find them straying off mentally and emotionally. They become bitter and complain about the trip, about the manna (do we have to eat THAT again?), they get fed up with each other, and frankly probably become a real pain in the neck to God. And in His wisdom, the Almighty allowed them to wander from one place to another, circling here, recognizing this place (weren’t we just here yesterday?), complaining bitterly, sitting down refusing to go on, hungry, hot and tired, attempting to find the Promised Land on their own. At times, He even quietly looked on as they made a real mess of things. What was to have been an eleven day journey to contentment, security and an unbelievable life turned into a 40 year stretch of futility and hardship. And some never made it out of the desert at all.
Isn’t it sad to think that these people had been given the Promised Land, a perfect place for them and they wasted so much time and effort because they were not choosing to go the path God had set out for them to begin with? They thought they had a better way. Kind of like some of my former employees…
When I owned a cleaning company, I had several techs working for me. They drove their own vehicles to the homes and businesses and the office staff made it ultra simple for them to do everything exactly right to have a totally successful cleaning for their customer. Worksheets containing all the preferences of the customers, along with explicit directions to the home, entry information and so forth. These were given to each tech and they could ask any questions before setting out. If they followed their directions exactly they would never fail to arrive at their destination, on time, with all the needed supplies, and complete a cleaning that often would gain them a hefty tip at the end.
In all the years of running that company, it never ceased to amaze me how the normally sensible, intelligent and savvy people who worked for me could excel at so many things at home, raising fine families and even excel in our own company, but they often were the same ones who could not or would not follow driving instructions to arrive at the home. They would get caught using their own GPS, or more often would “think” they knew how to get there. Then the office phone would ring, they would be lost and trying to describe where they were, and the office staff would be in a quandary trying to figure it out and get them back on the correct path. If they were too far off the correct directions, many was the time they were taken off that job and it was given to another tech to handle. The original techs ended up losing their paying job assignment for the day and were sent home…all because they didn’t follow directions for their journey.
And I can’t say anything better about myself either if I am totally honest. I would give on site bids when a potential client would call. I would get the client name, address, figure I knew what I was doing and where I was going and strike out without even running a map online. I had done this, or something similar before, I didn’t need instructions, right? So off I would go and as I was driving and listening to the radio, I might let my mind wander about the grand kids, or what I was going to fix for supper that night, or drift to how I was going to have to fire someone later that week and suddenly I would look around and not know where I was…I had made a wrong turn somewhere because I wasn’t paying attention. And now…I didn’t have a map to refer to either to find out where I was. So I would go in what I thought was the right direction, and get more and more lost. It would draw near the bid time and a call would have to be made to the potential client I was trying to impress and I’d have to tell them I had taken a wrong turn. Total embarrassment would set in having to admit I was lost. And even more gut wrenching to admit right here….I owned a GPS and would only bring it out as a last resort. How silly was this? I had directions that could have been made available, I even had a specific tool I could begin my journey with in confidence, but chose not to use either of them. I had overriding power available in the way of a Tom-Tom when I did find myself lost, but no…I just knew I would get there on my own recognizance and power. I knew the right way…but I found in most instances I was more of a wanderer than my own techs. Eventually, I would pull out the GPS, set it, and yes, get there within minutes. Almost without fail, I was within a few blocks of where I needed to be but was circling all around it and never arriving because I had lost sight of the path and was too proud to admit it.
When I take a look over my years, I can see such a parallel in myself and the stories of the Israelites and the wandering techs. I have to hang my head when I consider the years I wasted off my good path chasing poor choices, bad habits, and at times the wrong individuals or groups of people, or embracing emotionally debilitating situations. Trying to fill a personal void in my own psyche or heart, I would think I knew what was good for me. I would go after it, not seeing what was really happening. I was allowing myself to get dragged off my true road to happiness by something that was bound to end up draining and damaging me as a person. Living a life without good directions and the will to follow them is like trying to draw water from a well with holey bucket. You keep putting things in and they keep spilling out all over the place, and all you do is end up wet, soggy and probably standing knee deep in a mud hole. Many times you even wake yourself up for a while, you regroup and step away from the drama and chaos, but something like an old addiction, or someone you think can fill a void in your life comes along, and you fall back into poor choices and habits. You find yourself holding that same holey bucket again, drawing from the same well, losing precious water for your own soul. Your days and months and years become wasted time circling around the good things and people originally planned and intended for your own life….and you go round, and round, and round. The work of filling ourselves can easily stop if we would just take the time to turn back to the right path and keep our eyes glued forward. We’d find ourselves at the door to a Promised Land flowing with our own babbling brook that never runs dry. We’d never have to draw our own water and fill ourselves up ever again. Years of habits and unhealthy responses are challenging to overcome. I know…my name should be Ima Wanderer.
