Rasurgam I shall rise again

Introduction

Dear Linnea,

In that I’m nearly sixty years your senior, there are some pearls I’d like to share with you while they’re fresh in my mind, though you’ll not read and understand what I’m saying for many years to come.

Not long ago I worked on a fishing boat as a deckhand fishing for black cod and halibut on the edge of the Continental Shelf in Alaska. It’s a long story how I ended up going fishing after being a business executive the better part of my life, so I’ll save that for another time. Let me just say that I’d been unemployed for two years before I accepted the invitation to go out on the open water. What I want to impart is some of the things I learned from this experience, in hope that you’ll benefit from my knowledge.

Joining my high school buddy, Aaron, to fish on his boat was done with little forethought and no expectation beyond the desire to reacquaint myself with my friend, and to see the incredible world of Alaska once more. What I actually took away from the experience ended up being so much more. Somehow I feel reclaimed from the Alaskan experience, a passage which took me to a new familiar world. Somehow the energy and fearlessness I found while commercial fishing has given me the will to rise up and take on new challenges, whatever they may be.

It matters for whom, and with whom you work. Working beside Aaron reminded me that I both obtain greater satisfaction, and satisfy those who I work with more, when I work for someone who I feel cares for me, and whom I care for. I resolved to not go back to occupational situations—like a bird to its cage—similar to those of the past decade. Even when you are in an endeavor you enjoy, simply chasing money and material things comes without the more meaningful rewards when the important work relationships are lacking.

Greater self confidence with older age is not necessarily a given. While I’m not fully cognizant of what is at the core of my new-found assurance, I’m grateful for it. It feels good. This is especially true in that I’m aware of the employment environment that I’m going back to, and my new workplace criteria make those circumstances even more daunting, but the confidence and a sense of empowerment are definitely there. I was in a dark place during some of the months before the trip, so it’s ennobling to have risen up out of that hole and to stand erect in the sunshine, without fear of looking back at where I’d been. I hope with all my heart that you’ll never have to endure any of the scary experiences I had before my trip on Aaron’s boat.

There needs to be a balance in life between deliberation and action. Take your time with decisions, and when the moment to act comes, do so with confidence, even though, in the moment that you act, the reality ahead of you will have been altered by your decision. Most choices in life can be refined in the future, even the big ones.

Working for someone else diminishes potential rewards, both monetarily and emotionally. My lifelong perception was that by working for someone else, you diminish risk, so that is the route I took. Looking back, I can tell you that my greater sense of security was not bona fide. A moored boat is in relative safety, but that safety prevents one from enjoying the life-stirring adventure found on open water. I think of all the building that I’ve done for others over the years, and realize I have little to call my own after all that effort. I can only encourage you to stick your head out in life and take some chances, sweetheart. You won’t regret it, as the most successful people seem to be the ones who have tried and failed the most on their way to getting to where they want to go—accepting the failures as expected, until they finally get it right. Persistence, spiced by a little bit of obsession, will eventually get you to where you want to go.

It is important to make a living doing work consistent with who you are. It is a tall order at my stage in the game apparently, though it seems like a small request to me. If I accomplish this, it will round out a life that feels rich in most other respects. Fishing with my friend reminded me that there is nothing as invigorating as real danger, and with this understanding, I’m willing to embrace my current situation rather than cower from it. Who knows, even at this age I might strike out in earnest and build something of my own.

There is nothing more valuable than self respect. Cherish it. Protect it. Let no one, yourself included, and no circumstance diminish it. I want you to know that I feel shame about the times that I capitulated, even around the edges, on my closely held beliefs, especially with the knowledge that nothing meaningful is gained with the concessions. There’s power in speaking publicly about what you privately believe. The past weeks in Alaska I did just that, and no one blinked an eye. Those I truly admire are the ones who are authentic, like my friend Aaron. It’s invigorating when you accept that you are likeable and worthy as you are, rough edges and all. I knew this once, but somehow I got a bit off course as I plowed through life.

The fewer secrets you have, the happier you’ll be. Secrets are burdensome; they do damage mentally and physically, can undermine and hamper you, and embolden others who sense this self-imposed vulnerability. I’m not suggesting that you be untrustworthy with the confidences of others—quite the opposite. I’m saying that you’ll have a healthier and more enjoyable life if you live it out in the open. Dragging around the heavy load of things that you want to keep undiscovered all the time will burden you and unnecessarily slow you down. Keep those secrets to a minimum. You’ll be pleasantly surprised to find what people will willingly accept.

Life is a function of time. I am proud to say that I believe I am the first one to coin that phrase, back when I was a pre-med student taking Calculus. It means that people get good at the things they spend the most time doing, and the more time you spend at something the better you’ll get. I am no competition for my friend in executing the duties on the boat, because that’s what he’s been doing for the past four decades. Use your time wisely and spend it on something worthy, something that will benefit others.

