Day 3 – On the third day

I just read a journal entry from the day that I first signed up to work with Southwestern, selling books.

Since, at the time, I did not yet know anything about the selling process, it was rather funny to read my thoughts on the recruitment. I wrote things such as “it was just assumed that I wanted to do it”, and stuff like that, before I ever knew what an assumptive close was. It was also interesting to see how well the sales pitch worked, as I wrote about how I liked the things they had to say about experience and building new skills.

It also became apparent why I was such a relatively easy sell: I was comparing it to my only other summer option at that point, which was working on the farm. So, whereas most people would look at a Southwestern summer and see it as an obscene amount of unpleasant work, I was comparing it to the farm and noting that, hey, you actually get Sundays off!

Fun stuff.

I have made it as far as October 2001 in reading my journals now. That would be my senior year in college-—how could that be 5 years ago?—-and is the point at which I first bought a laptop, rather than a desktop. The vast majority of what I have written comes after that point in time, because with a laptop I could write anywhere, at any time, without the tediously slow process of writing things by hand.

Oh, and why did frugal Kevin spend the extra money on a laptop? Because I wanted to write.

So, what have I gotten out of this reading? Some trends have become more and more obvious. Check out this list I made, dated September 17, 2001:

What I would need to change to be happier

1. Figure out what I want to do with my life (and start doing it)
2. Have a meaningful relationship with a member of the opposite sex (or same sex, if I get desperate ;) )
3. Stop sinning
4. Get in better shape (lower importance)

I also noticed that, of those 4 things, I wrote about trying to decide what to do with my life the most. And here I am now, sitting by a lake, trying to figure out what to do with my life.

I know that as a little kid, I wanted to be a farmer. By high school, though, I already was a farmer, and started to look for something different.

Later on, during high school and the first two years of college, my journal entries always mentioned the possibility of becoming a preacher. The funny thing is, I did not want to be a preacher, any more than I wanted to be a farmer. The idea held no appeal for me at all. But, there were some things that happened in high school that I thought might be “signs” that this is what God wanted me to do. Stuff like a visiting missionary singling me out of the church crowd when he was giving a talk about missionary work. I struggled with that for a while, wondering if God would require me to do something I really didn’t want to do. My sophomore year in college, though, I finally met with a pastor to talk about it, and he essentially said that if you can do anything else with your life, do that instead. I thought, well, there are plenty of other things I would rather do, and I really haven’t worried about that since.

There was one thing that was mentioned every single time I wrote about what I should do with my life, and that was writing. I never went too far with it, because it seemed impractical. I did consider journalism in college, but came to the conclusion that, if I wanted to be a writer, studying that in college was not going to help me much. I already knew how to write. I wasn’t therefore going to drop out of school, though, because I liked college and was naturally good at it. Instead, I studied business, since running a business was the thing I was second-most interested in. I figured that way I would have a viable back-up, at least, if writing did not work out.

At some point, though, business quit being my back-up plan. It was the thing I was focusing on, with my time and studies. And, when I finally got a job, I no longer wondered about what I was going to do with my life. I was doing.

But it wasn’t the right thing for me. Not long-term.

One other interesting thing I did in my journal was to write down some of the compliments I received—things people said that had an impact on me. About half of these also had to do with writing. I had my high school English teacher telling me that I “should write a book”; two college friends, Clay and Alexis, telling me that “You’re hilarious! You need to like write a big hilarious novel or something!”; an RA I respected writing me a note to tell me that “You have an amazing grasp of the English language”; and April, a friend and future chief editor of the college newspaper, telling me that “You have an absolutely awesome style of writing and a fantastic work ethic.”

These were all unasked for. I would never say that I am good at writing, but if other people say it, that means something.

That brings me back to something I read last night in Ephesians. Since I am looking for God’s will for my life, I thought Ephesians 2:10 was hugely relevant:

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”

Well, that sort of gets to the point, doesn’t it? God created us to do good works. Not that these works are necessary for salvation-—look at the two verses preceding that one—-but that is what we were made to do.

