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Blindly Following or Always Questioning?

An endless list of religions, philosophies, states of mind, coping mechanisms and dogmas open to everyone …but, be careful

There is a tendency for people aging to strongly attach oneself to a religious system as they slowly approach their golden years. It makes sense as we all crave peace of mind about the end. Studies also indicate that the possibility that some of us crave strict regimentation after retirement to replace the structure they had on the job. In my mind, I wanted to be free of “have to do’s,” but like Bob Dylan sang, “everybody got serve somebody.” We all have a simple craving for peace of the moment and peace of mind. Then, “they” declare such a path is impossible to pursue unless you pick ONE path without question or complaint. Damn. That result sounds a lot like work.

Before proceeding, I wish to make clear that I’m not speaking derogatorily about anyone’s religion of spiritual beliefs. Total respect for the choices people make. This piece is about a personal journey a person makes when life changes and they try to make sense of it all. It seems like a frightening journey; as if we are doomed if …we …choose …poorly. Can we not escape the mindset that destruction awaits if we take a foot of the RIGHT path? Free from occupational responsibilities and we still have to stress over our decisions about how we live life? I can’t believe we were meant to live life in this fearful manner.

An almost endless array of possibilities to live one’s life and some hang over your shoulder to taunt and second guess your choices; ad infinitum. The Population Reference Bureau estimate that up to 110 billion people have been born throughout the earth’s existence.* Forget the finger print thing, consider that none of these people perceived nature, truth, love, suffering, hope, vision, hearing …any sensation in exactly the same way. No one adheres to an objective truth in exactly the same way as others because every perception we have is uniquely experienced…thus, does truth become subjective? Yes? No? I dunno. It’s a damn big question that has been asked over 110 billion times.

All through our work lives, we are told by motivational gurus that to be problem solvers, we must realize there is no one right way to accomplish a task. Ok, I agree; but our peace of mind is contingent on hitting an emotional, spiritual bullseye? I wrestle with that. Life is suffering and loss and joy and friendship and trauma and trying one’s best to do what’s right. Yet, our eternal contentment must be based on an exact conclusion? I wrestle with that. I feel alone. As I read philosophy, religion, history, I realize I am far from the only guy to have these questions (8 billion folks alive at this moment); it’s a question as old as time. There are over 3000 faiths and philosophies practiced all over this world through multiple histories and cultural experiences but you better get it right no matter the personal perceptions of a myriad of life’s challenges? I would never challenge a person’s personal path to peace of mind. It is a unique struggle for humanity. I think we true pilgrims find our bits of truth …and if lucky, we find it.

*Kaneda, Toshiko; “How Many People Have Ever Lived on Earth?;” www.prb.org; November 15, 2022

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INSOMNIA

“Ah to lie, to sleep, to sleep …perchance to dream, ….” W.s.

From Sunday morning until Wednesday, I had less than fourteen hours of sleep and the bulk of sleep came while sitting on the couch with my dogs. Well below the sleep requirements for a middle aged male according to the American Medical Association. Don’t cry for me Argentina …this is par for the course for the lil’ ol’ Teacher in Transition. You see sports fans, as long as I can remember, bedtime was …uh …how do I describe this situation…it was torture. It would take hours to fall asleep. Rocking back and forth, sneaking books and toys, and sometimes, crying in frustration. As a teen, it wasn’t a problem because everyone stayed out and up late. In college, the sleeplessness was an advantage for a student who worked three jobs, carried a full class load and studying thirty hours a week.

Why? Why? Why? I dunno. I’ve done a sleep study, sought out therapy, drank 3-4 cocktails a night, yoga, etc etc.. All of this with varying levels of dismal success. I can’t recall the number of times that I went to work late or simply called in because I hadn’t slept. I’ve embarrassed my son by acting tired, not acting, I’ve wasted time and experience with this situation and don’t see a way out. C’est la vie.

“Say there Teach in transition, why does this happen to you? I am the crown prince of over thinking …even as a toddler. Throw into the mix a little OCD and anxiety disorder and you have the perfect insomniac storm. So, there it is. I’m not concerned to the point of panic, but just exasperated. I take a prescription that has varying levels of success, I meditate, I work out and stretch and I may go a few weeks with decent sleep; but the restlessness rarely dissipates. Solace? Any at all? Not really, I’m not encouraged by the fact that large numbers of Americans also suffer from similar conditions. Misery doesn’t always love company.