It takes a great deal of dedication and focus to break old habits, learn to be grateful and quit complaining about life, and harboring bad attitudes. It takes something called trust to stop living out our poor choices and making the same mistakes over and over again and just go with the path that is good and clean and true. It might even look boring to others, and it might even become monotonous at times to me. I have come to realize I am easily drawn to dramatic personalities, distant dreamers, and shockingly addicted to creative chaotics at times. There have been more than a few with “Rosie” tatooed on their chest, so to speak, in my life by my own choices. I’ve also had my share of filling those positions myself in my own life. But, challenging as it may be, simple and lasting path adjustment is not impossible. I plan to stay on my ultimate path, even if I detour here and there when I am weak. Good living, clean love, overpowering joy, unparalleled peace, and a bursting open happy and sound life? It’s bound to be mine because it’s on my bucket list, and this bucket ain’t got no hole anymore.
I recently joined a ladies gym. It has been light years since I was a member of one so this is kind of a “new” experience for me in many ways. Times have changed, there are trainers on duty to help you instead of manuals placed on each machine (yeah it has been a long time since they did that, right?), music is piped in, and the treadmills and ellipticals have TV’s mounted on top so you can watch your favorite programs while you sweat. Yes, it has mightily changed. But one thing remains the same…it has to hurt sometimes to feel better and move forward.
While I was working on some of the weights one morning, I met one of the staff for the first time. She wandered over and said “I am the in-house trainer here….can I show you a better way to do that?” Of course I wanted her to instruct me and she proceeded to tell me that the weights I was working with for my back were set too light because I was doing it too easily. “It has to give you a bit of hurt, you do it slowly unlike the cardio machines, and you have to feel the tug and a bit of a burn to know it’s working like it is supposed to work for you.” I had already thought this, but was going by someone else’s suggestion on the weight amount. I moved the weight amount up to almost double per her suggestion and by the time I finished I knew I had been through a real workout, unlike the other days where I in essence was really sitting on my rear and just flailing my arms around more than anything. Nothing productive was happening at all and I was thankful she caught me early. I was willing to listen, and I could stop sitting and start really feeling progress and the moving forward that I was wanting to experience. I had not joined a gym to just sit down…I had done enough of that in the years since my last gym attendance. I thought about it and if I had not redirected and had hung on to the first way of working out, I would have been disappointed and hurt by not progressing steadily. A lot of wasted time and effort would have been all I had to show for the time and personal investment I had spent. I had sat down long enough….for years…I was there to get moving again before it was too late for me.
This got me to thinking about one of my favorite characters in the Bible, Job. Here was a good man who had everything; land, talent and skills, wealth, position, a large beautiful family, respect of his neighbors and friends…everything. Then one day, it all changed. Every good thing in his life was taken from him, and you find Job sitting on top of the ash heap mourning his losses at some point, and he looks as if he is settling in. Victim mentality? Perhaps, or maybe just giving up. But as the story goes along, God sends him people to talk with him, and he comes to a personal awareness of his position and the incredible waste he was participating in. He evaluates his current life, or lack of it, sees the wisdom of shaking off the dust and is found eventually moving on again. It was hard, and even at times almost unbearable for him to move on…but move on he did. He had come to the realization he could choose to find out God’s Plan B for his life, or he could sit on his ash for the rest of his days, a bitter man with no one or nothing.
