Not Good Enough

I have never been good enough. It's not a hard concept to understand, but it is a difficult reality to accept.

In my younger years, I devoted a great deal of my time and effort into my career. With a Bachelor's Degree in Sports Administration, I set out on my course for a career. I eventually landed with an entry level position with a minor league hockey team in a newly formed league. My "title" was Director of Operations. That meant, since I wasn't coaching, sharpening skates, or filling water bottles, I was in charge of it. Paying bills, team payroll, player housing, team transportation, team doctors and medical, merchandise ordering and sales, media relations, ticketing and invoicing, etc. Way before personal cellphone technology was developed, that also put me in me charge of redirecting calls from my bosses "sister" to him (wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more). I was young, looking to prove my skills, and working towards advancing my career. I was taught in college... get your foot in the door, work hard, learn as much as you can in all facets of the business, and you'll succeed.

How did that all work out you may ask. My in game public address announcer, who was a local radio news anchor, got hired to be the PA announcer for the local NHL franchise. The radio voice of the team got hired by the same NHL franchise and eventually became a Vice President in Major League Baseball. The beat writer from the local newspaper that followed our team was assigned to the local NHL team and eventually moved along to greater things. A sports reporter for the local CBS affiliate covered the team on selected weekends until elevating themselves to ESPN and worldwide recognition. In short, everyone not directly associated with me that I helped do there jobs got recognized and rewarded. I got no recognition. No accolades. Not even a simple thank you. I wasn't good enough.

My fate was sending out hundreds of resumes and hundreds of cover letters with no positive results. I kept a fledgling hockey team in a fledgling minor hockey league alive for three years. Back in the 1990's I worked for $1,000 a month with no benefits. I lived at home on the couch (thanks Momness). I was asked a few times if I could "wait on my check until next week" to make sure the players got paid and didn't strike. I chased the illusion, taught to me in life and reinforced in college, that if I worked hard enough I would eventually be recognized and rewarded. But I wasn't good enough.

I now realize that I had reached my peak in life in May 1989. I graduated from college with my future and the whole world ahead of me. I was in the best physical shape I had ever been. Then the whole world looked and said you're not good enough. I've been told this in some way, shape, or form the next 36 years including today. I truly am worthless.

Transfer

Why am I still here? I saw a video the other day with a key message; and it struck home like a bolt of lightning. This one sentence... "Suicide doesn’t end the pain, it only transfers it onto others" opened up a new perspective to end of life decisions.

To stay true to myself, I need to stay true to my being. I would never do anything to intentionally hurt to my family or perceived friends. My nature would never allow me to transfer my desperation and grief onto others and cause them suffering. I won't saddle them with that sorrow and burden. They deserve to live the best lives they can achieve. They deserve to flourish without the underlying question of "what could I have done?" 

I've spent my life in service of others. Professionally, I brought countless people joy and entertainment. I feel like I did something to enrich their lives... if only for a few hours. Personally, I have always strived to leave others in a better place. In most instances, I think I've chosen the right path to follow. A well intentioned "thanks, I appreciate you," a thoughtful "gee, I like your hair," or a well placed smile for a cashier I could tell was having a bad day were small gestures I hoped would make a big impact. 

Robin Williams was one of the kindest, funniest people of my generation. I think I've taken this quote to heart and try to live it. He gave his heart and soul to keep anyone from feeling the way he did. Ultimately he had nothing left to give and his strength was gone. My suffering is mine and I own it. Like Robin, I give all I can to keep anyone from feeling the way I do. I hope I don't choose to transfer that onto others, but sometimes you have nothing left to give.

Thankstaking

Here in the good old USA, Thursday is an annual celebration of "Thanksgiving Day." We're supposed to take a moment to sit back, reflect on what we have, and settle down with our family in a meal to celebrate the bountiful grace of our god and our freedom.

Today, I (and many others) neither have a bountiful grace or freedom. Nameless, faceless, and seemingly lawless gestapo roam the streets of the country. They round up non-white people and make them "disappear." The government, designed nearly 250 years ago, was intended to afford "We the people" the equal chance at "life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness" for all. This country and its current leadership actively works against those founding morals. I'm a white male. I'm relatively safe. The fact that anyone not like me is under attack is disgusting. Take away health care from the most vulnerable. Take away food benefits from children, veterans and most needy. Take away the right to love who you want. Take away the right to live the way you identify. Imprison those protecting the rights written 250 years ago.

Personally, I see my future destroyed in front of me. My mother's life care is bankrupting me. I'll end up living in my car under a bridge in a few years. Social Security and Medicare will either be gone or outsourced to private companies more focused on profits than people. There really is no hope for me to live dignified final years. Getting a start on the inevitable isn't out of the question. If it's going to be torture, might as well make it short instead of prolonged.

So Happy Thankstaking! Take my freedom. Take my dignity. Take my stability. Take my "pursuit of happiness." Take my limited future. And when you're done bending me over the dining room table without lube, leave the door unlocked so those desperate to survive and with a reason to live can take what is left.

JB and the Brain, Act III

Just Bob (JB): Hey brain you still here?

Brain: I've been here (kinda) the past 10 years waiting for you.

JB: I guessed that. I've been gone too long.

Brain: I know that... Minnesota, North Dakota, Connecticut, Iowa and now Minnesota again. What TF were you thinking?

JB: I've been chasing some peace and a purpose in life.

Brain: And you still haven't found it right?

JB: Nope, I haven't. It's a long story.

Brain: We'll get into a lot of that later. But what is top of your mind now?

JB: Thanksgiving on Thursday, It was always our family holiday

Brain: And this holiday?

JB: Mom is in memory care and kinda remembers me sometimes. My brother, only 60 minutes away, doesn't take the time to see her. Heck, he doesn't take the time to reach out to me.

Brain: That's rough. She's always going to be both your mothers.

JB: And that's why this week is always going to hurt the most. Thanksgiving was OUR holiday.

Brain: go on...

JB: As we grew older, Mom started working most of the holidays. With her seniority, she would always request those days off. Then she would trade them and work for someone who had little children. Christmas and Easter mostly. The double time and a half sure helped out the paycheck too.

Brain: But not Thanksgiving.

JB: Never Thanksgiving. We were always together. Mom setting her alarm to get up and get the turkey in the oven. Some years were leaner than others, but there was always turkey, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, some vegetable, and a pie or two. The good dishes, tablecloth, the whole package.

Brain: Sounds wonderful.

JB: It was. When I eventually moved away, I'd always come back for Thanksgiving. As the years passed by, I would be the one in the kitchen preparing the meal for Mom to rest. It was my way of giving thanks for her.

Brain: And now?

JB: I know it's not her fault, but I struggle a lot not having her "present." The spirit of her is still here, wrapped up in a 90+ year old who doesn't have much memory of anything after she got married and moved away from home.

Brain: And you feel all mixed up...

JB: Yes I do. She's my Mom, but she doesn't remember me. She dedicated her life to raising and caring for me... and now she sometimes feels like a burden to me. The financial hardship, the paperwork and insurance, her deteriorating health, etc. She was always the one I'd turn to looking for advice on managing troubled times. And now she's the center of those times.

Brain: That's a lot to handle on your own. Anything I can help with?

JB: Just get me through this week. Deal with the everyday stuff of life while I try to navigate the shitstorm of emotions.

Brain: Deal buddy. I got you. And don't be so hard on yourself. Okay?

JB: I'll try...

Brain: Remember, there are still things for which to be thankful. You may not see them because of the storm, but they are out there. Once the storm passes, we'll look for them together.

Bah Humbug

Even the bellringers are out of work this holiday.