It’s Friday, I had a decent sleep and got up early with the herd, drove to my favorite coffee shop to write and will visit the local cigar lounge this afternoon, take Kim to a nice restaurant and hopefully … fall fast asleep. The opposite of overthinking is living in the moment. I’ll still try to obtain that mindset as I’m sure it’s a panacea for much of what ails us physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s a struggle …. “YAWN” …oh no!

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DON’T Search Yourself on The Internet!

The dates of your glory days diminish in this Google era !

Attention grabbing title? Ah yes, I tried this trick, let’s see if this works! You can go ahead and search if you want, but if you are looking for online recognition of work accomplishments, family events, your kids extracurricular achievements, etc. etc. etc.! If you are middle aged or retired, you’ll discover that the dates of these milestones are five years ago? Ten years? Twenty? Egad! What’s goin’ on here? I know what the problem is… you’ve quit doing!

I am not advocating the pursuit of stress and exhaustion in our middle age years, unless that’s you, then be you. BUT, as I age, I’ve found that the most rewarding goals are personal and not for laurels or trophies. I left that behind with a thirty year career teaching; but if one researched old Destination Imagination, Model UN, or coaching exploits …ugh, some of them were a long time ago. Thus the old adage , “don’t rest on your laurels,” becomes very apropos. You gotta keep doin’ …not necessarily for a paycheck or certificates but because it keeps you invigorated and excited. It is sad when I come across a Presidents Day interview, or of my classes recreating a press conference of Thomas Jefferson, or a kid hoisting their DI medal. The times and kids were so special and rewarding. It’s tough to let go, but keep doin’; keep making your lives extraordinary.

It’s a time for personal goal setting that is shared with family, close friends or just keep it to yourself. These are your years for your satisfaction and sharing with those you love. Hike for five miles, paint, go camping, travel, try a bizarre food rather than keeping up with the Jones’s or fighting for a promotion or beating your chest for working twelve hour days. Perhaps the personal pursuits won’t make on the local news or the company website, but you’ll know. Your family will celebrate these low key accomplishments because they are for you. Finally, it’s ok to be you!

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Three Homes in Three Days

It’s a real scene man …

When traveling around the country three months at a time, the concept of home can become a fluid one. Our states of mind during these adventures has been wide open and welcoming of new places, experiences and people. We miss Nac at times, but rarely does it occupy our thoughts. Weird …huh? As your favorite over thinker, my mind grabs hold of bizarre concepts like some folks breathe. I became aware of the fact that we spent three days in three different locales that we identify as home. Trippy.

Our existential journey began Thursday in Conroe where my son Brendan and his wife Michaela and son Cooper live. It feels like home. Any place my grand kiddos live we regard as our welcoming home; as much as we hope our kids and their families feel at home when we are together. We had a great time playing with our Coopie for a few days with the anxiety lingering in the back of our mind that we would soon embark on a ten hour, 700 mile drive back to Kansas City with Kim returning to work on Tuesday. Feelin’ some pressure. We left Conroe early Saturday morning for one last night in Nac and would be on the road again towards the Midwest!

Kim can be counted on to say, “I love my house …I love being home,” at least a dozen times. You would expect that from such a nurturing soul, but even the wandering spirit has its hold on her. The time we spent at our home in Nac was not terribly relaxing as we were doing some last minute cleaning and packing up before heading back to our home in Kansas City for three months. We’ve lived in the same Airbnb since January 4th of this year, but this night was our last night in our home for thirty two years …again! Leaving isn’t as worrisome as it was at first. Now, there is a sense of anticipation and a longing, get this, to leave home to return home. Trippy.

Upon driving up the driveway to our little house in KC, we had a sense of relief and contentment being back. Our herd of dogs immediately headed for the back yard; they felt at home as well. Our minds were filled with reconnecting with friends and locales, yet experiencing a wave of sadness at not being able to stay in Nac for more than six weeks. Interesting state of mind. I realized that it didn’t matter which of the homes we were at; if we were together with Chunk, Scarlet and Cowboy Jack. This was a really comforting realization for us and a confidence builder. We know that we can handle any change and unlike other middle age folks, we aren’t looking to hold up on our porch. Adventure? Bring it on!

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“Show Me The Way to Go Home*”

Home is a foundation for a person’s spirit, but must it be a fixed location?

In my life, I’ve called ten places home; and to put a finer point to these numbers, thirty two years have spent in the same locale in Nac Town. Knowing that, the context of those numbers might make one ponder, “gee, they been movin around a lot …lately! Yessir, six “homes” in three years. Some might interject, “they were houses you stayed …not your home. Upon hearing such a comment, I’d be giving that individual the ultimate Maloccio (evil eye, stink eye). Au contraire my friend, each place we “lived” was home and still feels that way. Unusual? Yes, I guess. For clarity’s sake, I have had the “I don’t wanna go home” feeling after a great vacation, but this is different. Granbury, Alexandria, Round Rock, Columbia, Kansas City …all of them are our homes in our hearts.

