Sticking to it

I often wonder why people choose what they choose for making money. I hope they chose it because they love it, like I did with teaching. My just is a great part of my day, because I love what I do. I love giving kids the knowledge and love they need to thrive. On the other hand, some poor people do not seem to like their jobs, even I do not like their jods.

I do not like the desperation I feel from salespeople when I walk into stores, but I understand it. I could not do well as a salesperson. I am not sure that I could be convincing. I think my stomach would be tied up in knots, trying to convince people to make a purchase so that I can buy shelter and food. That is a lot of stress. However, I am trying to publish and sell books, and CD's.

I feel a lot of pressure doing this, selling my creativity, even though I have a career in teaching. Even though I will not fall completely apart if I never get published, or sell a CD. My ego is wrapped up in these pursuits, and I definitely fantasize about getting a windfall from my works. I feel that in some ways, it is easier for me to stick to it, because it does not have to happen in order for my basic needs to be met.

I noticed that an older fellow had opened up a barbecue stand down the street. How did he get the nerve to give that a try? Was that his passion? I patronized his business once, and did not like the food. I did not go back. It looks like he is back out of business after about a month. Would his business have grown to thrive if he had stuck to it? Was my lack of patronage like a cosmic tipping point? Was the food really nothing special? I do not have any idea why he stopped selling barbecue; maybe people do not eat enough of it to keep him in business.

I hope that by sticking into it, I can find a publisher who shares my vision. Then maybe I can stick it out long enough to effectively market my books. I am inspired by the people who stuck to it, and ultimately found a patronizing audience. Those who met failure, and yet tried again inspire me. I hope that it happens for me before I die, unlike the way it worked for some people. However, even if it happened after I died, that would be cool, for somebody. It would be nice for me, if I could know that I would be a hit after I died.

Peace

Blacks Love Nice Cars and Nice Clothes

I was at Wal-Mart, getting my oil changed. You know how you just pull up and wait for someone to come out, with that big old PDA-looking thing to kind of pre-register you for your oil change? Well, before any employee could make it out to take down my information, an old man comes out. He looked to be about average sized, sixty-five to seventy-five years old, white guy, white haired, just your kind of salt of the earth factory guy, from back when we had factories everywhere.

We made eye contact, and he veered off of his path, toward me, as I sat in my car, he was smiling. He made that circular motion we make when we want someone to roll down their windows, that motion that came from a time when almost no one had power windows. I rolled down my window to see what he wanted, and he immediately struck up a conversation as if we were familiar with each other. I was fine with it. It is so easy to be virtually familiar with people you will probably never meet, not that we do not necessarily ever want to meet. This took a little more skill, but I talk for a living, and write a lot, from children s' books, to college papers at the masters level, to lots of professional writing of various genres. Communication might even be a pastime of mine, even though I feel more accomplished at it outside of the home. . I had nothing better to do, so we talked.

He commented that he noticed I was driving a KIA. It was just kind of matter of-fact, no apparent judgment. Obama has got to stop the spending, it can't work, the old man worried out loud. He said that he would not be surprised if we had to let General Motors die. General Motors would simply join the companies he had already seen go the way of the dinosaur; Studebaker, Edsel, Packard, Checker, Plymouth, Oldsmobile, etc. The old fellow strongly disagreed with the economic stimulus package, in general.

I wondered, Does President OBama see any alternative to trying to save the American car industry? What would that do to Michigan and the rest of the upper Midwest? I suspected this old fellow had already gotten through to his retirement, using the same plan that no longer works. What about the people who need time to come up with a new plan? Later in the day, I was watching the local public access channel. Education was the topic, a local superintendent was the guest. He pointed out that Michigan is a good generation late in responding to the current realities. I was reminded of one of my professors, who mentioned that the industry has not brought in new blood in a generation. When he was an up and coming teacher, and then a principal, he had high school drop-out friends who were making way more than he made. They were working in the auto and auto supply factories, and at the time, seemed clever to not invest in a college career that offered no apparent advantage for the money and effort.

I don't know what stream of thought led him to say to me, a black man, "you know, blacks just love nice cars and nice clothes." I think it was because we were inferring how Americans had monumental issues with misplaced priorities. Maybe he was giving an example of a particular wasteful behavior he had noticed during his interaction with black folk over the years. I grew up with that wasteful mindset. I know it to be true among blacks, and many, many others. I have changed dramatically over the years though. I'm driving a six and a half year old KIA, by choice! I really did not take offense, but I was glad our talk was interrupted by the oil change clerk. "Remember", the old man said, as we parted, the Bible is your blueprint for how to live, have a good day." I wondered if he was a high school graduate? Whether he was or not, he gave me a lot to think about. I do not know what I learned from him, but that may reveal itself another day.

The very next day, I was back at Wal-Mart, getting some primer for the bathroom walls. As I walked away from my register my eye caught an older white fellow at another register, checking out his merchandise. I looked at him and was not quite sure, was it the old fellow from yesterday? I just could not really say. I am not saying that all old white men look alike. I am just saying that I could not tell if he was the fellow from yesterday, or not. The lesson from our encounter stareted to crystallize for me. Life is typically not black and white in my opinion. It is instead, endless shades of gray.

JWIN (Just What I Needed)

She came home yesterday, a little dachshund mix, all of ten pounds,and nine months old. My wife has wanted something to replace her cat, which died more than a year ago. She named her JWIN, an acronym for "just what I needed." She is definitely charming, and has beautiful, soulful eyes and the ability to bond so fast that she seems like she definitely belongs here.
I took her out for her first walk, and I could imagine that we were a sight. A big 350 pound, six foot two, black dude with a black leather jacket, walking a dog a small as most cats, on a pink leash, has to look funny. I knew it and did not really care, we were having a good time, JWIN and I. At least I did not put her little pink coat on, but I felt bad about not doing so when I saw her shivering. I am not a sentimental person, and for some odd reason, I do not do well even with the concept of letting myself be vulnerable. I did not however, like to have that dog out in the cold, shivering. I decided to press on for another ten minutes, so she could really get a feel for the sights and sounds of our neighborhood.

I often think that my wife wants me to share my emotions with her as if I were one of her girlfriends. I am just not cut like that, but that dog brings out a little more mush in me, than I am comfortable sharing with any creature that could repeat what they saw. Just like I did not mean to get misty-eyed when I talked with a wonderful grandparent, raising her grandson, about how I could feel his pain at not being able to read as well as his peers. I either had to get a tissue and wipe my eyes, or let the tear fall. It was a devils choice for someone who does not want to be perceived as soft, but I went for the tissue.

I know that my wife considers me to be a closed person, I do too. Finding true understanding within a marriage has been infinitely more difficult that I ever imagined. Now we are like so many millions of other folks, worried that the other shoe will drop at any moment, and security will become just a meaningless word. I don't have to tell many people the stress that financial worries put on a relationship. Maybe when she named our little pooch JWIN, she was referring to just what I needed. For all I know, somehow, maybe JWIN can tell her what I'm thinking and feeling, and maybe those soulful little eyes can help me figure out how to be that better man, and better than any girlfriend.