"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Sizes"
Christmas, 1995: This year's Christmas story is a very personal one. Some of you may
want to stop right now and read no further. This would be especially true if you find that reading about a person's deepest feelings would embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. This is a true recounting from my perspective of a very troubling experience I had this past year. I have deliberated a long while to try and decide whether to share it or not. I recognize, since I am trained in psychology and counseling, that part of this sharing is my own therapy. I also realize how vulnerable writing this story and sharing it makes me. Further, I fully recognize that I didn't follow the advice I would have given any client in a similar situation -- get professional help when you need it. Yet, I believe if this story helps just one of my friends to put their life into perspective, the sharing of it -- even as deeply personal and painful as it is -- will have been worth it. Therefore, this story begins on a down note yet it ends on a much more upbeat one. No names have been changed to protect anyone :-)
"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Forms," Marilyn King, dear friend and psychotherapist, San Francisco, CA, September, 1995
When January, 1995 rolled onto the scene, things in my life were already less than satisfactory. Although my business had taken off and I had been quite pleased with the income and work load, the project that meant the most to me -- a Department of Energy land use planning activity, known as "The Common Ground Process" -- had been placed in a 'black hole' by the senior management at Oak Ridge.
Now, you would expect that someone who had spent 21-years working in and around the
government would not have been so distressed over such asinine actions. Quite the opposite, however, was my reaction. For the first time in my own business I felt, not thought mind you at first that is, I felt as if my personal and professional self-esteem had been ripped from me. I felt as if the government and contracting associates who were making such decisions were personally and professionally attacking me and my credibility as a person and professional. Combine these feelings with the painful losses I had not mourned from the death of my beloved Donna Walls and the anxiety I had for my Dad, Bert and Diane's health and you have some sense of my angst.
It wasn't as if I didn't have work and billable hours -- the most important aspects of working for yourself is the scared billable 60-minutes. The work continued at a slower pace, the bills could be met, and we weren't going to starve. What I didn't have -- it seemed to me-- was a voice, or a way in which to influence, educate, inform, and elucidate the importance of not screwing up such an important undertaking as this land use work. What I experienced again in my life --- I had experienced it before at TVA --- was government and its management pointing the proverbial gun at the foot and beginning to pull back on the trigger. Yet, this time my foot was within striking range and I damn well didn't like it!
Days and weeks dragged by while decisions weren't made and in reality avoided. Commitments to interact and involve the public began to fall to the side when government and contract managers began to realize that the efforts being undertaken could really mean that the taxpayer, the public, the stakeholder -- was indeed being asked to speak up and speak out about a subject that could impact them for years to come. "My gawd," as my dear friend Bob Mundy used to say, we were actually providing a forum for government and its contractor to not just play the game of public participation but to actually participate by listening and responding not in a "spin-control" way but rather in a true problem-solving, conflict resolving mode.
Before I proceed, let me state that I recognize that such a mode of operation is foreign to any government agency. Further, I understand that it makes absolutely no difference what the Secretary of a department says, or for that matter a President -- "the will bee's" ("we will be here long after any President or Secretary is gone") actually run government. I used to think like a 'will bee' and I knew the 'seemingly powerful' position that such a government manager thinks he has.
However, I had been optimistic enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, government
really was changing it stripes. Now, in reality I should have known that when I was hired as a subcontractor -- the last of the food chain and lowest of the low in the contracting business -- to ostensibly 'manage and coordinate' this project from a community relations viewpoint that the management of such a process was not possible. I had recognized early on the issues, problems and frustration associated with such an untenable position. Eventually I got myself from the middle of that position and into one where I could provide counsel, consult and practice those skills, which I could excel at.
Perhaps, it was the culmination of all this angst, frustration, and bafflement that ultimately led to the feelings that were about to erupt in me. Whatever, they simmered only briefly and then erupted in a fury. Questions of self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem began to haunt my sleep and waking hours. My consumption of alcohol increased, sleep either evaded me or encompassed me, irritability, and anxiety became daily and constant companions.
Perhaps, it wasn't until the day that I knew beyond any doubt that the bullets for the rifle had to be locked in the storage house outside did I realize how deep a depression I had. That realization came to me one day when I found myself sitting alone in the floor in the guest bedroom rifle in hand.
I felt and believed for this period of time that I was totally and completely alone, unloved, uncared for, and lost. Kay's presence, nor the cats, or those occasions where our dear friends Robby and Diane visited changed that feeling. I found it made no difference what I did. I threw myself into what work I could focus on, I wrote some of my feelings down but that got too painful.