I know I have spent far too many years sitting on my ash. Not that I didn’t have reasons to embrace my own season of mourning. I have had failed marriages and companionships, a company I have recently sold that was worth one fourth of what it was three years ago, financial woes that would have put down most people I know. There were strains in all kinds of emotional areas prompted by mean-spirited people, stratospherically chaotic circumstances, or… I am unhappy to admit…. encouraged by myself and my poor choices in many cases. I have ignored health and reaped the sad effects of my ill choices in diet and exercise, given up too much personal power in some of my relationships with others, and stockpiled years of stagnation in situations where I was living a victim mentality rather than a victor’s life. Most if not all these seasons went on far too long, in far too hurtful a way for everyone, and ended up with a burned, ash-filled life to show for it all. And more often than not, I found myself sitting on top of it, scooping the ash up and flinging it over myself and crying “woe is me” till I even grew sick of hearing it. I was a sight…and pretty much a real mess.
Are you sitting on your ash today? How long has it been since you were passed over for that promotion you just knew you were going to get? Did the company you had invested your working life in suddenly fold and you were in your mid-fifties and looking for a job again? Has your house been foreclosed on, your once perfect teenager been in and out of rehab for the last three years, or have you lost your only grandchild to an unrelenting disease? Are you bitter because a relationship you thought might be your forever love has not worked out, or are you still mourning the loss of your childhood because you were physically or emotionally abused?
How have you responded to those disappointments and hurts in life? When the good things started burning and the ash started piling higher and higher, did you just climb on and sit down, maybe flailing your arms around and trying to get someone’s attention, anyone’s attention, to let them know you were suffering? Those who suffered in the Bible were given a time to mourn their losses. Mourning was validation, it was good, but it was to be temporary. There is a time to feel the hurt and to experience the burn of disappointment and heart-breaking loss. But there came a moment when God directed them to get up already, brush the flakes of soot off themselves, and start over rather than sit in the ashes of their defeat for the rest of their lifetime. He wanted to give them their Plan B, but they couldn’t get it till they were ready to stand up again and start walking forward themselves first. It takes a lot of guts and more than a little emotional maturity to get handed defeat and disappointment and just decide to let it go, toss it on the pile with all the others, and set a match to it and just walk away on the path to continued personal peace. There were situations where I didn’t for a long, long time. There were moments I could, and moments I couldn’t without a bit of ash sitting first.
There are days when I am still very much a Job. I feel defeated and want to sit on my ash, be left alone unless I am moaning and groaning and needing some attention, and I just have no real desire to do anything else but be bitter and complain. But that would be a big mistake. I can’t move forward into a Plan B if I am just sitting down on that heap of nastiness and the sooty remains of what was my life. It is my time to start a new fire, burn off my old ways, and all the old reactions and responses when I am handed new heartaches and hurts. It’s time to watch the blaze burn as a bright new future opens up for me because I was willing to strike the necessary match.
Each morning, as I drive to the gym and into a new day, I use the time to assess the last 24 hours. What has been brought into my thoughts, will, and emotions that I do wish for my life? What did the prior day’s events, conversations, and offerings deposit on my doorstep that I do not want to remain a part of my Plan B? I shake off a little more of the soot and ashes and partake of a clean and fresh walk into my new journey as I hold each day, each part of my life with light fingers because I know it may ultimately end up on the burn pile. I will be real here…there are many moments of two steps forward and one step back. I find myself wanting to change my middle name to “Poor lil’ ole” when I experience an unexpected bump or even a breach in a relationship, or a dive in the bank account, or even a stress or strain physically. But those little bruises are there to build me personally and stoke a brand new fire. The only way to get a great Plan B is start building a new life, a stick at a time. Gather some people, experiences and things close to yourself if they fit the Plan, throw others on the burn pile if not, rinse and repeat.
In Isaiah, the Good Book says the Lord promises to turn our mourning into joy, and bring beauty out of the ashes. I am the only one who can discern when it is time to strike a match, toss it over my shoulder onto the latest pile of nonsense, and then swiftly walk away…or maybe even at times run. But, I remind myself daily I have made the decision that I will certainly refuse to go sit on my ash for long periods of time anymore. Embrace the hurt little lady, deal with it, and move on. Otherwise, I end up with only a dirty tearstained face, a burned rear, and a stinky attitude….and those just aren’t too beautiful to anyone, now are they?
Time for the gym….and time for feeling that beautiful burn.