Non illegitimi carborundum. This is another phrase that needs a little explanation, one that meant something to me when I was young, and means even more to me at this point in my life. It is a mock Latin phrase that means, Don’t let the bastards grind you down, and happens to be the slogan for Harvard’s band, the band of your Mom’s alma mater. Life is going to throw a lot at you, both good and not-so-good, and through it all you must be true to yourself. This won’t always be easy with selfish temptations pulling you at certain times, and being brought to your knees by life’s forces at others.

Circumstances prevail, and outcomes have little to do with right and wrong. Working in the elements of a dangerous environment reminded me of this. If I bait a hook poorly and don’t tuck my foul weather gear’s suspender strap in properly, bad things may happen; the causation is as simple as that. More analysis and less surprise are in order. Unemployment is an earthly condemnation, something appreciated by anyone not able to do the job that they want to. It’s natural to feel personally responsible for being without work, invariably believing that one could have done better. The part you play in your disappointments are worthy of examination, but don’t ignore the context of the situation. The outcome might just as easily have come as a result of much larger circumstances taking their inevitable course, or something as small and insignificant at the time as a loose suspender strap.

Many things in life are counterintuitive. When my job ended, I felt that it was the worst thing that ever happened to me. Now I find that I’m grateful for the unemployment, in that it’s given me the Alaskan adventure to find myself, and the chance to renew an important friendship. If I’d gotten stuck in my moment of despair, all this would have been lost. There will be tomorrows with unimagined wonderful surprises.

The most important things in my life are the relationships I have. Try to cultivate life-long friends, as they’ll enrich your life, give it perspective, and make it worth living. I have lost a lot materially these past two years, which was difficult to adjust to initially because of how fortunate my life has been. I haven’t lost my ability to, and enjoyment of interacting with people from all walks of life. I know for a fact that you are a delight to be around. Let others enjoy your company, as I do.

Elation comes from doing your best, no matter what the endeavor. Doing the best you can affords a comforting sense of accomplishment as well. Perfection, something beyond all of our capacities, is not required. Just be mindful that your signature goes on whatever is at hand. Whether you are laying a stone walkway, or preparing a career changing presentation, each should be given the equivalent care.

Accumulating money and material things is not a laudable raison d’être. Unemployment saved my life in some respects, and made it easier to see what is truly mine and what simply comfortable trappings are. For much of my adult life, I wanted more, more, and more. As I look back at this behavior of mine, I’m not proud of it, as there is really no place for over self-indulgence and wastefulness in the world we live in today. In my newly calibrated life, I lean more toward Voltaire’s Candide way of thinking, wanting a small place where we can sit on our own furniture, entertain some family and friends, and yes, maybe even have a little garden to tend— a place Grandma Narcy will be able to take care of and be comfortable in when I’m gone.

A complete life can only be lived compassionately. We are all on this ship of life together, and the world could benefit immensely from more kindness and justice. As you pursue a fulfilling life, take extra care to make sure you understand the circumstances of others, both near and far, and put in your calculations your impact on them. Be generous, sweetheart. If you have fortunes, no matter what the form, and those you encounter have little or nothing, you are on an island that you’ve created. Believe me; you will have much richer experiences off of that island, exploring all the riches life has to offer.

You can’t control life’s turmoil any more than you can calm the seas. You can steer through the chaos, knowing you’ve made decisions you can live with by staying true to your conscience, your common sense and decency. Beware, some family members will scoff at the notion of me talking about decency, but I’m comfortable with the decisions I’ve made in my life.

Hopefully you are still with me, Linnea, as your grandpa muses. I only have a couple more things to say. My friend Aaron has two granddaughters, Josslynn and Zoey. I hope that someday you’ll meet them. I’m sure that some of their granddad will shine through in each of them. Don’t be surprised if one of them is a bit of a prankster.

Growing up wasn’t easy for me. I’m not unusual in this regard. In telling you this, it’s my hope that it will make it easier for you. I put the onus of my woes on my parents growing up. Parents take up such a large part of a child’s world that they get much of the blame from their children for things that happen in the child’s life. You’d have a unique experience if you didn’t have conflicts with your parents, but I know for a fact that they love you. I want you to know that they’re well intended and that they extended loving amounts of tenderness your way at this time in your life.

Be mindful, Big Girl, and just carry what you need.

I wish you everything that is wonderful in life, sweetheart, and hope that you enjoy it to the fullest.

I love you.

Love,

Grandpa Jeff

Chapter 1

Free Falling

The last forty years could have passed by easily, without a significant milestone or reason for pause. Why should any given year, or couple of years, be any more important than the others? Life is an uninterrupted continuum when viewed rationally. Living isn’t quite as tidy, at least in what it has offered up to me.