Throughout most of our forty one years together, Lufkin or Nacogdoches qualified as home, home base, the sanctuary, headquarters. In 2022, we collectively agreed to travel the country. When our time at a city was complete the first couple of times, we were very anxious to get home; but would of course miss where we left. As time moved along, we discovered missing our “temporary” abode was heartbreaking when we left it. Kim and I learned to settle into our places and take comfort there and use it as our fortress …kinda like home?

As the king of overthinking and abstraction, I immediately began to re-think the concept of home. Home is where the heart is …ok, that’s easy enough. The extreme interpretation of that would be a line from the old Blues tune, “Poppa Was A Rolling Stone:’ “where ever he laid his hat was his home.” I’m not that nomadic. Becoming accustomed to the vagabond life is the key to finding your place, your heart in the experiences and people you come across. Seeing the humanity around you in its infinite variety is the key to finding your home place in …this …world, and anywhere in it.

If you can get the big picture concept locked into your mind, you open yourself to unlimited locales, people and experiences that can impact as significantly to your heart as the “home place.” I didn’t always think of the world as my home as I thought of Nacogdoches; but geez …why not? The music, food, friends, vistas are awesome and you have a lot of square footage. Feel comfortable …everywhere.

*Campbell, Jimmy; Connelly, Reg.; “Show Me The Way To Go Home;” Campbell and Connelly Pub.; 1925

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People of A Like Mind

Cliches …”variety is the spice of life,’ “absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ “ no two are alike,” or thousands of other wise witticisms that fill our busy minds. I really value variety …in almost all aspects of life; even camaraderie. Echo chambers are to be avoided most of the time; we have to have ourselves challenged some of the time. BUT, deep inside we seek familiarity and harmony in our thoughts for a special friendship. Being alone, feeling alone, is not a great thing to experience. As I’ve aged, I’ve discovered befriending people that see the world like you do …creates a sense of belonging. My circle of friends has diminished, but I’ve connected on a different level to a few special people that share the same ideas of harmony.

I met Casey Muze in 2016 at the bastion of varied thoughts and an oasis in Nacogdoches; The Liberty Bell. Automatically, we hit it off after recognizing a commonality in empathy and imagination. Over the years, Casey has become an admired presence in East Texas. In the age of internet influencers, Casey has created a niche where he provides therapy using drumming as a technique. In addition, he has developed mentoring assistance to kids and connected various others active in our community who also aid and enlighten. It was a blast helping in one of Casey’s many pursuits; developing a creative writing movement for young East Texans.

Casey has advocated for many folks, myself included, who seek the healing of self expression. Writing, music, communication, therapy, the visual arts and other means of finding one’s voice in this turbulent world Casey promotes. He builds up people regardless of their talent or circumstance. Casey cares, he’s an artist, who feels the excitement people have in their lives and draws it out and celebrates it. My career was centered in that same philosophy of helping young people. The arts have been a common pursuit for the two of us and that similarity brings a calm when you realize and connect with people of a like mind. Variety is essential, but sometimes you just want to talk with someone who gets you. Much appreciation for your leadership and friendship…

https://caseymuze.com/embracing-the-journey-introducing-casey-muze/

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The Transition Needs A Transition

Here we go again …

July 10th …my last writing submission. I’ve not done any art, but I have been reading. This was not part of any plan; in fact I hate it. Too much anxiety has worked against me and I have to force my way out. It may not be pretty or enlightening, it may even be damn ugly; but I have to fight through it. I’ve struggled with OCD and General Anxiety Disorder my entire life and I have a long list of overcoming triumphs; but when it rears it’s aggravating head, it’s always a new fight. I’ve read the books, put in the work, did my breathing and meditating and I’m ready to resist.

I always take the step of analyzing what has set off the alarm bells in my brain. The culprits are clear: making a temporary, big move back home; planning a return to Kansas City; wondering if I can get everything done here before leaving again; the damn election, uncertainty about our plans to set roots somewhere…someday, changing goals and challenges. I’m proud of a lot of my accomplishments post career, but I’m in an anxiety rut and wonder if my transition needs a transition. Breaking eggs and making omelettes …that sort of thing.