My Mom and I recently went on a trip to the beach together. It’s always fun, and quite revealing, when you take a road trip with another person, but especially so when you are held hostage in a car with someone you have known all your life. You just get some of the best and funniest stories. One of the favorites from the last trip goes like this:
Several years ago, when I was a youngster, my Mom had some issues with her feet that drove her to the podiatrist. It was highly likely the damage was caused by wearing spiky high heels to work and everywhere else for years, and probably was made worse by all the dancing she did over the years in those shoes. The doc suggested surgery for her on both feet and while most patients would do one foot, recover, then do the other foot, my Mom, the consummate overachiever (I no longer wonder where I get that attribute myself) decided she would rather have the surgery on both feet and get it over with all at once.
When the surgery was completed successfully and the recovery was launched, the doctor had her come in for a visit to get fitted with “shoes” she could walk in if needed without her feet bending during the recovery process. By necessity, the shoes were made of a flat piece of wood with straps to hold them, much like a sandal, but with no bend or play in them at all. When she walked, it was in a Frankenstein-type manner, and a rather humorous view, to say the least. I was young, but I totally remembered those shoes. My sister and I even tried them on a few times, and almost killed ourselves trying to walk in them.
Christmas time arrived and all the galas and parties and events….and Mom was wearing wooden shoes everywhere. Now my Mom is a social gal, prone to attend events and much like me she is ready at the first “Do you want to go…” that falls from anyone’s lips. So when her ladies’ bunco group planned their annual Christmas party, there was no question Mom would attend. But even more interestingly, when we heard they planned to have a night of music and dancing at a local hang out, it didn’t shock us at all when she told Dad she wanted to go and might be dancing….wooden shoes and all. This was in a day and time when women in a group like this would go, dance, minus their significant others and just have a night of fun out, and my Mom was not gonna miss an opportunity. The other bunco women thought it was crazy for her to think about dancing, given the shoe situation, but she was determined.
My Mom has always looked young for her age, and being a petite brunette with big brown eyes and a classy lady in dress and style, she has always been quite the looker. So it was not surprising she was one of the first of the gaggle of women asked to dance. She accepted the outstretched hand of her prospective partner and as she is walking slowly to the floor she whispers to her partner “I want to tell you before we start dancing, I have on wooden shoes.” He laughed and muttered some kind of funny remark to her and she quickly said “No really I do, I had foot surgery” and she lifts the hem of her long skirt a bit so he can see the weird accessory. She continued ” So I will have to go slow, I think I will be fine and can slow dance, but I understand if you don’t want to dance with me.” The man grinned and said “Sugah, if you had four legs and horseshoes on your feet I’d still want to dance with you!” So they headed out to the floor to give it a whirl. After they started dancing, she was doing quite well, and her partner says “I bet you are a teacher.” People assumed this all the time for some reason, her manner I guess, but she shook her head no and said “But people ask me that all the time.” The man questions “Well, if you aren’t a teacher what do you do?” She never broke a smile and said ” I’m with the rodeo.”
This story came to mind again this morning when I got a message of a past acquaintance’s death. This was the third person in two days who had passed away and I was shocked at each one. The first, a former customer, was found in her home by a family member right before Christmas. She had been gone three days and no one knew. She was a nice lady, but a little odd. When my cleaning staff would arrive at the home in the past, she would have the front door unlocked for them and would retire to the bedroom for the entire time the staff cleaned, as much as 4 hrs. They rarely if ever saw her or had any interaction with her at all. The second was a former high school classmate, beauty queen type, sweet and kind to everyone, a talented dancer and teacher in my area for almost 30 years. She had lung cancer that went into remission then resurfaced into brain cancer. At age 50, it was such a loss to her friends, family and our community. The third was a round dance teacher and cuer, nationally known and beloved by all. She was shot down on the front porch of her home and the details even now are sketchy as to what happened, but the loss is devastating to the community of dancers and her family and friends.
I thought of Mom’s story and wondered of the three people who had lost their lives, who was wearing wooden shoes…
Two lived life right up till the end in the way they loved. They were doing the things that made them happy, spent time with those who made them smile and laugh, never turned down an opportunity to go and see and absorb life and what it had to offer to them. The third, lived much of a hermit existence, regretfully lonely and alone, and I sadly believe her end was not much different than her every day. She had no wooden shoes.
