There is an irony that those giant corporations receiving help from our government are not so willing to help me, a lowly citizen. However, taking full responsibility for my dilemma, I can see deeper reasons for the loss of my truck and the consequences I am about to suffer.
Last month, with temperatures below zero and in a hurry to my new job, I drove off without properly warming the engine. Two miles onto the highway, an unusual rattle exploded quietly and the truck rolled to a stop dead. The sluggish oil had caused the engine to seize.
With no cash to spare for the expensive repair, I relied on the wondrous help of friends and family to borrow another truck and eventually rent a little car while my Trickster resorted to old habits of creative financing schemes to buy repairs and the truck itself. Failing all that, he bought some plain old time, relishing the holidays and the snow conditions, half-pretending the problem did not exist.
My credit and resources are completely squandered. As the auto-maker in question and the various banks have appealed and received help from us to bail them out of their past behaviors, they are not willing to take further risks on me. Today, it seems, I have no alternative but to let them take the broken truck and all parties suffer the cost (me emotional, them financial) of further litigation.
It is easy to point a wagging finger at large corporations and blame the faceless rich executives who run them. A long rant against Big Business stomping on the Little Joe seems entirely in order, except that it is actually less important (certainly less productive) than turning that finger around to point straight at me.
I am the man who, for so many complicated, justifiable, and sometimes commendable reasons, day in and day out made the decisions that squandered those resources and integrity. Time and again, at a crossroad between taking a job or leading my own crew, unbounded optimism always chose the riskier venture. Even having taken four jobs over the years, three ended in bankruptcies, providing “golden” opportunities for me to leap again.
All I wanted was to provide a modest healthy lifestyle for my family, but my downfall has been a complicated confusion of cart and horse, prioritizing lunch dates over site inspections, or making dinner instead of a phone call, never finding the proper balance that could accomplish both without harming either.
Years ago, I paid for and ignored advice to cut my losses, ski out of the bumps and take a smoother line. At that time, bankruptcy was anathema, an idea as inconceivable as harming a child. Today, I hand over my truck with a final shrug of acceptance that my mistakes have a terrible cost, but that redemption may be found by making the changes truly necessary to avoid repeating the pattern of those mistakes.
So I “let go, let God,” as my sister keeps advising. The truck is the final salvo on a business that has not served me well. I await word on several applications for office jobs in and out of construction, and invite work and play more suited to the passions that burn at the center of my core.
My father has faithfully and optimistically given me more bailouts than I deserved as I blindly continued on my path of (de)construction. As we talk more openly these days, we slowly learn that love has less to do with the dollars, or imitating his successes, than with sharing our hearts, our hopes, and facing our fears, living honestly and authentically, a lesson I pray I now model better for my own children.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
To Bail or Not to Bail
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Peace that Passath
In the predawn darkness this morning, I awoke fearful that my creativity and drive depend on stress. The high level of uncertainty and crisis that has pervaded most of my adult life may actually be necessary to motivate me forward: the suffering artiste.
Long recognizing that my struggle with money is at the core of my existence, a reason, perhaps The Reason, to be here, it is frightening to imagine I continually create problems to maintain a stimulating edge. Trouble possibly provides the pressure to really cook.
A week of relative calm coincides with no blog entry nor other session of writing words on a pad or in my journal. As if a comfortable routine breeds stagnation, I rise up in a sweat of horror to think I might need to be so out of balance in order to walk a productive line.
No doubt, my heart beats faster in crisis, my mind leaps forward with creative solutions to ugly problems, bending rules or persevering against all odds. Adrenalin can certainly be addicting.
Still in the dark, my son and I loaded the car for a day of work on the Mountain, and the CD ignited with the new song, reminding me that perhaps the phrases wrapped in melody counted for creativity enough to satisfy my internal demand. Lack of a blog entry beyond that could possibly be forgiven.
We are, typically, our own worst critics, passing negative judgments where others might bestow accolades. In all my years as a contractor, constantly entering strange homes to consider a job, no matter the condition, rarely has the owner not apologized for the mess. For every achievement we attain, we see three ways we could have (should have) done it better.
But as we rolled down the road, the mellow tune embracing my ear with pride and satisfaction, we enjoyed a dim to bright sunrise over purple snow-covered mountains. Cold mist hovered over the frozen rivers. Frost clung to trees. Smoke curled from chimneys cozy with warmth, and the world seemed right.
My group at ski school has settled into eight four year olds just learning to turn and very distractable, contrary and lively. They all want to hold my hand, and they are equally in love with my son who does a wonderful job as teacher and entertainer.
Such a treat it is to work side by side! I can focus on the one who in this 15 minutes has reverted to helplessness, counting on him to herd the others up and down, or to the potty, in all good humor and patience.
