Life sucks. Life is hard. I hate my job. I hate people...or so it was posted each morning on my Facebook news feed. It used to baffle and bother me when people would post negative comments alluding to what seemed to be a miserable existence ("used to", as now I just delete them: problem solved). It bothered me for two reasons: first, I couldn't begin to understand how one could think for a moment it was socially acceptable to air out dirty laundry in a public forum like that and second, I failed to comprehend how people could be so miserable in the first place.
It was the moment I acknowledged the latter I realized I failed to empathize with miserable people because I was not; am not; have never been miserable. Of course, thinking too much as I always do, I wondered why I wasn't miserable. Moreover, when was the last time I was unhappy? Crap. Either my memory was slipping as I approached 30 or it had been so long I simply couldn't recall. The "why", however, I did know. I failed to be miserable simply because I didn't care.
Let me explain: I grew up essentially "fatherless" (see, here is where I enter into a brief bio and assume I'm important enough you actually care about my personal life). Well, fatherless in the positive sense. I consider myself lucky to have had an example of what not to be when I grew up, as opposed to having no example at all. I had a lot of angst built up for no specific reason. I was a good student, solid athlete, and had a great core group of friends but, as many of you can recall, I couldn't go a single school year without getting suspended at least five or six times (the Wednesday ditch party was totally worth it, by the way...sorry, Mom!). In short, I had a major problem with authority. I, of course, thought I was always right (still do) and found it hilarious to see adults in positions of power get so worked up over the comments of a 17-year-old.
It was funny until I was nearly expelled my Junior year. To this day I know I was in the right regarding the incident in question but that's not the point. As I pleaded my case to my Grandfather he listened quietly, taking in every word and seemingly siding with me as I carefully crafted my argument for why I was right and "they" were wrong. For those of you who know my Grandfather, he needs no introduction. He was and is the positive father figure in my life and when he spoke, I listened. I doubt he ever knew how much his words influenced my perspective growing up and what he said next changed my life forever:
"It doesn't matter" he said. "Your perspective of who's right and who's wrong doesn't mean anything. It doesn't even matter who is actually right and who is actually wrong because you are not in control; they are. If you are unhappy with the decisions being made and with how things are being run you must learn to play by their rules. Otherwise, you're nothing but a troublemaker. You must play the game, give them what they want, and work your way into a position where you have the power to make decisions...and once you're there, you change everything."
I immediately understood. Life is a chess game. The things beyond one's control matter very little in the greater scheme of things, for we are blessed to live in a country where if one works hard and plays by the rules he can work himself into a place where he makes the decisions and then, and only then, can he craft the world he wants to live in. This was the moment I stopped caring. I stopped caring about the crap; the things that used to set me off that I literally had zero control over. Traffic, bosses, coworkers, authority figures, computer crashes, flat tires, other people's stupidity...the list goes on.
The moment I stopped caring is the moment I began to get everything I ever wanted and it continues to be a race to see how quickly I can craft the world I want. Life is a series of chapters. Some seemingly have nothing in common with those preceding them, and it is not until we finish the book that we understand what a fluid and seamless tale it has been. It is the distraction of things we cannot control that effect our ability to complete chapters. If you do not like the page, keep reading, for if you keep reading the chapter and the story will eventually change and you will sleep better, love more, earn more, laugh more, and enrich the lives of others while simply living. If you can't read, learn how to play chess. You'll thank me, I promise. Or, perhaps you should thank my Grandfather.
I could not be more pleased with the progress...but 30 is just the beginning.
