I have lived most of my life afraid to take chances, fearing the outcome or consequences of my actions. I'm not saying that I never made bold moves, but it's not in my nature to leap without looking and without considering the repercussions of my actions. In some cases it would lead to a term I heard many years ago called analysis paralysis, which is what happens when you are so bogged down in choosing a path that you are unable to decide on any course of action. On rare occasions, I have been surprisingly bold. Years ago, a friend and I had talked about possibly going skydiving. I likely would never have actually planned it, except that he and Melinda had secretly scheduled it for my birthday. Although I was nervous, I clearly remember how confidently I stepped out of the plane once it was time to go. I'll never forget that moment, because I sometimes wonder who that person was and where did he go? Literally taking that leap was a memory of a lifetime and one I would happily experience again, and yet that is not who I am on most days.
A good example of my natural tendency to stay on the safe path was when I was still working grocery back in 1987. For several years, I had played around with different computers, starting with the TI Color Computer my parents bought me when I was a teen, then the Commodore 64 and eventually the Amiga. I loved playing with them and learning all about the internals of the systems. Quite frankly, I was really good with them, almost like I was born to do so. Melinda recognized that and encouraged me to pursue a career in programming. I was so comfortable following the well traveled road, I was hesitant to consider taking a detour, even if I was merely content and not necessarily happy with my job. But Melinda persisted and eventually convinced me to take night classes for a programming certificate at Texas Institute. I took the entrance exam and I thought that I did okay. When the person at Texas Institute gave me the results, she did so with her mouth agape, and told me I had scored higher than anyone she had seen before. In that moment, I knew that Melinda was right to push me in that direction.
I attended night classes for seven months, and it wasn't easy. I was working at the grocery store 45-50 hours a week and I was tired by the time I got home and fell into bed. But Melinda was supportive and propped me up when I needed a hand. I received my certificate at the end of November 1987 and the entire class was told it could take months to find a job. I was hired less than two weeks later by a small company operating in Plano TX. So much for waiting around for an opportunity. Because it was a small company, I did actually start for less money than I made as a supervisor at the grocery store. This was two years into our marriage and money was tight, so I ended up working back at the supermarket on Saturdays to make up the difference until I received my first raise some months later. In the end, even though it was a difficult path, it was the right choice for me and no words can possibly convey the gratitude I feel toward Melinda for being bold on my behalf.
On the other hand, I wish I had been more assertive and asked Melinda to work during those early years. It was quite stressful for me, occasionally paying the previous month's bill instead of the current one because I couldn't keep up by myself. I partly blame Melinda for not offering to work, but I mostly blame myself because I was prideful and I thought it was my responsibility to be the provider. I'm fairly certain I actually told her that more than once, but that was 30 years ago and looking back, I'm a little fuzzy on specifics. I believe we laid the foundation for many of our future problems in those formative years of our marriage. When I finally started to crack under the financial pressure, I would attempt to discuss it with Melinda, but it always ended up in a fight. Eventually, I gave up on communicating with her about it and kept the money worries to myself. I had "learned" that honesty led to problems, and over the years, I treated other problematic topics in the same way, with avoidance and secrecy being the norm.
The cost of those secrets was very high. In my desire to not rock the boat, I failed to trust that we were able to handle the problems together and I know that only caused the rift between us to grow. This has been weighing on my mind a lot lately because of a song by The Bleachers, "Don't Take the Money". Here are some key lyrics:
Somebody broke me once
Love was a currency
A shimmering balance act
I think that I laughed at that
Love doesn't exist in a vacuum. People either grow together or apart, and most relationships have natural ebbs and flows. Without positive contributions to the relationship, that love can eventually run out.
Will we fight, stay up late?
In my dreams I'm to blame
Different sides of the bed
Roll your eyes, shake my head
Now we're stuck in the storm
We were born to ignore
I completely identify with these lines and it feels like a good summation of how I felt most of the time.
You steal the air out of my lungs, you make me feel it
I pray for everything we lost, buy back the secrets
Your hand forever's all I want
Don't take the money
"Buy back the secrets." When I hear that, it makes me realize there was a cost for every secret we kept from each other.
When you're looking at your shadow
Standing on the edge of yourself
Praying on the darkness
Just don't take the money
This is me, standing alone staring at the sole shadow cast by the sun. Alone and futilely wishing I had known then what I know now.
I want to be fearless in all aspects of my life, especially if I end up in another relationship. I want to be able to trust that we can tackle problems together. This takes me back to another song that came out around the time Melinda died and it has stuck with me, especially as it deals with dying. These are words of advice that I hold onto dearly and try to remember daily:
Well I met an old man dying on a train.
No more destination, no more pain.
Well he said one thing, before I graduate
"Never let your fear decide your fate."
No comments:
Post a Comment