Growing Up

As my foot left the solid security of one rock, it set foot on another. The other foot followed, landing me squarely on top of a large rectangular boulder. Then the rock moved.

The rock always moves. It seems as though every time I walk around the point in my cove in Owls Head, when I come upon this series of rocks strewn about the beach, I always seem to find this particular rock. I step on it. It moves. I suddenly remember that it moves. Then I forget, at least until next time.

As I continued my walk around the point, I noticed similar occurrences. This rock and that rock were familiar. It didn’t take me long to realize that many of these granite rocks large and small are the same ones I step upon whenever I take this walk around the point.

Sometimes, it is the easiest way to navigate my way around the rock bound shoreline. But sometimes I wander  aimlessly, with another blog, a chapter of my book or solving life’s challenges stirring in my mind, yet I always seem to go the same way and step upon many of the same rocks, most of which don’t move.

This made me think about what a creature of habit I truly am. I certainly could have admitted to that before my recent jaunt along the Maine coast. I’m very much a creature of habit. I do things the same way all the time, either because they’re the right way  (at least in my mind) or it is the way I’m comfortable. The former is certainly acceptable but the latter is not. I want to do things the right way but I don’t want to do things just because I’m comfortable. People can do the same thing over and over again for years and never really gain anything.

That’s not how I want to be. Of course, that’s exactly what I have been at times in my life. It reminds me of a sports psychology class I sat in once. The prof used a clock to demonstrate how one either progresses or sticks themselves in a rut.

You set your goal (whatever that thing is that makes you happy) for straight up 12. Then the clock ticks. You hit an obstacle at 3. Maybe you’re stuck there because you can’t get past that hurdle. The clock reverts back and you begin again but never get past that stumbling block at 3.  I know many people like that. They’ve faced that challenge and never overcome it. They’ve been stuck at 3 ever since. Some get past that hurdle but hit another barrier at 6. Then maybe they get snagged at 9. I’d say I might be somewhere between 6 and 9 right now. Hopefully, if I get over the next hurdle, I’m home free.

Life is a constant progression, a moving forward. But it is often too easy to get stuck in one place. We get accustomed to doing the same thing and never learning, never growing and never making progress. Some of my greatest moments in life have come after the hardest of times. I wouldn’t want to live those moments over again, but I’m better for that challenge and learning from them.

My knee injury gave me a determination and  mission that made me stronger as well as healthier. My father’s death and speaking at his memorial service gave me confidence and a fearlessness about  myself.

But I don’t want life’s hardships to make me better. A doctor’s bill and physical therapy shouldn’t be what moves me out of my rut. As I was told recently, pain shouldn’t be the pathway to my heart – but it often is. I want to learn and grow no matter what. It is what I think we all should aspire toward.

My father was like that. It was my brother’s own speech at his service that helped me see that. My father always strove to learn more and educate himself and build his knowledge, whether it was through reading or studying or watching the history channel. He never stopped feeding his mind and subsequently fueling his heart and soul.

My grandfather was somewhat similar. I realized recently that I’m about the same age now as he was when his second wife (my grandmother) died from tuberculosis. My Dad was just 10 at the time. My grandfather dealt with that loss and was always an example of devotion to his boys and a faithful servant to his God, despite the losses of his life.

Another person I admire and have learned from is George Harrison. He’s my favorite Beatle, because he’s the soul of that band. He was a balance of Paul’s sappy love songs and John’s edgy rebellion. The person it seemed that both Paul and John stroved to be was somebody like George. And it didn’t take him long to realize that life was far more than just the fame, success and money that came with being a Beatle. George devoted  his life to seek a higher calling and live a deeper meaning.

That’s what I want in my life. I want to keep that search going and continue learning and growing into the person I am meant to be.

I met a man who was a professor of the Gaelic language last fall. When I introduced myself, he raved about my name and how Kevin in Gaelic means something blessed and special. I can’t remember his exact words but the name itself spoke to a higher calling. When he left, the last thing he said to me was to "live up" to my name. Those words have stuck with me ever since.

My goals in life haven’t changed much. I want a job that makes me happy and makes a difference. I want to find a love of my life to share everything with, unconditional and devoted. I want to make a difference. I want to be happy.  I want to live righteously with honesty and integrity. I want to think deeper and love stronger and live larger.

