Square One
Sep 26, 2009 faith
I get started with lots of projects, songs, etc., finishing, and finishing well, is the hard part. The reward for finishing well is that wonderful sense of accomplishment that pumps “mojo” into the creativity engine so I can press on. Lately I’m finding that finishing can require stepping back, even as far back as square one, which I generally have a hard time doing.
Going back to square one generally implies starting over with a clean slate. Of course not necessarily throwing away good work when it’s just a matter of missing pieces or the content I already have merely needs to be sequenced differently. Might be simple as a different font in a layout, flipping a lyric from first to third person, removing a bridge that didn’t need to be there in the first place. It all starts with stepping back and looking at the overall flow of the context of the work and my goals for the effort.
So, blah — blah, we all rewrite, redesign and reinvent… but I’m at the point now where I have bigger questions and realize I may need to go back to square one in major areas of life. My wife and I are about to celebrate our 25th anniversary. Our oldest boys are readying for major changes in their lives, which will most certainly impact our home life. We’ve lived in Charlotte for over 13+ years and can’t honestly say it’s ever really felt like home. After working at the same place at the same type of job for over 11 years now, I feel I’ve reached the point of asking what I need to do next. Though not necessarily outside the field of technology, though certainly outside the confines and politics of a huge corporation, to perhaps a situation enabling me to blend my technology experience with some semblance of meaningful endeavor(s), hopefully in a highly creative environment — not asking for much, huh?
Thinking back 10 years, I was playing music primarily at church, and perhaps enjoying it more than I had in a long while, there was purpose again. Then a shift some 2-3 years ago when I began pulling away from that environment when it became more like a job than ministry. Now, I’m writing and performing my own songs, albeit not nearly as frequently as I ought, and I’ve re-tooled and honed my musicianship. I feel ready… OK, but ready for what?
Whatever it is, I’m thinking it’s going to take more time for deliberate, honest soul searching and self-assessment, as well as reaching out to mentors and those I trust and respect for input and wisdom. Seems I’ve spent so much time and energy to get to this point in my life, whatever point it might be, that going back to square one isn’t a logical option.
Leaving NY for FL in a car that shouldn’t make it 100 miles wasn’t perceived as sound logic by my family and friends. The car died the day after I got to Ft. Myers, my life, however, was almost instantly rejuvenated. Joining the Navy as a musician at the age of 30 might seem even crazier. And though I couldn’t wait to get out after my first tour, which included turning down a bass instructor’s gig at the Armed Forces School of Music just before getting out, two years later to the date I re-enlisted. This time with a whole new outlook and set of goals. During my second mini-tour of just over two years I got to go to Russia, the Azores and take my musicianship to new heights. I also went back to school to learn technology, which ultimately led us to Charlotte, a place we had no idea even existed, to work for a software development company that was just revving up. At face value, this move didn’t make much sense, either.
In my mind, these are all square one moves, moves that had huge positive impacts on my life. Some of the fruit of these moves wasn’t there for picking early on, and each required significant growing pains, not to mention some very painful mistakes I made along the way. Maybe that’s the part that gives me greatest pause. What do I have to let go of, what struggles will come, how much faith will I need? There’s a quiet excitement surging through me, prompting me to watch and listen closely to life, to not ignore any stirring of my heart. Not sure what square one might even look like these days, good news is I don’t necessarily need to know it when I see it.
Manna
Sep 19, 2009 sojourn
The last 3-4 weeks are a blur. Lots of good things happening, but all in all there’s just too much going on. Seems I need a data base of late just to manage the to do lists.
This morning before heading out the ball fields to watch my daughter’s soccer game, I got caught up in a thought that has been gnawing at me for some time, literally years. What ever became of the compassionate man who nurtured me through one of the most turbulent seasons of my life through my senior year and just after graduating high school back in 19…
He had a farm in the middle of the little town of Circleville, NY that served as his haven from the city on weekends. I can still smell the fresh wheat grains baking into loaves as a group of us would knock on the screen door and yell for Don. He’d promptly greet us with “Come in, hope you’re hungry, there’s lots of work to be done.” From cutting vegetables for the turkey soup, chopping wood, raking leaves or cleaning out the several fireplaces in preparation for the evening supper, then a time of stories and fellowship.
The old farm house, affectionately named “Manna” had been restored, but still had all the rough qualities of life in the late 1800’s. Though there was electricity in the house, it was used sparingly for cooking and utilities. A fireplace in every room, creaky oak stairways and 10×10“ beams on display that provided structural integrity for the house as well as serving as a means of hanging herbs, pots and pans, etc. The owner, an artist among many other things, had painted the four seasons on each of the living room walls, meticulous scenes of colonial life laced with his own expressions of love for the environment… mind you, this was LONG before GREEN was on everyone’s mind.
I recall the year he decided to build a chapel in the barn so we could hold Christmas Eve service by candlelight. We worked hard cutting and hauling huge timber beams, and gutting the old structure. The vision complete, we celebrated and sang Christmas songs and ate and drank. There was joy and there were tears.
There were times when I’d go there alone, knowing it was too early for him to be there on a Friday afternoon, and just sit outside and wait or walk down to the barn or through the fields and feel free of the world. During a particularly tough season not long before I left NY for FL in 19…, I spent quite few late November days venting my heart break and emotions among the birds and deer, realizing I needed drastic change in my life. I wandered away from the house out toward the gravel access road leading back to civilization and came across a very large oblong plastic container. It had writing on it, and while I can’t recall the exact words, it was my friend’s version of a time capsule. I didn’t dare turn it over to see what was inside, some things are deeply personal and sacred, even back then I knew that. But it read something like, “…how we care for the earth and its inhabitants is how we care for our own being.”
I sat down and began to pray, not necessarily in a religious manner, but as a means of communion with the moment, the earth and God. It was like all the time in the past few years at Manna was in preparation for this moment. The kindness and compassion our friend showed myself and the buddies I’d go there with was also was intuitively blended with the challenge of living with integrity, of knowing the importance of thinking through decisions — of fairness and justice.
To this day, I have no idea how we found Manna or its owner, Donald Bailey Tirrell. The house was well of the beaten path, yet smack dab in the middle of all the back roads we’d partied on during those high school summers in the foothills of the NY Catskills. Though I’d searched previously for Don and Manna, today I found the news I’d hoped I wouldn’t. Don passed away November 1, 2008, less than a year ago, on All Saints Day. I wouldn’t go as far as to say that Don and Manna saved my life. But because I’d stubbornly disavowed myself from my family, Don played a big part in helping me cross the raging river to manhood.
Could be what got me thinking about Don, Manna and Circleville this morning is that fall is almost upon us. And how much I loved autumn in NY, the crisp transition from summer always gave me a sense that I could start over, no matter what the circumstances. I’m totally heartbroken that I didn’t press the issue. That I didn’t listen to the gnawing gut feeling to keep digging until I found Don Tirrell. To at least send a card, or maybe call to let him know how loved he was by the troupe of misfits he welcomed into his home and his life. Now I can only hope and pray that he knew of the deep impact on my life and the vivid memories he so blessed me with.
Tags: Don Tirrell, Manna