One goal accomplished is traveling …much more than I imagined in August of 2020. I never dreamed we would be traveling around the country three months at a time, though it has tremendously curtailed my painting. When Covid was rampant, painting was my healing, but to carry my easel and painting gear with me seemed cumbersome. Cumbersome or anxiety attacks? I’m gotta go with cumbersome… and …make …the …effort. The fact that I’m writing is a positive step, thus indulge me if you please.

Though nothing and everything has gone according to plan, perhaps it’s time for a big jump with all those pond ripples spreading out and stuff. I’m dying to return to Europe; I’m furious with myself for having completed my book and not taking the next steps; I’ve got to get back to my paintings; should I go back to work; being lonely is difficult; am I ready to permanently leave Nacogdoches in the rear view? It’s not just my call to make obviously, but Kim and I have been a great team planning our adventures on this third year of travel nursing. Perhaps it’s time to just blindly leap into a new direction. It definitely is time, but I’m in the dark, but I’m taking steps. Movement is life.

I plan to take a more meditative approach to these next three months spending a lot of time in the beautiful Missouri hills. No big plans yet… just quiet contemplation on what to do next. I’ve rarely been bored since retiring, but frustrating confusion isn’t any better. It doesn’t matter your age; positive, self improving upheaval can be a good thing. It needs to happen. It’s just Kim and I with my herd. We will make it.

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Cindy

July 11, 2004; twenty years ago, my reality, the one I I was born to was shattered …I didn’t know it then. All I knew was that my sister Cindy had her life stolen from her. Cindy would’ve turned forty four the following October. The reality that I mentioned centered around the fact that, she was there my entire life and now she wasn’t and would never be again. At that point, the immediate family I was born into was comprised of five family members (dad, mom, Cindy, my brother Brian and me). Only my brother and I remain; it is an unavoidable circumstance of life. What is avoidable is to have no regrets regarding ones you love. In 2004, I had not learned that lesson.

My sister’s heart had an unlimited capacity to love, which proved vital to her existence as many who were supposed to love her in equal measure, they didn’t …they judged, I judged. True, Cindy lived a life with some questionable judgement calls, but in 2004 I hadn’t realized that we all do, I had. Most questionable among my poor judgement was to act self righteous and arrogant toward my sister, my sister who loved us. Twenty years later and the regret is still there.

The irony of it all is that as I grew and learned and consciously became a better person …allowed myself to be me; is that my heart and empathy was so similar to hers. We allow people to design our personas in direct opposition to our natural tendencies: to fit in? She was so kind to my kids and my nephews and I couldn’t see that due to fear. I can’t say what I really feared, just thoughts tied up rigid dogma. She loved …I should have and I’m sorry.

I wish to live a long life, but I realize the longer I live, the more of my life I live without her. I had her for thirty eight years and she’s been gone for twenty. We expect life to be that way in regard to our elders, but not with brothers or sisters or friends. I often wonder what life would be like if she were still with us. I can only imagine that there would be a bit more comfort and kindness that I’d finally be able to be wise enough to share. I love you Cindy.

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Mondays

I was deep in conversation with a fellow bar patron about various topics of interest that arise when gentlemen engage in talk at a pub. We are both retired men who chose to enjoy a libation on a sunny afternoon. While reveling in the abstract, the topic of Monday came up and we both smiled. My partner bellowed, “that is a day that no longer causes stress for this guy!” To wit, I replied, “but the stress ain’t going anywhere, it just hits a little less often. I suppose I will be battling serious election anxiety for the next four months, but I reckon that Mondays have lost a good bit of its power over me as I’ve tried to extricate myself from that burden for years.

I always reasoned that we’ve allowed ourselves one day a week we hate without any personal input or negotiations. My students were always vocal about their distaste of Mondays… the depressive feel was so obvious in their look and appearance it was sad. I created a wee bit of modern working person philosophy about Mondays. I’d ask my kids to make a deal with me. If they would agree before me, Thor, god, Odin, Buddha or whoever that they would allow 1/7th of their lives to be miserable throughout their lives, I’d let them play music during class.

The eruption of outrage was quickly expressed; “Mr. Rich …dude, life sucks already, why would we make it worse?” Why indeed? “So, we will all agree to love Mondays?” Blank stares. I got real zen with them and shared with them that in reality, all we have and can really experience is this fleeting moment. We don’t know what a random day or a day straight from the calendar can bring you, but you are alive ….now. Enjoy now. Choose to enjoy now; and damn those men who introduce strife and worry. Love your moment …love your day …even if it’s Monday.