Some of you will recall that at the first of January I had spent a few days in the hospital. I began to drift back to that time and think about how cared for I was but that didn't help stop the spiraling downward depression from relentlessly attacking me.
Being the type of person who has never asked for help I found it was no easier when I was in such pain. I called friends under the pretense of checking on them. One night when Kay was gone to a meeting I drank very heavily and called to talk to Jim, Bert, and Marilyn. Jim was out, Bert and I visited a brief while but superficially, and at Marilyn's I got a recorded message. Still I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone I needed their help. I couldn't admit the need to Kay -- for the fear that I would be seen as weak and immature. Kay had warned me that one of the most difficult things I would experience working alone would be the loss of companionship. Those words haunted me as I tried to decide what was best for me, for her and my friends.
I honestly can tell you that I thought seriously about suicide. This had not been the first time in my life -- the other times, as I reflected, all had similar traits to this occasion. I had had similar thoughts as a teenager when my Dad left home, after my divorce, and after the aborted relationship I had with the married woman while I was single. Each of those times, however, I had been able to talk with someone that I worked with or a friend that was nearby and available that could provide me an objective perspective. This time I felt I had no such outlets. I considered seeking private counseling -- something that I have always suggested to my own clients and friends. Yet my ego wouldn't allow me the courage to ask for help from a stranger.
Then, one weekend when Kay and I were walking in the woods on the ridge behind Oak
Ridge an 'angel' appeared in my life. Too say that this angel saved my life wouldn't be an understatement. Like many people who experience angels I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas on business and frankly I just didn't feel I had time for an angel or anything else. But it seems the Universe and God had other intentions.
We still have this angel in our family. We call him 'Stempy.' Although Kay realized only after naming him that 'Stempy' is the cat in the cartoon series, 'Ren and Stempy.' His official name is H.J.D. Stempson -- at least that is what I say to any one who wants the 'official' name. That stands for "Happy Jumping Dog Stempson." He has brought a totally new meaning of joy, love, compassion and feeling to my life. I have named him the Chief Financial Officer for The Armstrong Group -- one bark for "yes" buy it or do it; two barks for "no" let's take a walk! More importantly, he has provided me a focus and a depth of understanding about myself that didn't previously exist.
You see this dog, a combination -- at least in my eyes-- of perhaps, wolf, coyote, shepherd,and husky brought perspective back to my life. I had dogs as a child -- cats too. Yet, as an only child, I always hesitated getting too close to them for fear that they would leave me. I always felt that to provide unconditional love to them would somehow end up hurting me. This is not to say that I wasn't warm and affectionate toward them, as I am toward many of my friends, yet it is to say that I still withheld a small part of me. Stempy would bear no quarter in letting me withhold anything. His soulful brown eyes and smiley face captured my heart and wormed its way into my very soul.
Somehow he helps me open up and talk again --- if just to him --- about those things which trouble me. Things that have long haunted me from the 60s and 70s. Things that keep me awake at night. He helps me to show genuine and uninhibited affection, attention, and generosity. He helps me better understand what sharing of the spirit can mean in feeling okay with yourself.
I love this dog unconditionally. Perhaps, more than I ever loved any other dog in my life. He has become my best friend and constant companion. My friend Bert reminded me this year at deer camp that we shouldn't get too close to our dogs since too often something happens to them.
He's probably right. But for now in my life I want to be close to this dog. He listens to me and doesn't judge me. He shows me respect and kindness and he loves me back unconditionally.
Perhaps, the lesson that this funny little angel brought me was one that I have known all along but that needed reinforcement --- sometimes in life we must take risks and when we do sometimes we are generously rewarded --- we are at all times better for it because we are then and only then fully living life.
The feelings of depression began to subside when Stempy came into our home. My level
of emotion and depth of feeling about life however is deeper and more meaningful to me than ever.
Perhaps, I have finally begun the slow and arduous process of forgiving myself for not being the perfect son and husband. Perhaps, I have recognized through this dog that life is too short to not live it too its fullest; that laughing and crying and feeling the depths of my emotional world are okay. And maybe I am learning that at 45 years old there is much more to life than just trying to make money, stay up with the Joneses, and be something that I was never cut out to be.
It is these life lessons that Stempy has helped bring into perspective. You may say that it is all part of going through the middle age crisis. Maybe it is. Yet, somewhere within me I know that angels do come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are a funny little dog that makes you smile and laugh just thinking about him.
So, as we wrap up 1995 and plunge into 1996, we prayerfully hope that you and your
families will be richly blessed. May you have the happiest and most prosperous of New Years' ever.