It is not clear what good works we are supposed to do; I am sure it is different for every person. But they are things that God has prepared us in advance to do. He has given us the skills and experiences necessary, sometimes before we even became believers.

So, what have I been prepared to do?

God gave me natural gifts in some areas, while shorting me on others. For example, I am naturally good at learning things, but naturally bad at sports. I am a naturally good student. I have “an amazing grasp of the English language” that is not of my own doing. When I was in 7th grade, I took the ACT exam as part of a special program for 7th graders. I did merely OK on the math and science portions, but scored a 36 on the English test. A perfect score, which I managed to repeat once or twice when I retook the test as a junior. That stuff just always made sense to me—it wasn’t even hard. I have also been told that I am very analytical, but I can also be creative, perhaps because of practice through things like OM.

That is where experiences also come into play, with the different situations that God has put me in. I grew up on a farm, so I know more about driving tractors and driving cattle than I ever wanted to know. I am comfortable out in nature, as I am here. I became involved in everything at our little school, from 4-H to MYF to FBLA, and so found myself in lots of leadership positions—a trend which continued into college. I was in OM, or Odyssey of the Mind, in junior high, and OM was all about developing creativity. It is also where I first started writing. In FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America) I entered and won a desktop publishing competition, which required me to teach myself about print design. I put that to use when I worked on the yearbook staff for one year. I was in band for 8 years and in vocal 1 year, and am a passable singer. In MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) we started a clown ministry, which surely helped me get over my shyness.

In college, I took the crazy summer job of selling books door-to-door, in different states, for 3 summers. After 10,000 sales calls to people I had never met, I lost any fear of talking to anyone, anywhere. I also became able to find places halfway across the country without any directions (“Go to the main post office in Salem, Missouri.” “OK.”) and learned how to find cheap places to live, and live out of a suitcase for 3 months. This was continued when I took another summer job with John Deere that had me travelling for all but 2 weeks of the summer.

And, with all of these experiences combined, I became very, very good at solving problems, and handling anything that life threw at me.

So, that is how I have been prepared. Somehow God has a plan to use that to do good works.

The problem with the rat race is that even if you win, you’re still a rat. – Lily Tomlin

It’s one thing to decry the rat race. That is the good and honorable work of moralists. It’s quite another thing to quit the rat race. To drop out. To refuse to run any further. That’s the work of the individualist. It is offensive to be around an individualist because it’s impolite. It makes the rebuke personal. The individualist calls not his or her behavior into question, but mine. – Todd, quoting “one guy”

The natives are getting restless.

I went for a walk this afternoon, and on the way back, I looked across the bay and saw one of the old codgers, in his plaid flannel shirt, standing in front of my tent.

Uh-oh.

I had wisely put all of my electronic equipment inside the tent, with the door flap zipped completely shut for protection.

I very seriously doubted that any of these old guys would pose any threat. Still, as I watched him hobble back toward his campsite, there was something odd in the way he would turn back and look at my tent and pickup.

Not long after I got back to my tent and started a fire, another old man (or maybe the same one) came walking my way from the outhouse, carrying a roll of toilet paper in one hand. It was the same guy who had given me a jump start the day before. He asked how I was doing, and we exchanged pleasantries.

“Just wanted to check on you, since we haven’t seen you out all day,” he said. I am assuming that by “out” he meant “out on the water”, since I had been outside my tent most of the day, but my boat had never left the shoreline.

“I caught a gar,” I said jokingly, as I held up the bleached Alligator Gar “skull” that I had found on my walk, “but it was already mostly dead.”

“Oh? What did you catch it with?”

Dang it. “Er, I didn’t, actually. It was already dead.”

He asked if I was doing any fishing. No, I said. I think these guys find it hard to understand how anyone could be here for anything other than fishing.

“We’re just a bunch of old guys, if you want to come over and visit. We’d be happy to have you.”

