No one has ever accused me of conventionality. I run to the beat of a different drum. Caution is often thrown to the wind leaving people shaking their head, making my mother mad, and leaving some angry that I do things differently. It led to a pretty interesting career and a most fascinating life.
Career wise, I was forever against the wind but made progress anyway. When I was a Professional Christian as the minister of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel, my boss Dr. Russell Bennett called me into his office ... again.
"I would fire you," he angrily began.
I have no recollection of what I'd done this time. Russell kept going, "and I would except your numbers are through the roof. You're successful in a place where no one's been successful before. But let me tell you something," he extended a boney finger into my face, "if your numbers go down, you're fired."
The numbers never went down though I eventually did. It lasted eight years until my heart was no longer in it. When your heart is no longer in something, it eventually finds a way to work itself out, not always in the best of ways or according to any sort of well laid plan. It just gets out.
The Church is still going strong. We'll both live a lot longer, if you live without me.
Then it was back to Savannah where the career defied all logic. A tiny little homeless shelter became a $13 Million Company with subsidiaries in housing development, health care, employment training and placement, behavioral health care, and public policy development. We broke most every rule there was to pull these things off but we did. Our partners were hospitals, academic institutions, all manner of governments, rich people and a very small number of religious organizations.
It was quite the ride that lasted a quarter-of-a-century. It also took me around the world, made me a media presence, won me all manner of recognitions and even had me carry the Olympic Torch. I published eight books in ten years, met famous authors who wrote nice things about what I wrote, and gave speeches at places like the LBJ School of Public Policy at the University of Texas in Austin and the National Press Club in Washington D.C.
Then my heart was no longer in it and when your hearts no longer in something ... well ... it finds a way to get out. Not always in the best way.
My Savannah work continues still because it's hard to kill something once its been established, though God knows people try.
It's alright. We'll both live a lot longer if you live without me now.
Goddess and I were strolling around the Back River yesterday when my dear friend Shirley Sessions drove up in her snazzy new SUV. She made a face because, while Goddess had a lease on ... I wasn't holding the other end of it. Shirley gets on to me about this. I don't care. Goddess likes to chase marsh rabbits ... so I let her. She never catches one but loves the chase and I don't particularly want to participate.
Rolling her window down, Shirley asks how I'm doing. "You gotta love your life," she says. "My God ... the things you do."
It struck me as the funniest of things to say.
I thought about it all day and well through the night.
For the first time in my life ... it's all about me. I've given until I've got little left to give ... at least in terms of world changing things. I've changed worlds and no longer feel the need to do it (though opportunities continue to present themselves). I have achieved more than I ever imagined and also failed magnificently (thank you Soren Kierkegaard) ... at work, in marriages and in long term financial planning.
Nevertheless ...
I'm finally a Beach Bum, which has been a life long ambition.
I'm doing things few others are doing ... turning three wonderful children into six ... wearing a black wedding ring ... riding my bicycle with Sarah most places ... writing what I want ... growing sunflowers ... figuring out the next great thing (thank you Cathy Dunham!) ... discovering new music (thank you Jeremy Elliott) ... hanging around just a few friends (thank you all).
So ... I'm not ready for any person, place or thing to try to pull the reins in on me ...
Trust me.
We'll both live a lot longer.
