"We keep moving forward, opening new doors and doing new things,
because we're curious and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths."
--Walt Disney
Copyright © 2018
by Ralph F. Couey
It's been over a month since I last "penned" some words here. And there have been some changes. Back in April, mainly out of boredom, I returned to the workforce, hiring on at a local Target (or Tahrjey as they say). I actually scouted the store, as I did with about eleven other businesses that were hiring. What I noticed right away was how happy the workforce was. They seemed genuinely glad to be there. Everybody was working hard, not just the going-through-the-motion stuff I was seeing with other companies. When I asked for help, instead of that bit of hesitation that spoke wordlessly "Can't you see I'm busy?" they were eager to help, and seemed genuinely concerned that my Target experience was a good one. The place was clean and well ordered. Now, all of these things spoke volumes to me about a very positive management philosophy that spread good feelings all the way through the workforce. It was, in my view, the best place to work. Now, almost three months later, my experience has confirmed my analysis.
It doesn't pay a whole lot, even though its well above the minimum, but what has been valuable has been the opportunity to interact with people again.
Any writer will tell you that they are very interested in people's stories; what's happening in their lives, how they feel about things, and where they see themselves on the journey of their lives. I didn't realize how much I had missed that. I've had many warm and positive interactions with the customers, or "guests" in Target lingo. And I've heard some amazing stories.
Jenna is 20-something, a bubbly, joyous young lady, but as I spoke to her, she told me that she was a brain cancer survivor. After an auto accident when she was fifteen, she was being treated for a possible concussion. But when the MRI results came through, they sent her and her parents straight to a major hospital, where after a round of tests, they were told that she had a tumor in her brain. Stage IV, they said; a 19% chance of survival. But Jenna is a person of tremendous faith. In the brittle silence after the doctor's dark news, she turned to her parents and said, "Mom, Dad, don't worry. God's got this."
48 hours later, the tumor had shrunk by 75%, and her survival prognosis had soared to 95%. She still had to endure several rounds of chemo and radiation, but the end result is that she is cancer-free, and celebrating the fifth anniversary of that healing.
Church-going people often talk about faith, but Jenna lived her faith. The last thing she said to me? "I never doubted God." Like those in the Bible who had been touched by Jesus, her faith had healed her.
Then there was the day I offered a Target sticker to a 9-year-old boy, who declined and in a haughty voice said, "I'm too mature for stickers." Yep. A 9-year-old actually said "mature." His mother turned and immediately said, "But you're not mature enough to clean your room. Take the sticker."
Lately, I've seen the school-age kids coming through with their moms doing the summer's-almost-over ritual of buying the back to school supplies. It was entertaining to see the tragic hang-dog expressions on their faces, speaking their inner gloom that summer was almost over and they had wasted the whole thing playing video games. In contrast, there are the ones who graduated from high school and are headed off to college, that first big adventure of their lives. They're happy, motivated, and looking forward to the whole adventure. Meanwhile, at their side stands mom, desperately trying not to cry. One mom, whose daughter was chattering away about leaving Colorado and going to Boston College, was struggling with a trembling lower lip. She said, "I'm trying to be an adult about this, but I'm just not succeeding."
That's the cruel paradox of parenting. If you've done your job, and done it well, when your children turn 18, they should be able to stand on their own two feet in the world. They don't need you anymore, at least not in the way in which you've poured your heart and soul into them for the past 18 years. In this context, success doesn't bring celebration, but sadness.
There was the grandmother who was living the dream in a house that was only three doors removed from each of her two children and her grandkids. But that week, she had been told that the daughter was being transferred to Charlotte, and the son to Sacramento. She was distraught. I told her to sell her house and belongings, and then plan to spend six months in Charlotte, and six months in Sacramento. She thought about that, and brightened up. Sometimes you have to bring the mountain to Mohammed.
I could go on, but suffice it to say that each day at work is filled with stories like those, some funny, some sad, some deeply meaningful. It's been fun.
Now the other thing.
Cheryl finally landed her dream contract, a four-year deal in her home town of Honolulu. She is delighted, her mother (the original 91-year-old energizer bunny) is ecstatic. But there have been some logistical mountains to climb. First of all, the 5,000-ish pounds of household goods sitting in the mover's warehouse has been moved back to my daughter's house and put up for sale. There's just no point in hanging on to stuff for another four years that we probably will never need again. And no, we haven't decided where to retire to yet. So, for the last two weeks, we've been going through the stuff already in our daughter's house, and sorting through the mountain of furniture and boxes delivered by the movers. This week, we began the task of selling. So far, it's going better than I thought. A lot of stuff has been sold, and although there's still a ways to go, I can see the top of the mountain appearing in the distance.
This has meant going through the painful task of saying goodbye to a lot of things we thought we couldn't live without. When faced by that emotional hesitation, we just remember that we haven't thought about or missed these things for a year and a half. It's time. Some things we will keep for legal reasons, and others that are just irreplaceable. For example, I uncovered a box of slides given to me by my father before he died. I never took the time to got through them until last night. In that box were photos of me at various stages from a month to 7 years old. The fascinating thing was that as I looked at my infant face, I could see there bits and pieces of every one of my grandchildren. It is, I discovered, the true circle of life, the parts of ourselves that are passed to succeeding generations.
Just before we got the call on Hawai'i, we had committed to watch our grandkids in Maryland while our son and his wife went on an anniversary trip. So, we leave here on August 14th, return on the 28th, and the very next day board our flight to Honolulu. Cheryl starts her job on the 30th, so any delays or cancellations will have dire consequences.
What will follow over the next four years is anybody's guess. The only thing I know...is that I don't know a thing. The future is impossible to predict because the events of daily life impart twists and turns in that path that point to a plethora of different possible outcomes. As our circumstances have changed, so will our challenges. But that's us; we like looking at a horizon, not knowing what lies beyond it. It is stressful, but change is the only real consistency in our lives, and we have come to embrace the insecurity of that kind of existence. We thrive on the unknown, and unknowable. Routine is, after all, boring.
In the past few years, we've been shedding chains; the chains of debt, a house, and now possessions, well most of them, anyway. We feel we are free to chase whatever dream or whim that pops into our minds. It may well be that when mortality catches up to us, we will remembered by the epitaph, "Well, at least they finally settled down."
But until then, there is a life to be lived. Clear the decks! Here we come!
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