I told him thanks. Normally, I would not be reluctant to stop by. But the combination of my now 4-day-old beard, my holy clothes, and the fact that I really am not interested in fishing make me less than excited to go over there.

Still, we are talking about retired guys on a fishing trip. It is not like they would be worried too much about their own appearance, either. And it is not like they brought along their uber-hot granddaughters for the trip.

So, I think I will go over later. Might even tell them what I really am doing here, which ought to teach them. When it gets just a little…bit…darker…

I was thinking earlier today, on my walk, that I am always thinking.

I had been listening to my downloaded copies of Todd’s recent series, and it occurred to me that, even on this trip, I was still busy. I was busy thinking, and reading, and writing. And from what I’ve been reading, I realized that I have been almost continuously busy for about the past 10 years.

I was busy in high school, when I was involved in everything and spent every weekend, summer break, and day off working sunup-to-after-sundown on the farm.

I was even busier in college, when I was involved in everything (and being involved in everything took much more time than high school), when I set these unreasonably high standards for myself in class work, and when I took an 80-hour-per-week sales job in the summers because it sounded easier than farm work. It wasn’t.

And I was busy after college, when I took on a notoriously stressful job and decided to become involved in everything at church.

If I truly am still busy now, to the point where strangers come over to my tent and ask if I am all right, then am I really fulfilling what Todd was talking about, with quiet time?

I do know that the only time I am not thinking about something is when I am asleep, or watching video. And I don’t own a TV, and I’m usually behind on sleep.

So, I’m thinking (there I go again) that I’m going to take one day and just kayak, all day long. I will focus on the beauty of nature around me, and see if I can stop my thinking. Just a leisurely trip of 30 miles or so.

I would do it tomorrow, but I was planning on taking a trip to town tomorrow, and I would really like to get a disposable camera before I do that. I have already learned my lesson about taking a digital camera out on a kayak.

I went over and talked to the old codgers for a while. I didn’t do a whole lot of talking, as everyone seemed pretty content to just sit around and relax.

They were not all old codgers. At least one of the guys was young enough to have about a 4-year-old son, who was also there, and a job he had to get back to.

I had forgotten that, outside of Dallas, not everyone always immediately asks what you do for a living. So, it took a little while to get around to the expected question. When someone finally asked, I said that I was in the process of figuring that out.

“Just partying and chasing girls, eh?”

“Something like that.”

At least 3 of the 7 guys were retired or current truck drivers. So, when I told them where I was from, they actually had a general idea of what I was talking about. They were all from the Fort Smith area themselves, which is an area I also know a little bit about. I automatically slipped into my lazy-tongue southern accent. It is not an act or a ploy; I was raised around lifetime farmers who talked like that, such as my Grandpa, as well as people like my Mom who thought such talk made you “sound ignorant”. So, I have a natural southern accent that I can turn on and off, and I usually do so subconsciously depending on the situation.

“Here comes that big orange moon,” observed one of the guys, almost as though he were annoyed by it. I looked across the lake to see what looked like fire behind the distant trees.

“Yeah, it’s been nearly bright enough to read by,” I offered.

“I suppose it will have to come down from being full here in a day or two,” the annoyed guy predicted.

A pause. Then, one of the younger-looking guys ventured: “Doesn’t it have to cycle back down to a crescent, and then go dark? So, it will probably be full, or nearly so, all week long.”

“No, I think it goes from full to dark, and then goes to quarter, half, three-quarters,” said the annoyed man again.

I didn’t say anything to correct him, and neither did anyone else, though I am sure most of these good ol’ boys understood how the moon’s phases worked.

After about an hour, I excused myself to go “tend the fire”, and to enjoy the beauty of this still-full moon.

I am still trying to come to terms with what I have done.

On one hand, it is completely unlike me, and is not something I ever expected myself to do. On the other hand, it does completely fit me, philosophically.

