Miss Jane

I’m pretty late for a Thanksgiving post. But I spent the four days around “turkey day” living large—golfing, hunting, watching college football, and overeating—way too busy to write anything. But in between those traditional holiday pastimes, I found time to spend with family, my parents, an aunt and uncle, and cousins. One of my family’s favorite diversions at gatherings is walking down memory lane, recollecting about the lives of parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents. I’m not sure anyone actually walked uphill through the snow both to and from school, but my ancestors certainly endured poverty and hardship. Understanding the past definitely puts more of my life in perspective and helps me understand some real reasons to give thanks.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the privilege of interviewing a 93-year-old lady named Miss Jane for a feature story. She was born in 1917. A child of the Depression, she knew hardship—true cold, darkness, and life without electricity. Unlike most of the people of her generation, especially the women, she was fortunate to be able to attend college thanks to FDR and the New Deal. She found a job with the Red Cross and had a 30-year career with Central State Hospital. But unlike so many whose dreams involved escaping home, Miss Jane’s dreams were to get back there. She moved back to the family home, began to purchase back land lost in the Depression, and established a cattle farm that she has managed alone for nearly sixty years. “All I ever dreamed of was getting back home.”
Unlike my family and Miss Jane, I’ve never faced such hardships. I have never lived in a home without air-conditioning. I never attended a school without air-conditioning either. I’ve certainly never gone to bed cold, wanted for clothing, or faced missing a meal. My parents were resolute that I was going to college, that I would have opportunities they were not afforded. There is indeed reason for thanksgiving each and every year.

But I am quite envious of one of Miss Jane’s possessions. One dream, the chance to return to her home and build a farm, compelled and motivated her through her early life and career. I’m envious of that clarity, that sense of purpose and satisfaction with its achievement, which defined her life. I really don’t know what dreams I hold most dear—and if any are achievable goals or merely fascinations that occupy the imagination without motivating action or resolve. Could it be photography, a corporate career, or something else entirely? Maybe it’s a function of a mild case of midlife crisis. Am I looking to be Judge Wapner instead of Doug Lewellen? Is that enough to find happiness? Or is it art for arts’ sake that I seek? I yearn for that clarity and the prospect of a dream where achievement can bring such satisfaction.

Without a doubt, Miss Jane has many reasons to give thanks. She never married and lives alone on her farm amid 220 acres and 67 cows. And she never got air-conditioning. But she’s living her dream.

Edging Nearer the Deep End

So I got my hair cut today by someone different. Seems the lady who usually cuts it is out following surgery. So at the recommendation of a friend, I tried someone new. We talked a little bit about me, about how much I hate my hair and some ideas about what to do with it. She processed that info for a few seconds and then asked, “Are you having a midlife crisis?” How could she say that? Does she think I’m forty? Heck, I’ve got six months until I hit forty.

As I sat down to contemplate this observation from a learned source—let’s face it, hair stylists and bartenders are experienced therapists—I thought of Jimmy Buffet and A Pirate Looks at Forty. I’ve not lived the colorful life he describes. In fact, I think my life has been quite the opposite, void of risk, and I have come to wonder if that is an entirely good thing.

Photography is a passion for me. Seeing my world through a lens—capturing a moment— is therapeutic. That didn’t happen overnight. But in a few short years, it has come to consume much of my imagination, my creativity, and my dreams. And one of those dreams is to find success as a photographer.

Ironically, in the last two weeks, I have had been asked to shoot images for a local magazine, a book cover, and a wedding. My stock photography has done extremely well. Yet, the thought of really sticking my neck out there, of buying new equipment, insurance, and all the other things that come with owning a business sends butterflies rocketing around my belly. Why is it so hard to jump into the deep end of the pool? And in how many other areas in my life have I been cowering near the shallow end where it’s nice and safe—where I can’t get hurt?

A journalist and author from Chicago, Sydney Harris, once wrote. “Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable.”

For what it’s worth, I’ve got a new hair style today. And I recently bought some new bootcut jeans that I think look quite good on me, especially for someone 39 years old. And I’ve been hanging out near the deep water, wondering if I can see the bottom—or if that matters.