After my junior year in college, four decades ago, I spent my summer bobbing up and down on a purse seiner as a deckhand in the waters off the southeastern panhandle of Alaska, fishing for salmon. Now, in both wonder and bewilderment, having been a business executive for most of the past three decades, I find myself accepting a job on a commercial longliner, which will fish for black cod and halibut on the edge of the Continental Shelf, directly west of Sitka. I will be the sole deckhand on the vessel, though I’ve rarely been on a boat in the intervening period between the two Alaskan commercial fishing trips. How I found my way back to the ocean as a working deckhand is going to take a little explaining. My story begins with my job loss.

In my position as Vice President and General Manager at ProActive, an event marketing agency in downtown Chicago, things had been unraveling for some time, so my departure was fairly easy to see coming. It’s as if I slowly backed out on a gang plank and finally went over the edge. Squeezed as tight as granite from stress, I plunged toward the black, ice cold ocean’s stone-hard, tensile-strength surface, and was dazed momentarily on impact. I left ProActive’s offices, on a Thursday afternoon in late spring, just over two years ago. The crush of my job loss seemed to set me just slightly off kilter, initially. Viewing myself as a tough, resilient guy, I thought, If the next guy can handle it, I can too, and I walked out ProActive’s door, only saying goodbye to the President and the Director of Human Resources.

Travel arrangements had been made months earlier to fly to Boston the morning after to meet my wife, Narcy, at Logan Airport. I wanted to be present when my daughter, Jennifer, received her Doctor of Science, the Harvard School of Public Health equivalent of a Ph.D., in Epidemiology. I had watched Jennifer with great pride months earlier, as she defended her thesis in an intimate room in the Kresge Building at the Harvard School of Public Health, and consequently I was eager to be part of the celebration of this significant milestone.

When I told the Nogueras—my wife’s parents, whose home I live in during the work week—quickly and without emotion about my job loss, I could see the shock in my father-in-law’s crumpled expression when he heard that I would be returning from Boston only to retrieve my belongings, before going back to Minnesota to live full time. As I went through the boarding process at O’Hare the following day, I exchanged words with people around me out of necessity, but their returning comments weren’t registering. The hatches of my emotionally-protective submarine were starting to slam shut; a level of stupefaction beginning to set in as I protected myself from unwanted sensations. I was in an underwater-like place, where motions were slowed as I went through the rotes of travel. Intellectually, I knew my job loss was going to have major ramifications, but instinct kept the full devastation from sinking in immediately.

Landing in Boston on time, with Narcy scheduled to arrive at Logan about 45 minutes after me, I felt adrift as I sat, silent and motionless on a bench seat, with my bag between my legs at the agreed rendezvous point in the luggage claim area. Her flight from Minneapolis to Boston landed on time, because she walked into the baggage claim area at the appointed hour. The moment my eyes meet hers, I well up with tears. Simultaneously, Cory Booker, Newark’s mayor and President Obama’s friend, comes bounding by, smiling and offering acknowledgement to anyone within twenty feet, myself included.

I glanced at Mayor Booker as he fills the luggage area with a warm, natural smile that I’m sure has served him well. The Mayor completely missed the fact that I’m a man in distress, though you’d think that he was taking me in by the way he looked directly at me and smiled. When Narcy and I met, we gave one another an intense hug and I began to weep, suddenly losing the self control to keep my agony private. The initial numbness having subsided, my situation, fears, both new and old, and their accompanying pain flooded in.

Determined to make the next day only about Jennifer and her magnificent accomplishment, during the time-honored Harvard commencement ceremonies in the tree studded Old Yard, nothing is disclosed about my job loss. I side-step a rat’s freshly squished black, red, and tan remains on the street as we make our way to the crowded forum, while other graduation ceremony attendees do the same, none of them acknowledging the disagreeable sight. That rat might as well have slithered out of my ear, as I sense the rats of doubt gnawing away in the recesses of my mind. Suddenly I deem myself as worthy of the crowd I’m about to join as the flattened rodent on the street. The post-employment depression is already beginning to seep in and, unbeknownst to me, I’d soon find myself submerged in it. Months earlier, when I watched Jennifer defend her thesis, the Harvard setting felt completely natural to me.

Much to my disappointment, J.K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter series, is the featured celebrity at the event, receiving an honorary doctorate. I was never inclined to read her books or see the movie adaptations, though my boy, Ryan, along with his friends, enjoyed reading each book as it was released. I might have focused on the fact that Rowling had been unemployed before the phenomenal success of her series, but that doesn’t occur to me until much later. Everything else about the proceedings is just as I had hoped. There is my radiant Jennifer in her crimson silk, with facings in black velvet, walking down the aisle toward the white columns of Memorial Church and the steps that will elevate her to the point where she’ll receive her diploma. This unfolds amongst a sea of ceremony attendees sitting in white folding chairs and with the cascading granite steps, domineering stone columns and immense brick structure of the Widener Library behind us.

