A Twenty-first Birthday

Yesterday was my daughter’s twenty-first birthday. She is my middle child. This is not new territory for me. So, I was surprised when I woke with every memory of her life rocketing Matrix-like through my brain all at once.

There was the night her mother and I made her. (That was fun.)

The night she was born. (Exhausting.)

The night she woke me screaming because all the stuffed animals in her room came alive in the middle of the night and wouldn’t let her out.

The time her baby brother threw up in her hair.

The day we had to explain to her we were holding her back in first grade.

The day I realized she was having so many problems with the other girls at school because she was the only one in her class who no longer had the same body shape as the boys.

The struggling to understand her during her teenage years.

The day she came out to me at Chic-fil-a (hilarious) during pride week.

The look on her face when I told her I’d already known for two years and I loved her.

And dozens of others.

For a moment I thought, “Wait, am I dying? And, if I am, why is my daughter’s life flashing before me? Shouldn’t it be my own?”

OK, that last part didn’t actually happen, but it illustrates my point. My daughter’s life is not mine. The entire point for the last twenty-five years has been to prepare her and her brothers to be able to live independently of me – or anyone else for that matter. And yet, our lives are so intertwined, in a small but significant way, her life is mine.

I’ve spent the bulk of my adult life focusing on helping my kids become healthy, fulfilled adults. So much so, that when I look back on my life it is filled with them. My kids are definitely not my entire life, but they are the most important part of my life’s work. For someone who set out in life to never have kids, I’m a little taken aback by this outcome.

And I wouldn’t change it for anything.

What about changing it to do it better? 

That question assumes I could.

Don’t take that answer the wrong way. Everyone who knows me knows I have to work hard to let go of the guilt I feel over the many ways I’ve failed my children through the years.

I’ve learned that from my mother – and, I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it.

I know better than anyone I’ve been nowhere near the perfect father.

At the same time, with the mind, character, and personality I have, as well as, the upbringing, the time I had to devote to raising them, along with the amount of time it took for me to grasp reality and learn how to ask better questions, I’m not convinced I could have done any better.

I have three great kids. None show any signs of becoming icons of our culture. In fact, I tried to raise them to be exactly the opposite. All three are flawed human beings. All three strive to be good at what they do and to be even better people.

They are starting life in a far better position than I did. They will be far better spouses and parents than I’ve been – if they choose that route.

I have a musical body of work I can be proud of. I have a growing written body of work I will be able to be proud of someday.

I have a family body of work I can be even more proud of.

I am a blessed man. 

Remodel

Over spring break I remodeled my music studio. This is the place I’ve written my last four CD’s and recorded the last two. In here, over the past eleven years, I’ve taught hundreds of students to make music. It has looked the same the entire time. I decided a face lift was in order.

Before:

When I was working for other people, I’d heard that a simple paint job or changing light fixtures was all it took to reinvigorate employees with lagging motivation. I thought it was hogs wallow until, while working for a Fortune 100 company that paid its employees next to nothing, I watched it happen.

I was amazed. None of us got a raise. They moved us from a number of smaller offices into a bullpen full of cubicles. We all got “new” desks and chairs. They were new to us, anyway. This was not a better work environment by any means. More distractions, more oversite, less privacy. Yet, we were all excited and productivity rose for a few months after we moved across the hall. It was impressive. I’m not even sure the higher ups at the company were aiming for the bump in productivity. It was just that the company was growing so fast. We needed the extra space for all the new employees.

Remodeling my studio was difficult work because I don’t really know what I’m doing. But, it was a nice change of pace. It reminded me of why I am so happy teaching music. Years of construction work was not only unfulfilling, but incredibly hard on my body. My favorite thing about the drywall business is that I am no longer involved in it!

Although, I still remember driving my oldest son around Omaha and pointing out buildings and homes I’d helped to build. I did feel a strong sense of pride in the work I’d done.

Other Remodels

When I was twenty-four, I was involved in a multilevel marketing company. My up line (the couple who recruited my wife and I into the business) decided to get a large office just inside the 610 loop west in Houston. I helped paint the new office. I didn’t feel the excitement or any extra ownership in that office. Probably because I didn’t really work there. I’d show up for the Tuesday night recruiting meetings and the Saturday morning trainings, but I was rarely in the office. I was always out and about in Houston, meeting new people, delivering product, coaching my downline and my customers on how to get better results. That’s where I was happy, excited, and engaged. Ultimately, it didn’t work out, but I had a good time while I was working the business sixteen hours a day.

At thirty-two, my last year in construction, I helped my church remodel a new space they’d rented. It was an old building in Council Bluffs, IA. At one point, we knocked out a wall to make the sanctuary space bigger. The pastor had located the breaker box and turned off the power to all the outlets. I was tearing out the wall. When I got to the wiring for the outlets, I asked if he was sure the power was off. He assured me it was. I tentatively tore out the wiring for the first outlet. All good. I began to work more quickly. When I got to the third outlet, I grabbed the wiring and pulled hard enough that my hand slipped to the end where the wires were exposed. I large spark and a shooting pain emanated from the contact point. I’d burned the pinky on my fretting hand pretty badly.

It turned out, the previous tenants had used the third outlet for the copy machine and, instead of using a forty watt breaker they used two twenties. You live. You get burned. You learn. I finished the remodel with a badly burned hand. I didn’t even attend the first service. I never felt any extra motivation or ownership there, either.

Back to the Studio

After: 

The space looks completely different. More vibrant. Larger. I am looking forward to teaching here. I am looking forward to creating new music here. I am interested to find out if the color I chose for the walls really does improve the concentration of my students. That’s what the research I found says the effect is supposed to be.

I am more motivated by the facelift, but I did all the work and made all the decisions. One would expect me to be excited. I am interested to learn whether any of my students become more motivated by the new look of their learning space. 

My Epiphany

Yesterday, I sat down to write today’s article. This is the week I scheduled to lay out President Trump’s plan to punish the poor. There is more than enough material to prove this is the administration’s and Republican congress’s plan. As I sat down to write, I felt an overwhelming urge to walk away. Go work in the garden or play guitar or piano.

That’s when I had my latest epiphany. All this political stuff is important and it’s depressing as hell.

I’ve decided, for my own health and well-being, I need to stick to my own wheelhouse. My purpose in life is two-fold:

        Create as much beauty as I possibly can in this world.

1. Draw the attention of others to all the beauty and bliss I find already existing in this world.

Someone else is going to have to fight these political fights.

I’m out.

Here is the first piece my self-redirectioning has produced:

Safe

I sit peacefully on the front porch

Safe from the early March rain

Gentle and cold

It washes the pine pollen from

                the trees

                the air

Causing it to gather like greenish-yellow dirt

                in the cracks in the sidewalks

                in the gutters along the street sides

The wind picks up

Waving the pine boughs

I imagine they are palms branches

I am Egyptian royalty

Safe and wealthy on my front porch

A solitary dove calls from a neighbor’s tree

As I am about to answer,

                preparing to blow the avian call

                through my hands

Another of its own kind responds

                from the southwest

The wind calms

The thunder fades to the southeast

The rain persists

It sounds like bacon lightly frying

As it collides with the earth

Each miniature impact

Reminds me of my safety

I linger