See, I brought along some yearbooks from high school, which had each been signed by schoolmates. In almost every signature—-actually, it may have been every single one—-the person said something about being smart. “Stay smart”, “I wish I were ½ as smart as you”, “Don’t read too many dictionaries”-—OK, OK, I get it. I was a huge nerd. They also often predicted that I would be successful, and I was voted “Most Likely to Succeed” out of my class of 16. A few girls said that I was “sweet”, though I know for a fact none of them ever tasted me.

I also had something similar from college, when I was involved in residence hall government. Someone came up with the idea of having a paper bag for each person, jokingly referred to as “happy bags”, in which other people could drop (often anonymous) notes or compliments for that person. As I looked through my two “happy bags”, I found a strikingly different set of comments. Not a single person said that I was “smart”, whereas a lot of them said that I was funny (a “unique sense of humor” is how one person described me, and I think it was meant as a compliment). There are a couple of reasons for this change. One is that I truly had changed. I did not change drastically over that one summer between high school and college, but I had slowly become more outgoing over the course of my high school years. My high school friends had known me for years, and still thought of me somewhat as the shy nerdy kid, but in college I was able to make a new set of first impressions. The other reason for the change, though, is that in my small high school, I was the one and only “smart” guy. In college, I lived in an honors residence hall. I guess that, by definition, I was surrounded by nerds. In comparison, I was almost the cool guy.

Besides the college comments about being funny or a good writer, the most common thing I found in the goody bags was the word “dependable”. “The man you can count on”, one person wrote. I was the determined, disciplined, dependable guy who would always do the work that was needed to be done.

So, I’ve always been thought of as the smart, successful, dependable, disciplined guy. If I had gone back to my high school or college friends a few weeks ago, they would have thought that their predictions were correct. I had lived up to those expectations. If I went back to them today, though, I would be the unemployed crazy irresponsible guy.

So, what I am doing is really not like me.

But then again, it is.

At some point in college, I came up with the mantra that “the rules do not apply to me”. Now, it is not like I was a big rebel, or was purposefully breaking any laws. But I was a big fan of challenging the status quo. If we were doing something, why were we doing it? Because that’s what we’ve always done? Not good enough for me.

And, I developed an aversion to “stupid rules”, as I might call them: any regulation that I did not see the point of; or, worse, something that I did know the reasoning behind but thought it was bad reasoning (see fashion trends or consumer credit scoring for examples). I was (and am) sort of a libertarian.

But, the biggest reason I thought that the rules did not apply to me is because the “rules” of life, or conventional wisdom, really did seem to not apply to me. The “rules” stated that you don’t go to school for fun, that you pay out the wazoo for college, and either go into debt or mooch off your parents. The “rules” stated that kids would either goof off or work at hourly jobs during the summers, and drink and do all sorts of stuff on the weekends to be popular. If you waited until the last minute to study or stayed up all night writing a term paper, your grades would suffer. There were also official, written-down rules, and if you broke them, there would be punishment.

None of these rules applied to me. I hope that doesn’t sound like bragging; I realize that I have been blessed in some ways, and am thankful for it. But I am not at all normal, and I think that is the point I am trying to get at.

I have worked continuously since I was about 12, including most weekends, but have never had an hourly job and didn’t even really have an employer until I was 22. I ended 6 years of college with more money than I started with, and my parents never paid a single cent. Since I had the reputation of being a “good kid”, I really got away with a lot of things in school that the troublemakers never even tried. I was the only senior in my high school class to go on Senior Skip Day, for instance, and I was able to get it approved by the principal.

I don’t own a TV. I do own a house. But, I don’t have a bedroom. I took Biology II in high school, but never Biology I. As a child, I never took a nap. An Australian once asked me if I was the Devil. Et cetera, etc. You get the point. I’m weird, and the standard rules do not apply to me.

Oh, and then there is the big one: after college, you get a job somewhere and work to earn retirement at 65. That is the conventional wisdom rule.

© 2006 by Kevin McConaghy. All rights reserved.