I marvel that the grown woman I see is the same child that an obstetrician had told me, 33 years earlier as I stood alone in a separate waiting room, might be born hydrocephalic with inevitable mental retardation. In the moments before the surgeon went into the delivery room to perform a C-section because our baby is breach, I’m asked the excruciatingly impossible Sophie’s Choice question. Who was I willing to sacrifice if the doctor has to choose between my as yet unborn daughter, and my wife? In anguish I chose the young woman in the distance. I looked through the opened white blinds of that suffocating waiting room, and implored God with everything I had for the safety of both my wife and daughter.

An unknown amount of time later, two nurses came to my secluded room, knocked on the door, and showed me our baby swaddled in a white towel. I watched as they lifted the white cloth off our child’s head, revealing a blood-smudged, vernix-covered oval face with a floppy left ear. The grinning nurses told me I had the cutest little girl. My dazed state debilitated me to the point that I couldn’t make out what to think about the after-image burned in my brain. Did they say my daughter was alright? They wouldn’t have been smiling if she wasn’t, right? No news of my wife was provided by the nurses. Thankfully I was told a half-hour later that my wife was okay, and that I had a healthy baby girl. Disgusting though it may be to many people, I quickly rescinded my bargaining prayer once I found that both mother and daughter were okay. The C-section had been necessary because Jennifer was trying to come into the world rear-end first, my first indication that she is going to be one bright kid. Who could blame her for wanting to approach this world cautiously?

It was hard to believe that the blonde young woman I’m so proud of is the same child who slipped out of her mother’s plastic baby carrying tray at age one, cracking her soft, warm little head from ear-to-ear. Though I was angry at my wife to the point of total distraction and utterly fearful of what I would be told about my baby girl, I concentrated as I listened as emergency room doctors informed us that we need to take Jennifer home immediately and wait to see if there is going to be any permanent brain damage. The doctors wanted us to get Jennifer out of the hospital to avoid her picking up any nosocomial infections. Mental retardation billboards, articles and newscasts seemed to attack me from every direction after that, having been over-looked completely before that episode. Amazing how a single incident can put the world into an entirely different light.

There was no chart to guide her to this moment, and yet here Jennifer is in the Old Yard, listening to the staff hit the ground as the graduation ceremonies are called to order. To think that her inspiration to advance her education was born out of her mom’s and my divorce seems astonishing to me—the counselor that Jennifer and I went to in the early months of my separation being perceived as so valuable to Jennifer that she wanted to emulate her someday. A beautiful, compassionate, accomplished grown woman, her enthusiastic personality makes a future of unlimited possibilities viable. My circumstances, on the other hand, have me lost in a dark space wondering how I’ll get out of this fix.

The remainder of the weekend is a flurry of activities. We go to the smaller departmental commencement ceremonies with the likes of John Updike in attendance, whose aging Harry Angstrom’s ambivalence I understand better than I did decades ago when I read the Rabbit series. Gale Sayers is close enough to exchange greetings with. This is followed by a reception with Public Health department staff, some of which are Nobel Prize judges in the Sciences, and renowned authors. And then another reception with other graduates’ extended families. The day ends with a more intimate gathering of immediate family and close friends of Jennifer and her husband. The entire day my response to the endless, kind-hearted inquiries about how things are going with me is, Great! The truth is that even though I view life as a marathon—exerting the mental gymnastics necessary to force myself to perceive my job loss as just another mile-twenty wall to slog through—this feels different. I’m scared but am afraid to admit it.

Ambivalence, the scourge of the open-minded, is in all likelihood number one on a long list of my personal flaws. I’m often conflicted, okay? My mother used to say to me, You just don’t give a shit do you? though I did care, I just didn’t know what option I cared about most. Even for me, though, the juxtaposition of the events of the last couple of days is almost unfathomable. I’m ecstatic as I watch Jennifer participate in the day’s ceremonies and celebrations, while absolutely desperate about my own situation.

Chapter 2

Out to Sea

After that fateful Thursday, 24 months of joblessness pass by. With no promising job offer on the horizon, feeling relegated to the margins and emotionally beaten up, after a prior decade of plowing ahead in a down-trodden industry trying to find its footing, I’m heading once more unto the breach with Aaron.

Aaron, a skipper and my alter ego in high school, sent me a text message a year earlier about the possibility of going fishing with him while he cruised by the city of Campbell River, on Vancouver Island, upon returning from Alaska. Aaron and I hardly communicate after I receive his message, and the date for our tentative departure is approaching soon. Aaron does not adhere to the 24 hour response rule of my world, which is built on punctuality, and is difficult to get a hold of because of his