So many times, I have allowed less than perfect situations or circumstances to guide me in truly life altering decisions. Finances may not be quite what I think they should be to go away for a weekend of relaxation that is sorely needed immediately, so I chose to wait rather than just go when I need the getaway the most, and enjoy whatever I could for the amount I had to spend at the time. A person would come into my radar having quirks or weird little oddities in their personality and I would shy away from getting to know them better because they didn’t fit the criterion I had for those I associated with or allowed myself to spend time among. I lost potentially real and deep friendships because I wasn’t willing to step out of my comfort zone and let my guard down. Even now, physical incapabilities of the past might hamper my trying out new challenges or hobbies. I will be the ultimate loser in any and all of these scenarios. How simple the answer is for all of us…just get a pair of wooden shoes, try them on, walk in them a bit, and see our possibilities soar. We might end up with a different kind of odd footprint left behind, but more importantly we will end up with a better life walk in the end. One thing is for sure, it is always more fun to be a part of the rodeo itself than watching from the bleachers. If I am gonna get splinters as I go along anyway, I’d much rather get them in the soles of my feet…
Sometimes being adult isn’t all it”s cracked up to be. Depending on your actual job title or position you hold in your family, there is always something on the list to do and most likely someone to answer to that usually has different ideas about procedures and proper execution of items on your to do list. Stress ensues because you want to please the masses but remain true to your own ideals, implementation, or time tables for completion. There are looming deadlines, constant rushing from one place to another, screaming customers or crying babies in the background. Carpools are crammed into the front and back part of your day if you are a parent, kids have sports practices, piano recitals and birthday parties and you are their designated driver. If you are a business owner or employee, there are usually a million little bosses you answer to consisting of clients, immediate supervisors, government officials, or just good ole Uncle Sam.
The pressure to perform should be enough. The pressure to perform with success can be near deadly unless you allow yourself time here and there to regroup, revitalize and refresh. Many times this is shoved to the back burner because finances are not there for a vacation, time is not available, or work is so urgent that you cannot even think about taking time away. In my own life as a mom and eventual business owner, I worked long, tiring hours trying to make a living for my family. I knew if I didn’t work, the bills would not get paid, so it was difficult to justify taking time away for myself.
One weekend, several years ago, I got out my huge box of photos. I was looking for a particular work photo to use in an ad, and I started running across old high school pictures of friends and activities. I spent over two hours looking through the pictures, reliving those memories. There were photos of myself and my best friend, Melinda, hunched over her pool table in her basement where we spent many Saturdays. We always had a bevvy of boys there sharing root beer floats, chips and dip, and a friendly game of Around the World. Of course, even at 15, we both knew the halter tops and short shorts were the real draw.
I ran my finger over a photo of Al’s Golfhaven, where I received my first real kiss from a boy and smiled. We were surrounded by the sounds of screaming kids coming down the monstrous 3 story Sui-slide on burlap bags, the flying ping pong balls slammed into us by nearby players, and the drifting smells of popcorn, citronella candles, and sweaty pimple-faced kids….and it was just heavenly.
