When Pigs Fly or When Hell Freezes Over

When I was young, I always thought I’d be a writer. I had notebooks full of beginnings, middles and ends of stories and lists of character names, places I’d want to set stories in, and even descriptions of characters. Even in high school, when thoughts of more interesting things like boys and driving and BOYS occupied an abundance of my mind, I still had that thought tucked away in the deep recesses, ready to be pulled out once I was ready. Like when I had decided it was time, I could say, “Oh! Now I can pull my career out of my junk closet where I stuff all the items I don’t want to throw away, dust it off, and I’m good to go!”

What’s that saying? Life doesn’t always turn out the way you’d planned? DUH! That’s always the understatement of the year, isn’t it? Well lately, I think that idea has been slapping me upside the head like your best college buddy does when you do something to earn yourself a spot on the Douche Chair.

This post isn’t going where you think its going. Trust me. I’m just sitting here thinking about the last month, and I’m having one of those moments. One of those moments where you think about what could’ve been that one decision you’d made that changed it all. The direction you were going. Maybe it’s a succession of decisions, each one independent of each other, but when strung together can bring you to a place you’d never thought you’d be.

For example. I have felt the weight of hundreds of lives on my shoulders these last few weeks. No, I’m not a doctor, as you all know. No, I’m not anything important to the general public, and I’m not even alone in my responsibility. But nevertheless, I feel as if I’m holding up this gigantic weight above my head, and I sure as heck don’t have my arms locked and I’m not sure I’ve got my core tight, and this has to be the heaviest weight I’ve ever tried to lift. It’s the weight of a man who has a pregnant wife at home, hoping that when the baby’s due in February, they will still have the ability to go to the same doctor for delivery. It’s the weight of a single mom who is only working part time hours, and is just trying to get a foot in the door of a better life, but can’t seem to wedge her foot in far enough. It’s the weight of my friends and their trust in me. It’s the weight of my team and their confidence in my abilities to do my math right. It’s the weight of a man who’s got a few years left before retirement but may decide to go sooner based on my inability to secure his immediate future.

I know it’s unrealistic to take on everyone as my own personal burden. But I have a hard time thinking of my “members” as faceless names on a sheet of paper. Even those I haven’t met trust my team to protect their livelihoods.

And I don’t know how.

Without saying much more than this since this is on a public forum, and just in case more than six of you are reading, I won’t go into many more details than this for now. We haven’t quite finished negotiations.

But I have to say, I never wanted to be in politics. I never wanted to run for an office. Heck, I never thought I’d be an Engineering Designer either. I was going to be a writer. Where did I take the wrong turn? When did I start caring about people so much more than my beloved books? And how can I make those two seemingly contradictory paths merge into one broad road that I can comfortably traverse?

I don’t have any answers tonight. We will deal with the work issues as they come, just like we’ve been doing. I just really wanted to write tonight, even if I didn’t have anything truly inspiring or entertaining to write about. Maybe that’s the kicker. To just write. Even if I’m not technically a writer.

Goodnight, vast world. Goodnight.