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Competing Sounds

Sitting outside the world is like a tremendous symphony of sound, noise and music.

Unplug the ear buds …

We have grown to love Missouri with its beautiful views, river fronts, nature trails and exquisite parks. There are numerous places where I just love to sit and just see. Watching life happen to people, trees, squirrels, birds …it’s superb. The sensory experiences also include the feel of the earth, the smells of nature, feeling the breeze and …listening. Folks ask me what I listen for when sitting, “don’t you just want peace and quiet…to hear nothing?” That’s an impossible endeavor; and truth be told it can be frustrating isolating the sounds that come at you just in your state of being.

More often than not, loud music can be a bother unless it’s music you like, but there are other sound competitors out there. I can be happy when birdsong and tree song dominate the outside “airwaves,” but as soon as I say that; a jet flies over with its loud engines. Instinctively, I look up, not in frustration, but usually with wonder and jealousy at those traveling the world. A cicada or locusts will power through with their loud buzzing and then they slowly die off.

Even in the most isolated trails and vistas, human conversation is heard to varying degrees. Obnoxiously loud talk, can make my ears burn with anger. It’s ok that I don’t like being alone or it might irk me more. Their talk becomes part of the tapestry along with the birds, dogs, jets and other that exist in our world. The best I can do is that I often hike to places where I can’t hear anything man made. This is not always an easy task. It’s difficult to escape the cars, their horns, machines or trains from the deep background noise but such places can be found. It’s quite a realization to discover how the absence of the sounds of modern life can be so foreign, but we are all so far removed from such a daily experience.

There is so much to experience visually, through sound, through smell …the intensity of every moment is amazing. I certainly recommend quiet moments of thoughtful meditation, but don’t stray from seeing all that’s around you; there is so much beauty to see and hear.

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I’m Bird Watching…

No! No …it’s not an old man thing

I’m not old …

Ah, good old self discovery; no one can surprise you more than yourself. Since retiring, I’ve realized I have accumulated various new interests upon changing my world. Writing a great deal, frequenting museums, a decent workout regime are just a few new practices I’ve adopted since the transition. Most get an approving, “atta boy …that’s cool;” but one new pursuit garnered universal laughs from my sons with their determination that, “I’m finally a real, old man!” And, what pray tell was my new interest that relegated me to the ranks of a senior citizen by my compassionate sons? Bird watching.

Hear me out, hear me out; it’s not an old man thing. I swear! Well, damn, it does come across as old doesn’t it. In my younger years, I was jokingly critical of the hobby. I imagined some old dude, with glasses and binoculars and a note pad wearing all khaki. It ain’t a good look. Ive done extremely well avoiding old man talk, but the bird watching thing just kinda came from left field. From where? What is the impetus for such a hobby? Yes, I am working hard to remove the old man stigma; and yes, I doth protest too much. It’s a very convincing concept that intrigues me and feels better than just being old. What if, hear me out, it is part of a greater awareness of the world going on around me. We have time to experience the fullness of all of the vibrancy of life going on around us.

Birds have always shared their song with us; squirrels have always hopped along and climbed trees, clouds have always gently floated in the blue sky and the wind has always rustled through the trees; but we were all so busy with work stuff that we didn’t slow down to appreciate all the magic constantly happening around us. The consequence being that much of our lives were just blurred, rushed images and actions that rarely enhanced the momentary experiences of our lives. If I had slowed down to just watch birds and squirrels, I think I would’ve been a better dad, a more attentive husband and a more patient teacher …a better, happier human. To take the time to look at the colors of birds, how they fly through the air, their small meaningful mannerisms help us realize that so many more enriching things happen daily around us than those stresses that invade our peace of mind. To stop every thing that torments and replace it with birdsong, that is a practice that we all could benefit from. Taking the time to watch a bird glide beautifully across a blue sky could all lift our spirits.

I hear the song now as I sit to do my writing on this spring day. They sang during my thirty year career, they floated across the sky from 1990-2020, but to my regret, I didn’t always take the time to see and to hear. I encourage you to stop, breathe, rest, listen and look at the things occurring all around you everyday. Take the time to see the immense joy of these occurrences a little more. Of course, you’ll have to slow down a little bit and you don’t have to wait until you retire.