END
December, 1995
Christmas, 1995: This year's Christmas story is a very personal one. Some of you may
want to stop right now and read no further. This would be especially true if you find that reading about a person's deepest feelings would embarrass you or make you feel uncomfortable in any way. This is a true recounting from my perspective of a very troubling experience I had this past year. I have deliberated a long while to try and decide whether to share it or not. I recognize, since I am trained in psychology and counseling, that part of this sharing is my own therapy. I also realize how vulnerable writing this story and sharing it makes me. Further, I fully recognize that I didn't follow the advice I would have given any client in a similar situation -- get professional help when you need it. Yet, I believe if this story helps just one of my friends to put their life into perspective, the sharing of it -- even as deeply personal and painful as it is -- will have been worth it. Therefore, this story begins on a down note yet it ends on a much more upbeat one. No names have been changed to protect anyone :-)
"Angels Come in Many Shapes and Forms," Marilyn King, dear friend and psychotherapist, San Francisco, CA, September, 1995
When January, 1995 rolled onto the scene, things in my life were already less than satisfactory. Although my business had taken off and I had been quite pleased with the income and work load, the project that meant the most to me -- a Department of Energy land use planning activity, known as "The Common Ground Process" -- had been placed in a 'black hole' by the senior management at Oak Ridge.
Now, you would expect that someone who had spent 21-years working in and around the
government would not have been so distressed over such asinine actions. Quite the opposite, however, was my reaction. For the first time in my own business I felt, not thought mind you at first that is, I felt as if my personal and professional self-esteem had been ripped from me. I felt as if the government and contracting associates who were making such decisions were personally and professionally attacking me and my credibility as a person and professional. Combine these feelings with the painful losses I had not mourned from the death of my beloved Donna Walls and the anxiety I had for my Dad, Bert and Diane's health and you have some sense of my angst.
It wasn't as if I didn't have work and billable hours -- the most important aspects of working for yourself is the scared billable 60-minutes. The work continued at a slower pace, the bills could be met, and we weren't going to starve. What I didn't have -- it seemed to me-- was a voice, or a way in which to influence, educate, inform, and elucidate the importance of not screwing up such an important undertaking as this land use work. What I experienced again in my life --- I had experienced it before at TVA --- was government and its management pointing the proverbial gun at the foot and beginning to pull back on the trigger. Yet, this time my foot was within striking range and I damn well didn't like it!
Days and weeks dragged by while decisions weren't made and in reality avoided. Commitments to interact and involve the public began to fall to the side when government and contract managers began to realize that the efforts being undertaken could really mean that the taxpayer, the public, the stakeholder -- was indeed being asked to speak up and speak out about a subject that could impact them for years to come. "My gawd," as my dear friend Bob Mundy used to say, we were actually providing a forum for government and its contractor to not just play the game of public participation but to actually participate by listening and responding not in a "spin-control" way but rather in a true problem-solving, conflict resolving mode.
Before I proceed, let me state that I recognize that such a mode of operation is foreign to any government agency. Further, I understand that it makes absolutely no difference what the Secretary of a department says, or for that matter a President -- "the will bee's" ("we will be here long after any President or Secretary is gone") actually run government. I used to think like a 'will bee' and I knew the 'seemingly powerful' position that such a government manager thinks he has.
However, I had been optimistic enough to believe that maybe, just maybe, government
really was changing it stripes. Now, in reality I should have known that when I was hired as a subcontractor -- the last of the food chain and lowest of the low in the contracting business -- to ostensibly 'manage and coordinate' this project from a community relations viewpoint that the management of such a process was not possible. I had recognized early on the issues, problems and frustration associated with such an untenable position. Eventually I got myself from the middle of that position and into one where I could provide counsel, consult and practice those skills, which I could excel at.
Perhaps, it was the culmination of all this angst, frustration, and bafflement that ultimately led to the feelings that were about to erupt in me. Whatever, they simmered only briefly and then erupted in a fury. Questions of self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem began to haunt my sleep and waking hours. My consumption of alcohol increased, sleep either evaded me or encompassed me, irritability, and anxiety became daily and constant companions.
Perhaps, it wasn't until the day that I knew beyond any doubt that the bullets for the rifle had to be locked in the storage house outside did I realize how deep a depression I had. That realization came to me one day when I found myself sitting alone in the floor in the guest bedroom rifle in hand.
I felt and believed for this period of time that I was totally and completely alone, unloved, uncared for, and lost. Kay's presence, nor the cats, or those occasions where our dear friends Robby and Diane visited changed that feeling. I found it made no difference what I did. I threw myself into what work I could focus on, I wrote some of my feelings down but that got too painful.
