My inner Why

Seeking my inner Why

The cosmic question. Why am I here? Why do I do the things that I do? Why is my what? I feel like I’m just a place- holder. Everyone is born with a talent, or so its said. What is mine? At 73 I’m still trying to figure that out. It’s certainly not music. After 40 years banging on my guitars, my only relief is feeling sorry for the poor things. They’re like cats without providers, foraging around, eating bugs, fighting for survival. If my guitars were alive I could be charged with child abuse. I spent most of my working life wishing I had another job till I found flying. No. I didn’t fall into it. I worked and spent all I had toward that lofty goal, attaining commercial licenses in the U.S., Canada, Sudan and England only to lose my medical before my career jumpstarted. Within a year, matter of fact.  So flying wasn’t it.  Aircraft maintenance, my initial gambit into the working world, interesting as it was, drew up short as a life’s passion, but stood me in good stead as a fall back after flying career crashed in flames.  Now , healthy and disease free, occupy a sinecure that has seen me through the great recession and has afforded me a comfortable however luke-warm life style, providing just enough income to eat, drink and smoke well while saving for retirement. But with work like this why retire? Not a career passion but somewhat satisfying and not totally time consuming. I fell into this gig; a full time job working 226 days a year. Two weeks off for Christmas, 4th of July, a week for Spring Break, plus about another 30 days in sick vacation and non-duty days. Who’s complaining but the place-holder feeling remains. The free gift everyone is born with eludes me still, or does it. If I count my blessings or heaven forbid, compare my life to another the day would run out of minutes before finishing. Janice Joplin was born to be something. Lots of people are obviously born into this world with a life mission, a pre-determined fate. Frank Sinatra sang his way through a very engaging life and did it his way. I’m still alive. Janice and Frank are not although that is unfair because Frank died at age 81. Prince was born with a gigantic talent but died at 57. Greatness cut short seems to be a recurring theme. Shooting stars vs a slow burning but everlasting sun. Place holders vs an evening’s light show. In addition these stars seem to be implanted with the seeds of self destruction. Those who are born healthy and assured of longevity occasionally choose to live in an environment toxic to their souls; surrounding themselves with irresistible temptations flying  in the face of stable, loving family relationships. Live fast die young vs hang around forever.

Those souls who are shooting stars and also finish the race seem truly gifted with not only their talent, but a calm and pleasant demeanor and the common sense to recognize the invitations to fire and brimstone. Paul Newman, Frank Sinatra, Robert Redford, who chose to live outside of the Hollywood fleshpot, but then there are those who seem to do very well there, Jack Nickolson springs to mind.

Thinking back, I’ve led a pretty charmed albiet uneventful life. Peaceful, missed all of the shooting wars. Stared death in the face a couple of times and came out ok. Avoided some close scrapes through no skill of my own. Its almost my guardian angel has orders to save me for something special.  Then got placed in Central Texas, safely tucked away from earth quakes, tornados and hurricanes with a reliable and adequately paying job which saw me through two recessions. I have enough toys on wheels , more than enough, so much that I can barely afford to go anywhere paying for the Insurance and Taxes. House is comfy, food is tasty, life is steady. God’s plan, and I may never know the part I play on his stage.  Out of my paygrade. OK. Maybe its you up there praying for me after all Mom.