I Thought By Now...
Finding Purpose from Life's Unplanned Events
Packing up another box of things. I’m shaking my head as I make note to go back to the store for more boxes. How could I have this much stuff? I like to boast to friends how I live minimally, donate often, and haven’t needed new clothes for work in years. Yet here I am, box after box of stuff, headed to the storage unit. Feels more like a graveyard. Have you ever been to a storage facility? It’s eerie. Row after row of garage doors with locks. Everything looks the same besides the size of the doors. It’s much like a cemetary in that way, row after row of headstones, some of varying shapes but all hiding what lurks beyond the surface; behind closed doors. It’s not my first rodeo in these places, the storage units, not the graveyards. I have moved before. In fact, I have moved a lot. In the last 15 years, I have had to pack my things 13 times. Some of those moves were temporary stop-gaps as this one is again. However, this time I have my shit together. I bought a PO box, I rented a storage unit, and I’m only asking for a couple weeks on the couch of family members, so to speak, as I leave one place and wait patiently for my next apartment to be ready.
I have planned travel, training in the gym, swimming laps in the pool, and connecting with others to keep me busy while I wait. Well, it’s not just me waiting, I have my dog, Gunnar as well. That Beagle/Terrier mix of a boy is turning 8 in May. I switched his birthday from March to May a couple years back as I realized when I adopted him the ages weren’t matching up to his neutered date. That’s the thing about dogs or pets in general, you can just make something up and people will believe it. “What breed is your dog?” He’s got a little Alaskan Malamute in him (he doesn’t) and he’s well trained (he’s not). You can’t make this up about humans, because sooner or later, they’ll talk back; to you, to people you know and to strangers. This is the beauty of pets, you can tell them your deepest, darkest secrets and they can watch you do the dumbest things, but they will never tell on you. They can’t. I often wish Gunnar could talk back to me though. But Gunnar only speaks to me through his actions (he barks at the squirrels). My thoughts drift as my dog is out of sight, and unable to listen to my words if I chose to speak. I am alone in my thoughts, surrounded by empty spaces where things should be and there is one thing that I cannot pack, nor cannot take with me to my next place. No, there is one gigantic thing missing. I thought by now, I’d be a Dad.
Pause. There’s a break in the action. A moment, a possible memory, it hits me hard. There’s no denying it. It’s incredible and raw; like a ripped bandaid on exposed skin that still hasn’t healed. I’m talking about grief. Of all the things I’ve planned this week, that wasn’t one of them. I didn’t plan to stop everything I was doing in the middle of the workday to cry until there were no tears left in me. But here we are. The wails subside and silence returns. My body feels surprisingly good. There’s nothing like an unplanned sob for the body to release energy that no longer serves a purpose. I feel renewed and hopeful.
There’s a poem by Robert Hastings that I refer to often in times of transition. It’s called ‘The Station,’ and it’s central theme is about enjoying life’s journey, not just the destination. That one does not achieve happiness by arriving, but by living. The notion that once you graduate college or get that job you want, or buy the fancy car, that these events are going to be the key that unlocks everything. They’re not, many of you know this already. Happiness lives within the walls of the home you will always have, your own journey from birth to death. It’s much more difficult to see, as we age, when the mirror of life is not there to greet you. I recently reconnected with some college friends, sharing our stories and reminiscing. During these times, there are always smiles and laughter, but rarely does one bump into someone from the past and just have a good cry together. We leave those stories out in real life as we often do on social media as well.
As I’ve gotten older, I see my friends and family now through their kids' faces. I start to realize why people always said, “you look just like your dad.” I used to shrug that off and say, “yeah I get that a lot.” Now those words are bittersweet. They will fade in time and I am looking more and more like my Dad these days as I feel the grips of aging in the wrinkles on my face. But I enjoy watching both my brothers become great fathers. I see their kids in them in more much more ways than just physical appearance. I recently attended events they each had as parents watching their kids perform in contests for their respective schools. I showed up, unannounced. My schedule allows for great flexibility as dogs, unlike tiny humans, can be left alone for several hours. Those feelings of joy extend to my friends from high school, college, and beyond. I am happy for them, truly. And for my friends who don’t have kids, who made that choice, I’m happy for them too. It’s just I never made that choice, it was chosen for me. Life, literally, did not go to plan.
The Beatles start playing a familiar song on the Spotify playlist I’m listening to. Let it Be. The song hits just as I finish my last thought about choice. I’m trying, Paul (McCartney), trust me, I’m trying like hell. I know there will be an answer, I have to let it be.
Helplessness is the dark cousin of selflessness. I often feel an immense level of unworthiness and at times feel this is my life’s punishment for wrongdoings. But there’s a reason why we often say, we are our own worst critics. Of course we are, we know everything! Not even the dog can say that. But the opposite of our thoughts, our inward punishments, is our outward gratitude toward others. I firmly believe through my lived experiences that one cannot feel happiness without letting go of oneself (an uncontrollable sob) AND showing up for others (an unannounced visit to my niece & nephews’ events). It’s the recipe that works for me and the nutrition that fuels me to build the best version of myself. I’ve packed my things again. I’ve put them where they need to be. For now, I’m where I need to be. Here in the moment, the space between, speaking words of wisdom. Let it be, let it be.
Gunnar & I on the Oregon Coast; one of many adventures we have had together!
Nice perspective on life. Thank you.
Great first post buddy!! Enjoy the northwest!!