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A Look Back at Our Anniversary

37 Years and counting …

1983 ��forty one years ago. 1985 …thirty nine years ago. 1987 …thirty seven years ago. 1992 …thirty two years ago. 1995 …twenty nine years ago. Events in a family’s life; our lives. When as a young man, such milestones were beyond my ken and comprehension. In this time in our lives, they seem only yesterday. Time is almost impossible to understand and seems only to be a man made construct designed to stress and make one weary. Only now matters …yet, the timeline of struggles and triumphs can’t be ignored nor would I wish such a thing. It made Brent Rich (moi), Kim Rich, Josh Rich, Brendan Rich and Erik Rich who they are …now. That being said, I’m so proud of our timeline and who we are as a family.

By extension and the passage of time, we’ve added to our story: Kaitlyn, Michaela, Brianna, Payton, Sadie, Grayson and Cooper. All of this since 1983 and is now. It’s good to remember what you were so as to love where you are …now. Now, I’m married to a wonderful woman with three sons, four grandchildren and a whole slew of pups. I could never have foreseen such. What follows are a few message exchanges I’ve had with my wife on past anniversaries. From years back but happening …now.

Happy 37th Anniversary I married Kimberly Elaine Hall on May 23rd, 1987. We had tough circumstances; we worked multiple jobs while taking full class loads and raising baby Josh. We were poor ... we lived on less than $5000 a year and needed WIC and other assistance, but we both graduated at the top of our respective classes and Josh discovered he liked beans and no AC. We drove our '79 Ford Granada, that I paid $800 for, until it literally blew .... and we pushed it up the street into our yard. We raised three boys the best we could just being kids ourselves and our marriage took some painful episodes that I didn't know if we'd endure. We bought a modest house and made a life for the Rich family. Heartbreaks, deaths, disasters, struggles occurred as they always do... and sometimes we stayed together for just the kids; but a funny thing happened... we remembered that we liked hanging around each other, that we wanted to try new things , we started saying "no" to others and less to ourselves and we realized we were a good team, great friends and a super husband and wife. We traveled throughout Texas and we traveled the world and made wonderful friends. Who'd thought 36 years would pass so quickly, but it's cool ... we got 36+ more and places to see and things to do ... I guess you'll hang around?

May 23, 1987 ... Kim and I with who were then our close friends got married at First Assembly of God. She first came into my life in February of 1983. It was love at first sight for me as she took my breath away. It would be a hard road of gentlemanly pursuit before my love was no longer an unrequited one. We were forced to grow up too fast and much of youth was lost to us amid multiple jobs, countless hours of class and study, living poor and having heartbreaks too painful to mention. Over the years, we became lost among Boy Scout trips, Soccer, baseball, football, Vacation Bible Schools, homework and my coaching baseball for 12 years. It all seemed a blur.... as our boys grew to men. When the dust settled, there we were, not the same people we were in 1990. We had grown apart but learned about each other as much as a contradiction as this seems. We learned that pain fades as time rolls forward and rediscovery can be an adventure. We became our own best friends as our circle of “friends" began to diminish. We stayed here to look after our parents...but suddenly the world opened up to us and friends of a like mind entered our world and our lives became an 180 degree turn around from what we thought it would be in 1987, 1991, 1996, or 2005. There is no separating one from the other. So, today I celebrate not just 33 years to the same woman, but seeing how many different ways I could love this ever changing beauty. Happy Anniversary

Happy Anniversary Brent Rich! I can't believe that it has been 30 years. You have so eloquently put into words so many of my same thoughts and feelings. I can't wait to see what t he next 30 bring. More trips Spain,France and back to Scotland and Ireland for sure. I am sure lots of money. But whatever it will be an adventure and we will experience it together. 💏💋❤🌷🥂

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What Helped Me Make the Transition?

It wasn’t always the easiest path, but for four pups …it might have been impossible

During the three plus years I’ve been writing this series, the anecdotes have all pretty much been a positive retelling of our changing lives; but it ain’t always easy being cheesy. One topic I have avoided these three years is the pandemic and how it affected our family. As I wanted this to be a series of essays that was encouraging and helpful, I avoided such topics. The story of my “how to” adjust to retirement and travel, if fully told, must center around the absolute miracle of King Sparky, Katie Scarlet, Chunky, Lil Bit and Cowboy Jack: my dogs that saw me through the most frightening time of our lives and the biggest change of said life. It was a real scene man.

At the starting point of the year of madness that 2020 was, our doggie contingent consisted of King Sparky, Katie Scarlet, Chunky, and Lil Bit. The King and Lil Bit have moved onto their next lives, but not before saving mine. Death, disease, fear, possible job loss and chaos …the anxiety of such things can be partially alleviated by loving dogs in close proximity. We spent sun up to sun down together almost always within arms reach. Dogs are incredibly perceptive to their owners state of mind and my herd responded in such a miraculous way. My anxiety was partially assuaged and Kim and I carried on through the nightmare.

