Hugh's Views

The summer I turned eight years old, Mr. Doc died. Doc was my surrogate grandfather and next door neighbor. It was Doc that taught me to drive a tractor, to spit, to whittle. Together, we made my first sling shot and my first cane whistle.

Doc was a huge man, at least in my memories. He wore black shoes and Dickie work clothes (blue or brown) and, when outside, a worn, frayed straw hat. His hair was close cropped and woolly white over watery blue eyes that always held the beginnings of a smile. Well, they always did for me.

When he retired from farming, he bought a few acres from our family and built a small house for his wife, Montaree (we called her Montie) and him. There they planted a garden, raised a few pigs and taught me everything an eight year old needs to know about life.

Tell the truth. Plant your watermelons after the full moon in May. Stand up straight. Don’t interrupt. Always shake hands. It helps to take a nap after lunch. In the heat of the day, find a shady spot and talk to your neighbor. Always carry a pocket knife. Most shows on TV are useless. Do one thing at a time. A Milky Way candy bar tastes better if you share it with someone you love. There is value in sitting in the shade and listening to the mockingbirds. Everything is better if you can eat wild plums while you do it.

Every so often, we would go outside, he and I, and climb in his old Chevrolet truck. A mile up the road was the small store where my Grandmother had worked before she died. The purchase was always the same- a handful of penny candy for later and a Milky Way candy bar for now. We would sit on the store’s front porch and eat the Milky Way before it had a chance to melt. Never has a candy bar tasted so good. We would sit there, in the shade of the porch, an elderly man and a small boy. We didn’t say much to each other while sitting there. Some things are just too important to talk about.

It has been 30 years this summer that he has been gone. No one else looms so large in my early childhood memories. I am who I am, largely because he was who he was. And sometimes, I wonder if, 30 years from now, anyone will think of me, now, in the way I still think of him, then.

In my 20′s, I sold for a living. Did you know that the sales industry is the largest purchaser of motivational literature and training¹? I learned how to have a ‘positive mental attitude’, how to ‘win friends and influence people’ and how to ‘fake it till you make it’. I spoke affirmations into the mirror, carried written goals in my wallet (which I would review at low points) and wore red ties with blue suits because that combination was supposed to inspire trust.

Low points are not encouraged in the motivational field. Probably has something to do with the corporations that pay the trainer’s paychecks. After all, if you are feeling down, depressed or miserable, you are not out ther closing deals, making connections, moving product. And have no doubt – that is the goal. Gotta do more, gotta be more.

Feeling blue? Well, act as if you weren’t. Don’t know what to do? Well, if you did know, what would you do then? Depressed? Depression is an avoidance activity, an excuse used by people who cannot hack it in the real world. Not able to close this deal? There is a name for people who cannot sell: We call them employees. I was told once that there were no problems I would have in my life that selling more product would not solve. And I bought into it, and the paycheck was good.

Until I was not selling product any more. And I decided that if what I was doing was so repulsive to me that the only way I could face the day was to stand in front of a mirror and chant over and over again that I was a winner, maybe I would be happier doing something else. Or pretty much anything else.  And so I did. And I am so very happy with my life, and my career and my friends.

Except when I am not.

When faced with a crisis, there are, I think, two kinds of people.²

There are those who process it outwardly, writing about it on their blog, talking about it with their friends, sharing it with their therapist and thus, through their friends and community, find their way out and back to wholeness.

I am the other sort of person.

When I feel things are out of sorts, I retreat inward. I hunker down and pull in the shutters. I go inside and pick things apart, look for patterns, seek to find the problem and work on it. By myself.

Which, if you know me, is weird, because I process almost everything by discussion. I have often said I don’t know what I think about something until I can talk about it. But, if I can process it as failure in any way, I shut up, and you will never hear about it.

I just do not have the tools to publicly deal with negativity. With things not going right. Because be damned if I am going to stand in front of a mirror and tell myself to fake it till I make it.

So I withdraw. Go inside. Batten down the hatches.

I realize this is not healthy. But there it is.

So, you may have noticed that there is exactly one blog post in the last month here on this blog, and on my other one, there have been exactly three, all written on the same day in a burst of activity.

I have been slightly more active on Twitter, but not much. I submit that when 140 characters takes too much energy, maybe something is wrong.

Several of you have asked, and I am ok. By some measures, I am doing great. My marriage is fine, I love my job and the people I get to minister to. I have some of the best friends in the world.

But by other measures, I am not so hot. I feel lethargic. Listless. Depression is not the right word – but it is close. Very, very close. I feel overwhelmed. Out of control. Like I am sinking, and just dont have the energy to swim.

Not all the time, mind you. But sometimes. And somedays, the whole damn day.

Just because I work on it internally does not mean I am not working on it. I am. I have a few trusted friends I have begun to share it with. I have two interns over the summer that are helping with a lot of the office work that was overwhelming me. I have tightened some of my boundaries. I am back at the gym, working out my salvation with fear and trembling.

And in August, I am going on a week-long retreat at Mepkin Abbey in South Carolina. A week of silence and reflection: no cell phones, no email… sounds a lot like heaven to me.

I am not writing this as a way of asking for pity, or sympathy or even solutions². I am just trying to move beyond what is comfortable for me and share my pain. Trying to throw open the shutters and come out into the light. I desire to be as honest with my failures as I am with my successes.

Thank you for listening and journeying with me.

{finis}

¹ The second largest purchaser of motivational training is the US Military. Apparently, we need more motivating to sell insurance than we do to invade foreign cultures and kill them.

² There is an old joke that says there are two kinds of people in this world -Those who think there are two kinds of people, and those who don’t…

³ For the love of Christ, please don’t tell me to go see your therapist. My having to explain to you that, despite my being 38 years old, I can afford neither the therapist or the medication would do nothing at all to improve my self-concept right now.

As a nation, the US has gotten so fat that the fattest states on a 1991 map of obesity map would, by comparison, be the skinniest states when stacked up against a 2007–2009 map featuring similar data. [Chow]