Other photos fell from the box in piles. There was the grassy knoll where we laid down panting after a fierce game of kick the can, a picture of myself and another friend sitting on the brick fence at the back of Graceland, feet dangling over and waiting for a glimpse of the King riding his horses. Pictures of my first day on my first job…a pony-tailed young girl behind the counter of Radefeld’s Bakery at age 15 looking very official in my pink smock and name tag. I could almost still smell the sweetness of that place when I held the picture in my hand and remembered how I washed sugar bits out of my hair every work day, and my tennis shoes stuck to every floor in the house if I wore them inside without wiping them down first. I ran across a photo of the old Katz Drugstore on the highway near my home…there was a soda fountain and I always sat on the same stool and sipped the flavor of the day, licking the froth from my lips as I chatted merrily with whomever my companion was for a sweet treat getaway that day. Then there were pictures of one of my great “loves” in high school, Alan…I was there in camo and boots, holding up the rabbit I had just learned to skin and dress. The things a woman in love will do for her man…
As I put away those photos, and pulled out the work ones I was looking for, I started thinking of those moments and began to realize it wasn’t so much the moments that made me smile, it was the time away from reality they represented that brought the real joy. Over the next several days, I determined to take mini-vacations, beginning immediately. I didn’t want to wait anymore to get enough money, or enough time to go away and get the refreshment I needed. I knew it would probably mean traveling alone, and being a social person I didn’t know how that would fit my personality. Up to that point I had never eaten alone, traveled alone, or tried an activity alone. But I found myself to be my greatest company and devoted friend. I was no longer afraid to disappear for a while, settle into me and what I needed, and enjoy life more in the process. I began to allow myself to be a kid again, throw off restraints, and redeem my time and my own life in the process. The life I lived became my “currency”….I didn’t have to have a lot of money or tangibles. I would join a group or activity and it would buy me the next experience in a way. I met people I would never have met sitting in front of a computer in a cold, dark little office. Consequently my life grew, and so did my work itself and my personal contacts.
I had been mistaken many years thinking if I didn’t work, if I “disappeared” from my responsibilities, then I would fail both at my work and my own life. In looking at the photos in the box, I knew a disappearing act was exactly what was needed. Today I take mini-vacations and gift myself with spans of quiet solitude. I can often be found reading my Kindle over a margarita in my favorite local Mexican hideout. You can find me at the lake nearby feeding the ducks and considering my next day trip. Visits to the mall and people-watching , or going to the park and swinging for a while is inked onto my calendar. My own deck has become a sweet retreat where I do my best mental manufacturing…researching places I want to go on my laptop, studying about things I want to do, foods I want to try, and odd and diverse cultures I want to learn about… and then I plan my next run in that direction and I don’t let lack of funds or time hamper my quest. There will always be time for work…there will not always be time for exciting experiences. Each of us has a magic wand over our own life. It is called choice, and all it takes is a little waving, a sprinkle of pixie dust and the magical word abracadabra….and your disappearing act becomes a place of your most memorable and cherished scenes.
So, what are you waiting for? Poof…
One of my great joys in life is reading. I have always been an avid reader, even as a very young child. The school librarian was my best friend by the age of 7 and I was introduced to many a dusty little volume of the adventures of Dick and Jane, Laura Ingalls Wilder or Curious George. Biographies, field study books, poems or prose…it really didn’t matter. I read them all and could often be found with my nose in a book while the other children did cartwheels on the playground at recess or hurried to the local bike trail for races after school. I loved books because they were filled with windows of opportunity. I could be anyone and do anything, and happiness and contentment were found simply in the whispering turn of a page.
My favorite book as a child, and actually still to this day, is Harold and The Purple Crayon. I remember seeing this book for the first time on Captain Kangaroo. The story held instant fascination for me. Here was a boy, even younger than I, who drew his world exactly as he wished it to be. The book began with Harold as it’s sole character. Harold wanted to go for a walk in the moonlight, but there was no moon, so he draws one. He has nowhere to walk, so he draws a path. The book is full of many adventures and twists and turns. At some point in the story, Harold is looking for his room, and ultimately he draws his own house and bed and goes off to blissful sleep.
Most recently, I stumbled across another “purple crayon” book by Tim Ferriss, an American author, entrepreneur, angel investor and public speaker. He is most notably recognized for his book titled ” The 4-Hour Workweek: Escape the 9-5, Live Anywhere, and Join the New Rich”. It is a book that focuses on “lifestyle design” rather than the traditional “deferred” life plan we all know and blindly engage in, which has you work grueling hours and taking few vacations for decades and save money in order to relax after retirement. Frustrated by overwork and lack of free time, Ferriss took a 3-week sabbatical to Europe. While continuing travels throughout Europe, Asia and South America, he developed a streamlined system of checking email once per day and outsourced pretty much his whole life to virtual assistants. The genesis of the book came when he made his personal escape from a workaholic lifestyle and started living the life most of us only dream about….and doing it all within the confines of 4 hours per week. When I finished that book, I realized he was a modern day Harold….drawing his life the way HE wanted it, not the way everyone else thought it should be. And I started taking stock of my own box of crayons and found it to have become pretty bare. Lots of broken pieces, some colors even missing, no purple to be found. It gave me a moment of great pause in the knowing. How could I draw my own life the way I needed, with whom, for what if I didn’t even have a purple crayon in my box? So I have set about on the journey to find my own purple crayons…lots of them.
