Re-Igniting My Passions

I have to admit, I thought 2020 was a challenging year, but 2021 has pushed the limits of our collective sanity. I changed jobs and moved to a new city, far away from my home town. I worried enough for a lifetime in one year, and doubted myself and my abilities as a teacher, researcher, and scholar. Through it all, my wife has stood by me as always, and the move has been a refreshing change for both of us. My life is good, even though 2021 has made me re-evaluate what is important to me and what brings me joy.

I refuse to make resolutions, but I will select a theme for 2022 that will push me in new and powerful directions. My theme for 2022 is “Re-Igniting My Passions.” These include (1) weightlifting and fitness, (2) mental and spiritual well-being, (3) reading for both business and pleasure, (4) committing myself to better learn qualitative methods to strengthen my research, and (5) develop new skills related to music (specifically how to play my new mandolin that is collecting dust). I have many other sub-goals and priorities for my work and professorship, but these will do for now. What passions will you re-ignite in 2022? Blessings.

We Are All Prisoners

Trapped in our thoughts that gnaw away at time; bound to a clock that never ceases to spin.

The sentences are all different, as well as the crimes. The cells are of our own design. Some are bleak and shady and some are brushed with an eternal sunshine that never fades.

Yet we are all serving a sentence of death; it is the fate of all human flesh. We cannot stop it even if we wanted to. We can travel, entertain, and spend frivolously on our many pursuits, but in the end the cell awaits and calls to us.

Are we guilty for these crimes? For the crime of choosing to live? For the crime of choosing to be wrapped in flesh, led through the maze of childhood, and given a menu of life choices? It is both our punishment and our reward. We deserve much worse, yet we also deserve much more.

Whether the cell is desolate or decorative, it always ends up to be a place within our minds. Should we choose to live out this sentence, we must confront the choices we have made, put aside the regrets, and come to peace with how we have curated each step.

I think often of those with a death sentence, earned or not, as they contemplate the rope around their neck or their arm strapped to the chair. All they have are their thoughts, and though they may be free of their prison soon, regret will always be their fleeting thought as they fade into black.

How will you serve your time? How will you spend those days as you wander toward the inevitable? The mind is the last refuge of solitude, for it speaks to us in our time of need. Call on the gods and saints if you will, and maybe they will hear you in your time of trouble. But most of all make peace with your thoughts, for that is the only way to release the chains of bondage and set your spirit free of the prison walls.

The Railroad Man

Thirst overwhelms me as I watch the blur from the heat swirl and bend the steel before my eyes. Distant tracks waver and dance, distracting me from the task at hand. I have abandoned the thought of cooling off, and my only desire is to feel the slow burn of iced water in my throat; how great it would be to take it in right now.

A steam engine rolls to my right, wrenching and filling the air with its soot. Like a ghastly beast it carries its quarry to distant destinations and belches out steam as it passes by. Not only do I see it, but I feel its vibrations; like small earthquakes but all resonating from these coal-filled cantankerous behemoths as they stomp their way through the mine fields of metal.

This is my lot, to tend the railyards and track the laborious cargo to points unknown. Among the supplies and rations are soldiers from a distant land, frightened and in shackles; much like us but their blonde hair and blue eyes give them away.

A twinge of guilt fills the pit of my stomach, but this is my destiny. While soldiers storm the hills in treacherous battle and risk their lives, I tend the tortuous fields of gravel and heat to do my small part. They say my job is essential, that future success in this war relies on my grit, sweat, and faithfulness to my job. But still I wonder.

Off into the distance the steam train winds and sways and moves onward to the next mass of essential workers. My day is nearly done. But the morning will bring a new set of rattling cars, the reality of a distance war, and the bittersweet sensation of a job well done.

Grace in the form of a beautiful figure greets my greasy visage at the door with a glass of cold, clear water. A warm meal simmers on the stove. Sleep comes quickly; the long day of toil drifts away like clouds of steam.

Golden Years?

Most days are the same. The morning dreams come in rapid succession and often, but the waking result is the same…sore back, cracking bones, and slow movements through the haze. Coffee is the first refuge of daylight.

Looking back through the past is a journey of pain, triumph, and joy. But in these later years the losses cast a shadow that make the joys of forgotten days seem like miniscule victories; like a bitter pill that must be taken every morning with a little milk.

The decision to wake up each day and still feel that the world will change because of your contributions is the smoke and mirrors that keep us moving forward. The ability to put on a tie, produce a clean-shaven face, and tackle a world dominated by youth is an act of shear bravery.

As I watch the young, I view them with pity sometimes. Many of their hardships and sorrows are ahead of them…saying goodbye to loved ones, a failure at work, financial hardships that take a piece of joy out of their future hopes and dreams. Many have never faced hardship, but it is coming for them all.

Old men sit on porches and pontificate because they've earned the right to do so. Yet, I do not envy them. All they can talk about is what came before them and how things have changed…mostly for the worst. They are watchers of the world; their days of being movers and shakers have come and gone.

Then I see those that wake up with the same creaky bones. Who continue to serve each day in their 70s, 80s, and even longer. Those unique souls should not be the exception but the rule. I want to be like them, at least in spirit. As the years approach, I do not want to see it as the beginning of the end, but a continuing chapter of difference-making.

Yet, these achievements may look quite different in the glimmering and fading twilight. They might include sharing the stories of overcoming great disappointment and sorrow, leading the way for the next generation by handing off the experiences that were both a blessing and a curse to our humanity.

There is much work left to do. I will not board the ship that sails blindly into the sunset. Not yet.

The best may still be yet to come.  

The Tearing Away

When a place has been your home for so long, it does its best to stick close to you. It becomes part of the air you breathe, intertwined with your movement, motion, and daily routines.

When the time comes to journey onward it is easy to linger, to gaze at the familiar, even as the pain of loss grabs hold of you and seeks to keep you in perpetual limbo.

When the day approaches, it is best to rip the band-aid off and experience the pain all at once, for it will continue to eat at you and raise feelings of regret to the surface if you mull over what could have been.

When the move is underway, and the wind is at your back, do not look in the rear-view mirror, but keep your gaze on the open road, for that is where the possibilities are crystal clear.

When the newness shows its face, and confusion tries to grab hold of you and paralyze your every step, take a deep breath and know that a promising path is under your feet.

When the confusion subsides and the new world comes into view, do not long for the days of old, for they are no more. Close your eyes and feel the sun shine on the promises that have opened up to you, and know that a brighter future is one that you create piece by peace.