Never Hope Alone

 

NEVER HOPE ALONE

I have been paying attention lately, listening for the pronouns folks use when they talk about hope.  By far, the pronoun I hear most often is “I”.  As a result, I have begun to wonder if hope is a solitary endeavor, something one covets for oneself.

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Memorable Day Part One

A Story in Three Parts – A Memorable Day – Part One
The Run Up to Terror

Writing about one particular “memorable day” is a harder task than I first imagined.  I have had plenty of memorable days.  The account of this “memorable day” contains the accumulated memories of several days leading up to the day I remember as one of the most frightening days of my life.

With great clarity, I remember the first time I was helicoptered out to an oil rig in the middle of the North Sea to begin my first two-week shift, doing God knows what kind of labor.  All I knew was it would be hard, physical labor.  I also knew it would be potentially dangerous work.  If that wasn’t enough to engage my active, imaginative, suspicious, scared as hell mind set, nothing would be.

I had taken the train up from London to Aberdeen on Thursday, the day before I was to begin my new job.  That’s what the representative from my new employer told me I should do.

Here’s what I remember happened next, beginning with waking up at the Dee Motel in Aberdeen Scotland after a short night’s sleep.

My instructions from the company that had hired me to work on the oil rig were simple and clear: on Friday, be outside the Aberdeen Train Station promptly at 8:00 am to get on a shuttle bus that would take me to the Aberdeen Airport, the second leg of my trip to the rig.  Obviously the first leg was the trip from London to Aberdeen.

In fact, the train trip from London northward towards my own unique rendezvous with destiny was actually the second leg of a trip that started at the airport in Newark, New Jersey for my flight to Heathrow Airport London.  This first leg, second leg, narration will get very confusing very quickly.  So, let me be somewhat loose with some of the finer details of how and when I found myself standing outside the train station in Aberdeen that Friday morning in May.  Who really cares what leg of my journey this represented?

A cab picked me up at the motel about 7:15 am Friday morning.  I informed my cab driver that all I knew was I was to meet a shuttle bus taking folks from the train station to the airport to go out on an oil rig in the North Sea.  My brief travel instructions to the cabbie didn’t seem to phase him.  He obviously had done this before with other similarly confused passengers.

All too quickly, the cab stopped in front of the train station.

To be honest, I was hoping for a longer ride.  I hadn’t had enough time to deal with my increasing anxiety.  “Here you go, Laddie.”  I got out and the cabdriver got on with his day.

I wasn’t sure I was at the correct gathering spot at the train station. Folks who work on oil rigs don’t stand out from the general population.  They look normal.  But a large gathering of guys, standing in a group, smoking cigarettes and talking too loudly for 7:45 am was a tip off these guys might be my companions for the next two weeks.  In a vain attempt to start off on the right foot, I tried to engage the group in conversation.  They would have none of it.  I was no one of consequence, just a new face.  New faces didn’t show up in that group without some concerns for the veteran workers.  I would have to ease those concerns at some point.  For now, I followed the group onto the shuttle bus that had just arrived and off we went to the airport in Aberdeen.

Everything on the ride out to the airport was new to me.

It was routine to the others on the bus.  They were off to work.  I was off to adventure.  They weren’t as interested as I in the quaintness of the streets of Aberdeen or watching shops opening along the way or being fascinated by the early morning activity along the waterfront.  Like I said, they were going to work, I was going on an adventure.  Every flower and tree, every storefront sign, every sea gull looking for a free meal, every noise and smell was unfamiliar to me and held secrets to be explored.  My companions on the shuttle had milked dry the secrets of those scenes.  I was fascinated, they were oblivious.  My fascination would soon turn into terror.

End of Part One

Part Two will appear on January 17, 2018.

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Struggling With Hope

Some of my best days are days in which I struggle.  Sometimes the struggle is physical, sometimes spiritual, but always the struggle screws with my understanding of myself and others.

 

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The Hole in My Backyard

I am digging a hole in my backyard.  I have been working on that hole for some time now. It’s turned out to be a bigger job than I had expected.  But I persevere and persist.  This project seems to have a life of its own.

 

 

 

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Why I Trust In Hope

“The first rule is to keep an untroubled spirit.  The second is to look things in the face and know them for what they are.  (Marcus Aurelius)

 

In the past, I have had no success in conquering the first rule of Aurelius. Therefore, I have not been able to proceed to the second rule. When in the past, due to an unsettled spirit, a metaphorical/existential fork in the road has appeared before me, my spirit has imploded.  This is no way to live. Too many forks in the road, too many decisions to be made to have a troubled spirit.  That’s why I decided to seek out the spirit and confront it head on.  And as a result of this quest, I have found my trust in hope.

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What Was Her Hope

“A bad day of fishing is better than a good day of work.” (sometimes attributed to Sir Izaak Walton)

 

I have enjoyed practicing the art of fly-fishing ever since a friend of mine coaxed me to buy my first rod and reel when I was a senior in college. Without false drama, I can state fly-fishing helped me cope with the ebb and flow of experiences that have, so far, made up my life.  How about you?  What has comforted you and helped you cope with your own ebb and flow of experiences?

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Standards of Hope

“People never improve unless they look to some standard or example higher and better than themselves.” (Tyron Edwards – 1809-1894)

 

 

 

 

There are groups and individuals with which we have contact.  Some inspire us, some attempt to control us, others categorize us.  How do we find those who will give us fresh perspective, give us affirmation, give us friendship?  Are we looking?                                                                               Continue reading “Standards of Hope”

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Crushing Hope

You’ve got no choice.

Turn off the news.  Go outside and take a deep breath.  Do the one thing you know will bring a smile to your face.  Forget your troubles for an hour.

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When To Give Up Hope

Hope is not something you and I were meant to hold on to until better times showed up.   Hope isn’t the ultimate healer of all of our problems.  Hope is a state of mind, a worldview, an attitude that transcends how we look back at the past and how we encounter the present.  As you and I approach our unique futures, hope is not intended to be the automatic antidote for all things problematic.

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Reaching, Always Reaching

“The tragedy of life doesn’t lie in not reaching your goal.  The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach.  It isn’t a calamity to die with dreams unfilled, but it is a calamity not to dream.  It is not disgrace to reach the stars, but it is a disgrace to have no stars to reach for.  Not failure, but low aim, is a sin.” (Benjamin Mays – 1894-1984)

I wasted a day yesterday and for the first time I can remember, I was, I am aware indeed that it was a wasted day.

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