Ferriss had the goal of upsizing his life by downsizing his work. Admirable, but certainly not the goal I gravitated toward, at least initially. My purple crayon pursuit was more a social adjustment than socioeconomic, and personal more than paycheck driven. For most of my life, I have been pretty much allowed myself and my pursuits to be dictated by the rules of society and the basic mores of our culture. You get up early, you work till exhausted, you eat a little and sleep even less, you fit in family and familial activities while you can and if there is enough time left over at the end of the day then you can have 30 minutes or so of personal development, but certainly do not count on it. Vacations only come once a year, if that. Meals are meat, taters, one green veggie and an occasional dessert. You work until retirement, if you are a lucky one and have the wherewithal to retire some day, and then you sit on the porch and rock the rest of life away. You do it this way because THEY say so….whoever THEY is. But I one day realized THEY do not have a purple crayon in their box. It was high time I went on my own purple crayon search.
Today I choose to draw into my life only what I want drawn, not what society thinks needs to be there. I spend time with those who enhance my current and established life, not seek to rule or change it. If I want to hop in the car and speed down to the coast to take in the Shrimp Festival and enjoy a Jimmy Buffett Concert, I simply throw a few things in the car and go and decide on the way down when I will return and I don’t ask someone’s permission first, I just do it. I meander into Baskin Robbins, when I indulge in the creamy treat on occasion, and I pick one of the 31 I haven’t ever tasted rather than go to my “favorites”. You can’t know about something unless you try it at some point, right? If I want to wear esoteric Ed Hardy tennis shoes with distinctly tailored clothing to a meeting, I do and I don’t stop to worry if I look alright or will be accepted by those I come into contact with. When I go out to eat with a friend, I take his suggestions on what to order, even if it is out of my norm or even a bit past my palate’s comfort zone. If and when I have the financial ability, I plan to travel to every spot on the planet, given the opportunity, and experience everything possible in the way of new cultures, foods, friends and customs. I want to learn to paint, really paint, to play the guitar even perhaps badly, and write books that people will fall in love with while reading and weep when they are over. And I have made it my mission to befriend and spend my time only with those who have those same purple crayon ideals.
Life is short…we have heard that phrase so many times it has become a bit cliche’, but the truth of it remains. This is it, here on this planet anyway, and I don’t want to look back at my own life and regret not having gathered the fascinating people, unparalleled experiences, and deeply passionate love I want for my own just because I was too afraid or too timid to buck the system a little and live my moments outside the normal little box that becomes the road map for most folks. It is not my dying wish that my last words be “Welcome to Walmart” because I haven’t allowed myself early retirement from the presets on this life machine and gone off to new journeys and adventures even if it takes a bit of drawing it all in as I go. A truly awesome life is not for the weak-hearted or frail….it is for those bold enough to not only read about it, but step into it, with a fistful of purple crayons in hand. I see the sun is coming up and my breakfast awaits…time to draw in a Waffle House…maybe this time in Madrid…
I had lunch with a friend today. It was nice to catch up with what he had going on in his life and fill him in on what I have going on in mine. We were in the middle of a noisy little pizza place that had started to buzz with the lunch hour rush. As we were chattering away, (well I was chattering away, he doesn’t chatter) and I was getting to the funny part of whatever story I was regaling him with, I could see he was looking past me and a bit to the right. His whole face had changed, growing long and concerned and I thought I heard him say something like “Poor guy”. It was said under his breath and as my own voice was trailing off I started to turn and something stopped me. It was the stares of the people all around me at the other tables, including the children. A young man had sat at the table behind us and to the side, and his pretty partner had walked up to bring him a drink, and everyone quickly and uncomfortably went back to what they were doing when she walked up….but I could see them still stealing a glance their way with odd reactions on their faces. My lunch partner also looked back down at his plate and we continued on. Something told me to just stay focused on my meal and my own companion for the moment so I did.