When we made the decision to retire, the dogs became my anchor. It can be quite lonely when you leave the social aspects of going to work everyday, but the excitement displayed by four little innocent souls when I entered the room went a long way to adjusting to my new life. It was a new life for them as well; “Da is home lots more!” Their reliance on me became just as strong and leaving for errands, to smoke a cigar or what have you became an emotional struggle each time. I hated leaving them and felt guilty that they would be sad. Remember, this was at a time when the world went ever so slightly mad and the emotion meter for most things were very greatly heightened. A new routine developed and I still use it today when I have to step out for a bit.

All the dogs gather in front of me and look up woefully when I’m heading out. I stop them and with doggie accents, yes, there is such a thing, would give them a calming, reassuring speech. “No worries my buddies, Da just going out for a bit, no worries, I be right back, I pwomise, I be right back!” They sit down and allow me to leave without a barking, crying barrage. It’s like magic… it’s all quiet and peaceful. I assume that we all learned that love can calm worried hearts whether human or canine and that has become a blessing. I love my dogs and can’t imagine life without them.

I’ve often written about the human need for connection and companionship as I’ve discovered how different one’s life becomes when a major change occurs; planned or unplanned. I have my wife, I have my sons, I have my grandchildren, I’ve got my buddies at the cigar lounge and I have three old, wonderful, loving companions. It’d be hard to imagine life without them.

[teacherintransition]

They Were Diamonds in The Rough …Now, Simply Diamonds

From the deep, rural piney woods of East Texas comes art.

I’m about start my fourth year as a retired public school teacher and starting our third year traveling the country. With a beautiful spring here in Missouri, I’ve taken time to look back and reevaluate how I got here and what I miss and hopefully accomplished as an educator. My entire thirty year career took place in three small school districts in small town, rural deep East Texas. Each district was anywhere from ten to fifteen miles apart and each were incredibly unique in the student population and accomplishments. I loved working in each community, but after some stressful years, I loved one quite a bit less. No negativism here …nope, just discovery of an amazing set of results of one in particular…truly amazing. No names or locations will be given just the magical happenstance of one particular district.

Most of deep East Texas is lower middle class economically, blue collar, working class, country folk. One district in particular was a bit lower in poverty statistics and the main “way out” in the minds of a lot of the kids was welding and working pipeline. It was lucrative, but when one considers that young people all over Texas seek these jobs, most folks had few chances in the little district and joined the military, worked less than ten miles from where they were born. A very few made their living in the trade of substances. As I write this, I’m aware of the stereotypical images these descriptions form, a fair amount of those conclusions did occur, but so did something wonderful.

Outside evaluation of this community might think of this place as a close minded, dead end locale. Not totally the case; artists were created here. An incredibly large number of kids pursued the arts in the face of adversity. This is a very uncommon occurrence In any public school situation. Kids who are motivated to “get out of this place” wisely, though sadly, pursue business careers to make money and change their environment. I say sadly, because all too often, artistically gifted young people are discouraged from pursuing their talents as a career. A writer can’t pay the bills, or a painter, or a musician, or a singer, or an actor is the All-American mindset hammered in the heads of students. Mores the pity. But, in this small town, rural school district, many kids became or at least attempted to be one of the ones who made it.

Bear in mind, college of any kind was a financial obstacle that was very difficult to overcome. Many of the musically inclined kids hit the road to pay their dues and find gigs. A very surprising number studied theatre as they were inspired by the strong One Act Play program. I taught three years at this district and probably taught 150-200 kids; my estimate is around 10% of these kids pursued theatre and drama. Many of my kids wanted to be writers. To be a musician was a huge deal here! I have a former student active in the Houston hip hop scene, about 12 actively working as singers and musicians and a few dozen pursuing the visual arts. That is close to forty plus kids out of 200 taking the gamble of becoming who they were meant to be… a courageous and frightening pursuit.

I often wondered how this anomaly occurred in such an unusual location. Often such pursuits are deemed nonsense by the more practical members of a community. These kids weren’t just enamored with the idea of being artists, they were talented beyond expectations. Primary among the reasons for this devotion to the arts rests with teachers on staff that encouraged them. Many educators were institutions on campuses who inspired these kids for years. Lack of financial independence led a lot of kids to make do with what they had for entertainment. There are always crayons around and perhaps grandpa shared an old guitar, or maybe they just spent time looking at the colors and beauty of the countryside. Regardless , something unique inspired these kids.

