Aimless Archery or Taking Hockey Shots

Which one is it in the cacophony of affirmation and inspirational practice?

“Don't think of what you have to do, don't consider how to carry it out!" he exclaimed. "The shot will only go smoothly when it takes the archer himself by surprise.” — Eugen Herrigel

Confession: In the aftermath of the established plan for things exploding like a Diet Coke bottle spewing forth after a Mento is dropped into it, I sat around in the Vegas one-bedroom and sort of freaked out. I went through the motions of seeking work as the financial cushion I had counted upon was suddenly ripped away (along with every dollar saved in nearly eight years) but I can’t say I was motivated. It was like I was dog paddling in the ocean without choosing a direction to swim so I stayed in place and hoped I wouldn’t drown.

I went through LinkedIn and Indeed and sent out half-assed resumes to maybe five potential gigs per week. Like Cousin Eddie in Christmas Vacation, I was “holding out for a management position.” This, in and of itself, was not unreasonable. Most of my work life has been in some sort of management position and, frankly, I’m really good at it if not a bit unconventional in my approach. That lack of respect for convention generally makes me a risky hire but, in my experience, the risk almost always pays off.

I had a few interviews for jobs in Denver that, while solid, did not lead to offers. A few remote writing gigs that turned out to be scams or so low-paying as to be a bit of a joke. I wasn’t inspired to stick the landing. I didn’t really know what I was going to do, where I was going to live, who I was in general. I’d settled into the life of the husband, the partner, the breadwinner and when that all blew away, I was suddenly confronted with the concept of reinvention without a plan.

I escaped to Kansas to lick my wounds (which is gross when you stop to think about the idea of literally licking your bleeding contusions) and tried that ‘fake it til you make it’ nonsense—pretending to give a shit, put out those newly minted resumes, feel like I was engaged but not at all. Didn’t want to let any one down despite the fact that, in terms of my personal life, the only person I could possibly let down was myself.

Like the Zen Archer, I was shooting arrows into the ether without a target and somehow hoping they would hit something. Being a big fan of quotes and sayings, parables and metaphors, the zen concept has been sticky. I tend to want control of the few things I can control and that gets in my way once in awhile. The idea is to relax and, to use another metaphor, float through life like a twig in a river.

That resulted in the part-time substitute teaching gig—low pay, dull days, but flexibility. I decided to be more intentional about my goals and look for specific jobs I wanted—paid well, offered some intellectual growth, fit within my wheelhouse of skills amassed in the thirty -five years of working.

“You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.” — Wayne Gretzky

That Wayne Gretzky method of visualizing your shot, seeing the puck before you get there, and that metaphor for achievement didn’t really score, either. Was I just past my expiration date on this deal? Was I too old? Too white? Too much of a risk? I couldn’t tell but it became discouraging.

After a few months in Wichita, effectively wandering around with the self pitying hound dog face, I took that trip to Chicago. I didn’t have a goal. I was shooting an arrow into the air and hoping it hit something worth noting. It did. I found my center of gravity. I no longer felt like I was going to fall on my eggshell skull at any given moment. I returned to Kansas with a renewed sense of what needed to be done.

It wasn’t the approach. It was my focus. A little bit of zen archery, a little bit of Gretzky hockey, and a lot of me getting up offa my ass and wanting it. Not so much wanting a gig but wanting to move on. Motivation to get on with it, you see? Recognizing that to embrace both is a cop out yet knowing that on some days it’s easier to float on that river while on other days it feels empowering to focus on a specific goal and swoll up to achieve, it is a cop out I’m willing to wear.

The view from my seat is thus: 145 resumes out for consideration for work ranging from remote copywriting and events management to retail management and perfunctory work in local Kansas casinos, a daily reminder that “We are sorry but…” and stoically going in to substitute teach on days I’m available. My bills are paid but keep grasping to be fed. I really have little to bitch about as my lot is no different than a solid chunk of everyone else. Comparison is pointless so I don’t engage in that much. Funniest that, when I look back on my writing of the past twenty years or so, I’ve been here before (not in the exact set of circumstances that landed me here but a similar outcome) and I did just fine in each case. As a long-time Chicago friend would say “No one lands on his feet quite like Don Hall,” and there is some comfort in that sentiment.

Landing on my feet is the task. Not any specific job or salary. Not any specific city.

I wrote back in 2016:

“The plus to this is that Live, Die, Repeat movie theme wherein each time you die and come back, you have just a bit more information on how to proceed within the next iteration. Each time I find myself here, reinventing myself, shedding off the husk of the former, I know more than I did last time. So, the skin is all pink and fresh but the soul is more wise. At least that's the idea.

It gets dicey when one goes from the full-time gig and all its perks—health insurance, bills paid on time with almost a casual disregard to the basics, a comfortable structure to one's day, the status of the job—and it disappears, the shock to the system is palpable. All of the things that were negatives to that corporate enslavement—required conformity, working within the politics of the Dog Eat Dog, the inability to control one's schedule and a general lack of time to be creative—slowly seem more bearable. Panic desperately wants to set in. Poor choices are made in pursuit of that benign but secure existence.”

With my freshly pink skin and my hopefully wiser soul the goal is to avoid that panic and those poor choices. I take stock of what I’m working with and push forward, one step in front of me and try not to look down at the chasm below. Persevere.

You decide to enjoy the ocean some. Why not? It's the freaking ocean! You throw on a swimsuit and wade in. At some point, the current pulls you further out and you go under. You nearly drown. That's a pretty helpless place as drowning is a bit terrifying. You don't drown but the pain is obvious.

Suffering is deciding that this experience is insurmountable. It is deciding that the only lesson is to avoid the ocean at all costs and to wear that one time I nearly drowned as a badge of martyrdom. "Yes, you burned your face fixing an engine but I nearly drowned." You are now a victim of pain and the constant reminder has you reliving that pain on a daily basis.

Perseverance is looking at that pain and deciding to learn to swim. Taking control of that which is within your power and dealing with it.

And so it goes…