Recreating Ones' Self

I think it is important to realize that we are still everything we have been. That is, everything we were is still inside us, still part of us, and still relevant, still real, and still very much alive. Once I was a boy of 10 roaming the fields and woods, dog in tow, and BB gun at the ready caring for nothing more than some new place to get wet and finding a tree and climbing with reckless abandon so I could possibly spy some new adventure. Once I was a winning gritty high school wrestler facing someone just like me and fighting like hell until an arm was raised. Once I was a Marine, shotgun in hand peering out into the night, or "snapping" the presidential flag for an arriving Reagan. Once I drove a semi along dusty, muddy, or snow covered roads loaded with diesel fuel looking for the lights of an oil rig and waiting for what surprise the rough-necks might pull out of their black bag of tricks. Once I was a mountain climber, ice tools in hand, leading grade 5 ice up a col; screaming calves, cold hands, and summit lust. Once I was a collage student running from class to class, hating my roommates, and loathing the fact that hunger met the dining hall. Once I loved for the first time and when she left I thought my heart was broken forever. Once I was a racer, pain banished, body flexed and honed working only for the love of sport. Once a master carpenter, fitting and working with fir, mahogany, redwood, oak, and walnut; creating beauty and very deep satisfaction.

Now I am a husband, a father, a construction executive, a mountain biker, an adventure racer, and a friend. Yet I am still a child of 10, still a Marine, and still that same carpenter. They are all deeply part of me - they are me.

Mark Cohen has a song off the Rainy Season album about his father who did one thing his entire life or at least was seemingly trapped for most of his life. My father-in-law has worked in one place; a Mack assembly line, his entire working life. I don't know how he did it, but he has. It is more than I could do - the sameness would do me in. Due to responsibility, these men seemingly had no power to recreate themselves.

Rest for the Weary

My father was a working man
But his work was never done
He stood behind a counter
And he smiled at everyone
He bought himself a business
Worked seven days a week
Took a holiday for Christmas
Then he fell asleep beside the tree

But one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
They walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones

Now my mother stood beside him
She did what she could do
But if you look at some old photograph
She looks tired too
I hope there was some laughter
'‘Cause I know there were some tears
Now all I can say is I pray to God
That after all those years
After all those years

That one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
They walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones

Now I'’m just another traveler
On another winding road
I'’m trying to walk some kind of line
I'’m trying to pull some kind of load
Now sometimes I move real easy
Sometimes I can'’t catch my breath
Sometimes I see my father'’s footsteps
And man it scares me half to death

But one day One day
There'’s love for the lonely
One day
We walk in the sun
One day
Rest for the weary
Rest for the weary ones


I'm not sure if our "recreation" masks our former selves or magnifies our existing selves. Perhaps it will be as we make it. I think an intimate knowledge of what we were and a clear, ever-present memory of that person surely enriches our current life. Stop and remember what you "were". I am happy (and I think my temperament would allow nothing other) that I have had many "lives", many careers, and many adventures. I will have many more - what, I don't know. But, I am quite certain that I am not finished. After all, what better than to be a grandpa and a little boy all at the same time.