I don’t know how this occurred in this small town, but it’s a fantastic mindset to have been part of to see take place. I don’t know how many kids will make it “big time,” but I do know that they will never say, “I wish I’d tried.” To be an artist is a challenging yet magical thing that only blesses a few of us …and to have the strength to do it …there are no words…just admiration.

[teacherintransition]

I Am What I Was: The Perspective Has Changed

Looking back on your life is a large and essential process in our development. It is extremely valuable in establishing a peace of mind when transitioning into retirement. Abraham Maslow called this stage in life “self actualization.” The state of mind, hopefully achieved, where a person feels they contributed to society and made a positive difference. I’m constantly reevaluating my impact in education and the view is altered by keeping up with the successes, or lack of, of former students now adults. The elusive peace can further change form when looking back at circumstances, environment, administrative support, the subject taught, the students, the times, everything! To keep growing and vital, our frame of reference must be fluid to better understand.

The rewards of the teaching profession are certainly not associated with financial reward, oh no my friends, it’s a universal reality for educators in the United States, we are all underpaid… the degree of which depends on where you live and work. I taught in Texas, if you don’t know, our pay is abysmal. The intrinsic, “self - actualized” rewards come years later; often after years into retirement. Appreciative comments, acknowledging your role in their lives are valued and breath life into the heart of an educator, but more than that observing the path of your students as they age is a quiet, personal barometer measuring the impact as a teacher you had. The onset of social media makes this process much easier, a rare benefit of this “technological advancement.”

I see many of my kids make terrible mistakes that forever damage their lives. So often, you could see it coming when they were younger. There is only so much any individual can do when so many other factors weigh in on a young person’s life that are beyond your control. For me, I’ve shed many tears from the knowledge of how many kids I taught from 1990-2020 took self destructive paths. When the painful truth is discovered; be it an overdose, a murder, a jail sentence, premature death, any person with a degree of empathy will wonder what more they could’ve done. Those questions have haunted me recently after discovering some depressing news about my kids. It doesn’t matter if they are in their late forties… you will always see the kid overwhelmed at such a young age with unbearable situations. This is the burden. Even if better compensated, a devoted teacher always will question themselves.

Doom and gloom is not the only mindset; so many of my kids have done incredible things with their lives. Bear in mind that during my thirty years, I taught in three low SES districts. (Socio-economic-status) Overcoming their obstacles, many have become fellow teachers, therapists, doctors, artists, actors, musicians etc. etc.. Did I see the positive hopeful outcomes when they were kids as often as I saw the negative? Possibly, but in rural, deep East Texas, there are few guarantees, so one takes it on a one on one basis. If I hear great news or kind words, I’m on cloud nine for several days. My joy arises if I think I contributed just a little towards a confidence that would change their world. When unpleasant news occurs, I hold on to it like a sinking anchor. Did I help enough?

The true impact is unknowable …I can only know that I did something and I did the best I could. Arrogance is nigh impossible for committed teachers, because we know it was always a team effort and you were but a cog in a machine that ran for 180 days for a group of students before they moved on to the next stage. Who did I help? Who did I fail? A devoted educator never puts it completely behind them, but will always wonder and worry. The only thing I can say with true conviction is that regardless of what they accomplished, I’m here …now …if I can ever help.

[teacherintransition]

I’ll Look to The Sky No More

Hazy hot all through the air,

The sky is bleeding but I don’t care,

Real men seek solace and seek peace,

The world is not run by folks like these

Bad people on this earth hold too much sway,

Killing and destroying to get their way,

Walking with my pup or sitting still by a lake,

I’ve never met a soul who wanted to take and take

I know they are there in far away places,

Hidden among various faiths and races,

Some even preach it’s the plan to be this way,

The quiet man by the lake never gets his say

They see a devil behind every rock or tree,

They aren’t there they just want fear can’t you see?

Lies and hate for sale to make men war,

I don’t want this madness anymore

These “holy” faiths and many more,

Preach love but are all too ready to wage war,

Every day they stoke the fires of rage,

Cause us fear by saying it’s the final stage

I’ve played this game and wailed with fear,

Praying and pleading for calm anywhere,

Others like me seek the same peace as they look,

But millions must suffer to fulfill some book?

I want to believe in something, some kind of truth,

The anguish and worry they scream doesn’t soothe,

We mustn’t believe words of love become hate with all they do,

My only hope is to believe in you …

Take my hand and I’ll take yours,

Believing in each other is our only cure,

I’ll take no peace from the rantings of bad men,

We can find calm if you’ll be my friend