Eventually I ran out of drink, and the machine was behind me in the restaurant. So I excused myself and turned, passing the table where the mystery boy was sitting and my heart ached in my chest when I saw him…he was a patchwork boy. Apparently the young man had been through a terrible accident or perhaps self-imposed trauma, a fire of some kind. He only resembled a human being because he stood and walked upright and was wearing clothing with a Yankees baseball cap perched cockily to one side on his completely hairless head. One of his eyes had been sewn shut, his face gave the appearance of being melted into a indistinguishable puddle , and as he ate, the right arm of his flannel shirt hung loosely at his side, flapping and empty. As I was coming back to the table I walked slowly and looked at the surrounding folks, still making their furtive glances when he looked down to eat his food, leaning in and whispering to each other. The mother in me wanted to run over and offer myself as a human shield from the stares and whispers, surround him with myself and keep him safe from the pain he would surely feel if he only looked up and saw the reactions of others. But as I approached the table I could hear a drift over of the boy’s conversation and he was animated and laughing although you could not tell this by his face…it didn’t move except slightly around the lips. I could see full into the face of his partner and you could see she was totally absorbed in him and his story, laughing lightly and reaching out and touching his hand as she enjoyed her lunch with him. They were both oblivious of how their moment in life was affecting those around them.
My companion and I finished lunch and eventually parted company for the day, but I could not shake the image of the patchwork boy as I went about my errands. As I was checking my emails later, I received word about a friend of the family who had tragically lost his wife today. Her leg started cramping and she thought it was a pulled muscle. Then it started swelling and they had to do surgery, but there was a blood clot. She started spitting up blood…her lungs were bleeding. Two heart attacks were suffered and doctors had to revive her several times. All were effects of drinking huge amounts of vodka for years, resulting in liver failure. They were testing her heart before shipping her out to another hospital for emergency liver transplant when her lungs started bleeding….she never recovered after that…
I closed the email and sat back and thought how tragic. I reflected on them, when they married, how they had made a seemingly great life out of two pretty messed up ones. Both came from some hardships and marriages that were not ideal, but when they had found each other they both seemed to have found the missing part, at least for a while. But something somewhere had happened, or maybe not happened, that turned her into a patchwork girl…a girl who was using pain patches to get rid of the hurt that would just not go away and stay away on its own.
So many of us live lives full of pain patches. Quilts of our lives are being sewn daily with people, and events, and loves and losses and gains. We always have a choice of what we use to fill the holes up with and sometimes those choices are wonderful, other times they are remnants of a past destructive behavior or habit, or perhaps a new pain patch that is not cut to fit us and our current lives at all. We drink too much and self-medicate to the point we don’t notice the holes in our life anymore or we simply don’t care about them. We become workaholics so we don’t have to go home to an empty house, or worse yet, go home to an empty relationship where there was once deep love and comfort that now gives only empty arms. We patch our pain with religion and spiritual rituals that are void of true depth and meaning and become an exercise in futility rather than an abiding relationship with our own Creator. We try to fill the holes in our heart with casual sex or shallow external relationships that cause more pain and more patching us up later. We come and go in our closest relationships…we long for love to the point that anyone and anything can come along and offer us their hand and we take it, whether it fits or not, and join ourselves to the quilt of another with a patch of pain rather than the smoothness of a right fitting silk or cool chintz. Then the years bring rips and tears to the fabric and the seams pull and we find ourselves in the middle of the same patchwork mess we were in before. Rather than gather ill-fitting patches of pain it would be better to have a quilt with gaping holes in it that may never get patched than settle for an ill-fitting patch of pain. But over and over, we search out experiences with people and things that will only bring us heartache, rather than bring us joy and complete our own life quilt.
The smiling patchwork boy had dealt with his lot in life and his outer quilt was still full of holes and patches, but he was ok with that. He didn’t need my shield from the stares, nor the pity of those around him. His patches had become a part of his life, and he realized this did not have to become ALL of his life. He was moving onto whatever his life might have for him next, and he was moving on holes and patches… and all. I’ve never been much of a seamstress, but I am thinking it is time to get out the needle and thread and then just patiently wait by for the right patches for my quilt to come along…