Afterwards, we rode to the top of the mountain, bitter wind blowing and ice on the trail, but enough snow to make the bumps very skiable. Three runs we took on one of the toughest diamonds. In one fell swoop, my son really mastered the steep and treacherous, skiing the slope aggressively and confidently, making his father so proud.
Side by side or one after the other, I had no worry for his safety, but just thrilled to the turns or laughed heartily when one of us plunged and fell. My own legs recaptured the flow and twist, the airborne dance of so long ago now refined by my instructor’s style. A sweet hour we skied as if there were none before or after this, just happy to be alive as the mountain tops were lit in golden sunset.
On the way home, a magnificent moon, full, huge, bright, and orange, rose over those same purple mountains still covered with snow. All was right with our world, father and son united and bonded, all problems shrouded by the peace of heavenly satisfaction, a moment so clean, clear and undramatic, but so perfectly wonderous to write about.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Perpetual Motion
Around the excitement for the Inauguration next week, A burst of hope and optimism has inspired a new song to come out into the light of day.
Perpetual Motion
Climb any mountain
Look down from above
All looks peaceful and serene
But down in the valleys
It’s all push and shove
Actions brave and false, and mostly in between
All together it flows
As down the river we go
Perpetual Motion in the Ocean of Life
Water Breaks
On the long rocky shore
Grinds stones to sand upon the beach
Storms blow waves
Sailors pray no more
Dry land seems so far out of reach
But the sunshine returns
The flooding tide turns
Perpetual motion in the ocean of life
How many generations will it take to learn this song,
How many fights to make the Peace?
Leaders come and go
Some are right and some so very wrong
And some sing sweet lullabies of release
The wind blows strong
Rain waters the seeds
Life goes on its merry way
Give as much as we might
A loving heart still bleeds
And we live on to love another day
The seeds we sow
Take hold and grow
Perpetual motion in the ocean of life
Friday, January 2, 2009
Collision of Mars and Venus
On a day way too bitterly cold to ski more than a run or two, and in the sublime spirit of celebrating a brand new year, I stopped on the way home to visit an old friend.
A surprise, being unannounced, and probably a year since seeing each other, we sat comfortably in their kitchen, his family and my son, sharing tales as if the days between visits were as few as the miles between our homes. True friendship is a blessing revealed when pieces can be so easily picked up as if never dropped.
Focused for so many years on the attempt to save my marriage, several strong bonds were tested by such neglect, friendships withered to near silence. In the process of reconnection, powerful lessons intensify the differences of the masculine and feminine energies in my soul.
Four sisters and a strong mother influenced my childhood deeply. No matter the rough and tumble world I juked and jabbed outside the home, my mother was always present to listen and advise, encourage and stimulate. My sisters shared their lives openly around the table. I learned to emote more than wrestle.
Despite adopting two brothers for balance, I have been most comfortable emotionally in friendships with women, hanging in dorm rooms, visiting with neighbors, standing in the kitchen instead of in front of the TV. With no girlfriend in high school and one sporadic relationship in college, when I became involved, I quickly married emotionally.
It is significant that I am turning from an uncompromising need to please to a more self-centered life, paying attention to the things that make my spirit soar. So willing to defer to the choices of others in my past, I begin now to choose for myself, accepting companionship or solitude, but following my own special needs.
In this process, I begin to notice that my gifts to others are actually stronger, more heartfelt and true.
Perhaps this has little to do with masculine or feminine influences, but it feels to be a likely categorization, given the evidence of activities supporting my observations. My dependence on social relationship and interaction (largely female) gives way to action-directed movement and problem-solving concentration.
Nearly a decade ago, on walks through the park with my family, I discovered a soccer game regularly occurring which stirred my desire to run and kick. The next summer, I interrupted the family weekend, playing a few times and returning home exhilarated and satisfied. Over the years, the game became important to my week, so difficult to leave the home, but wonderful to get sweaty and dirty shoving other men. My return home in better spirit would not always ease the interruption, but my heart was better for the exercise.
In my adult life, I have adopted another brother, a man who invites me to help with projects on his home. Over the years, we began to meet for lunches, talking furtively at first about our relationships and our other dreams for life. Creating tension at home where I was wanted for more lunches, I discreetly continued this affair of friendship because it served me well.
Joining the Mankind Project, it was enlightening to find so many men willing to take emotional risk to elevate their lives to authentic passion. Looking hard at the confusing shadows that hinder us from attaining our dreams, we support each other to lead ourselves forward without compromise, to love and be in relationship with 
all our hearts, not just our fearful or dutiful hearts.
So today, I visited my friend, a man I have known since we were little, little boys. Over so many years, we have played so much together, shared wonders hysterical and mischievous, and learned lessons of life profound. It is a shame that I allowed distance to settle between us, and others as well, as marriages and busyness grew complicated. Had I maintained a better balance in these years, perhaps I might have been more true to my marriage and career.