I know how hard all that can be. I’ve failed at it at times in my life. I’ve given up on some of it at times in my life. But I’ve kept striving and kept learning and kept trying to understand what it takes to get where I want to go. Sometimes I’ve needed a push.

I recently read a sermon by Harvard’s Peter Gomes. He talked about farmers preparing for the unknown and living their faith. They work diligently on the things that they need to do around their farm, doing so amidst the faith and trust that their due diligence will be rewarded in their harvest.

It’s kind of like basketball games being won in practice beforehand. It is the hard work and lessons learned in those moments of preparation that bring out the best in the results.

Now I don’t know exactly what life has in store for me. Frankly, that drives me crazy. I’m a bit of a plotter and planner. I hate not knowing.  It feeds my fear and tries my patience. But I also know that God isn’t done with me yet.  If I do the work, God has a plan and a reward for me. That’s the agreement we have. I’m just trying to live up to my end.

So I move forward. I cultivate like the farmer. I try to seek new paths. I hope to learn new lessons. I hope to grow and find the purpose fitting of my name. And someday, I just might land on a rock that doesn’t move.

A Cottage With Heart

It wasn't the changes that got most of my attention, it was what had stayed the same.
There was a new shower installed, a new window and a brand new floor. Our new cottage bathroom was making great progress in the renovations. But I was intrigued not by what had just been installed but what has been there for 40 or 50 years.
In the walls was electrical wire with duct tape wrapped around it - a sure sign that my Dad had been there. There was his signature. In the ceiling was old scrap pieces of wood that were red. My brother and I concluded that these were original boards on the outside of the cottage when it was first built and painted red. This was back in the 1950's. Our assumption was that when he turned what was once my bedroom into what is now the bathroom, he used those boards in the ceiling.
There was his handwriting scribbled on beams and junction boxes, so he'd recall which wire went to what.
Upon further review, we realized that the bathroom door was crooked. We examined it and couldn't quite figure out why it was crooked but enjoyed the quirkiness of the realization nonetheless. We also enjoyed the fact that we'd never noticed it before.
My Dad built our  Owls Head cottage in the 1950's. He borrowed $1,000 dollars and used $500 to buy the land and the other $500 to build the place - with a little help from his brothers and contributions from various lawn sales and scrap heaps.
Over the years the cottage has had a few makeovers. An upstairs was built 10 years ago or so. Last year new awesome bay windows were installed as well as a new sliding door. A new well has been put in. Further changes are in the planning stages - meaning we're planning on finding money somehow to pay for them.
With each upgrade, a little bit of the cottage that my Dad built disappears. It isn't the original. It is becoming the replica. On the wall in the kitchen hangs a saw that he used to build the place with. I love the changes and improvement but hate the thought of my Dad's cottage slowly being replaced. I just realized what a nightmare it will be for me to replace his/my chair someday.
Now there are still plenty of things around the cottage that are part of his original design and handiwork. It was a place he loved. The work he did around the cottage wasn't just because they needed doing. They were acts of love. He enjoyed doing them and did them with a passion for a place that meant so much.
I remember talking to him about this very subject a few weeks before he died. My brother and I would plan to watch the New England Patriots games with him on Sunday afternoons that fall, knowing he didn't have many Sunday's left. I arrived early one Sunday morning and we had a nice chat. I discussed projects I had planned for the cottage, a new walkway that would lead to the shed,  and he talked about the labor of love the place was for him.
So when I looked around the torn open walls of a bathroom in transition, there was his stamp everywhere. I couldn't help but laugh, smile and enjoy every little piece of him that he had left in those walls and ceilings.
All that evidence is now covered over by sheet rock or ceiling tiles. Those walls are being painted. And a new bathroom will be born. It will look great and I'll be thrilled with it.
But I'll also know that my Dad is still there. The heart of the cottage still bears his work. He's in the walls. He's in the ceiling. He's in that crooked door. I feel the hard work he devoted to the place. I feel the love he had for it. I feel the love for the cottage in my heart, just like he did.
In life we all have an opportunity to leave a little bit of ourselves behind. My Dad did that in ways I see and feel every day. I can even find him in simple pieces of duct tape and a crooked door.