Some of you will recall that at the first of January I had spent a few days in the hospital. I began to drift back to that time and think about how cared for I was but that didn't help stop the spiraling downward depression from relentlessly attacking me.
Being the type of person who has never asked for help I found it was no easier when I was in such pain. I called friends under the pretense of checking on them. One night when Kay was gone to a meeting I drank very heavily and called to talk to Jim, Bert, and Marilyn. Jim was out, Bert and I visited a brief while but superficially, and at Marilyn's I got a recorded message. Still I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone I needed their help. I couldn't admit the need to Kay -- for the fear that I would be seen as weak and immature. Kay had warned me that one of the most difficult things I would experience working alone would be the loss of companionship. Those words haunted me as I tried to decide what was best for me, for her and my friends.
I honestly can tell you that I thought seriously about suicide. This had not been the first time in my life -- the other times, as I reflected, all had similar traits to this occasion. I had had similar thoughts as a teenager when my Dad left home, after my divorce, and after the aborted relationship I had with the married woman while I was single. Each of those times, however, I had been able to talk with someone that I worked with or a friend that was nearby and available that could provide me an objective perspective. This time I felt I had no such outlets. I considered seeking private counseling -- something that I have always suggested to my own clients and friends. Yet my ego wouldn't allow me the courage to ask for help from a stranger.
Then, one weekend when Kay and I were walking in the woods on the ridge behind Oak
Ridge an 'angel' appeared in my life. Too say that this angel saved my life wouldn't be an understatement. Like many people who experience angels I really didn't know what to make of the situation. I was scheduled to go on a trip to Vegas on business and frankly I just didn't feel I had time for an angel or anything else. But it seems the Universe and God had other intentions.
We still have this angel in our family. We call him 'Stempy.' Although Kay realized only after naming him that 'Stempy' is the cat in the cartoon series, 'Ren and Stempy.' His official name is H.J.D. Stempson -- at least that is what I say to any one who wants the 'official' name. That stands for "Happy Jumping Dog Stempson." He has brought a totally new meaning of joy, love, compassion and feeling to my life. I have named him the Chief Financial Officer for The Armstrong Group -- one bark for "yes" buy it or do it; two barks for "no" let's take a walk! More importantly, he has provided me a focus and a depth of understanding about myself that didn't previously exist.
You see this dog, a combination -- at least in my eyes-- of perhaps, wolf, coyote, shepherd,and husky brought perspective back to my life. I had dogs as a child -- cats too. Yet, as an only child, I always hesitated getting too close to them for fear that they would leave me. I always felt that to provide unconditional love to them would somehow end up hurting me. This is not to say that I wasn't warm and affectionate toward them, as I am toward many of my friends, yet it is to say that I still withheld a small part of me. Stempy would bear no quarter in letting me withhold anything. His soulful brown eyes and smiley face captured my heart and wormed its way into my very soul.
Somehow he helps me open up and talk again --- if just to him --- about those things which trouble me. Things that have long haunted me from the 60s and 70s. Things that keep me awake at night. He helps me to show genuine and uninhibited affection, attention, and generosity. He helps me better understand what sharing of the spirit can mean in feeling okay with yourself.
I love this dog unconditionally. Perhaps, more than I ever loved any other dog in my life. He has become my best friend and constant companion. My friend Bert reminded me this year at deer camp that we shouldn't get too close to our dogs since too often something happens to them.
He's probably right. But for now in my life I want to be close to this dog. He listens to me and doesn't judge me. He shows me respect and kindness and he loves me back unconditionally.
Perhaps, the lesson that this funny little angel brought me was one that I have known all along but that needed reinforcement --- sometimes in life we must take risks and when we do sometimes we are generously rewarded --- we are at all times better for it because we are then and only then fully living life.
The feelings of depression began to subside when Stempy came into our home. My level
of emotion and depth of feeling about life however is deeper and more meaningful to me than ever.
Perhaps, I have finally begun the slow and arduous process of forgiving myself for not being the perfect son and husband. Perhaps, I have recognized through this dog that life is too short to not live it too its fullest; that laughing and crying and feeling the depths of my emotional world are okay. And maybe I am learning that at 45 years old there is much more to life than just trying to make money, stay up with the Joneses, and be something that I was never cut out to be.
It is these life lessons that Stempy has helped bring into perspective. You may say that it is all part of going through the middle age crisis. Maybe it is. Yet, somewhere within me I know that angels do come in all shapes and sizes and sometimes they are a funny little dog that makes you smile and laugh just thinking about him.
So, as we wrap up 1995 and plunge into 1996, we prayerfully hope that you and your
families will be richly blessed. May you have the happiest and most prosperous of New Years' ever.
END
December, 1995
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