My Potential

That's me --the empire builder --sitting on a stump. 1981

When I was in my early twenties, I discussed with a friend over the phone future plans and decisions that are typical of young men in that time of life. I can't recall many of the exact details of our banter but we were both in college and I was working as an artist part-time on the newspaper of a youth outreach organization that I felt was enough of a worthy cause to eventually become my career. What I do remember of that conversation, distinctly, as words coming out of my mouth, was the bold proclamation, "I'm building an empire!"

Obviously I had a very high estimation of my potential at that time. My youthful exuberance and aura of imagined invulnerability was in full sway. Now as a guy in my 50s, I see things differently. I’ve not built any empires but I’ve created a life for which I’m thankful. I’ve sustained a career as an artist and art educator for all my adult life and have been blessed with a family that I cherish.

So what is my potential now? I’m actually just beginning to sort that out as I fend off doubts and insecurities that are common to middle-age. The last thing I want to do is make this a gripe session on the travails of growing older. As I catalog and estimate the rate of (and extent of) my inevitably-diminishing powers, I am determined to focus on the growing strength of my increased, wider perspective on life.

That perspective has taught me to hurry less, worry less and not take myself too seriously. It reminds me that all people have common frailties and everyone makes mistakes. Truisms, I know. But that perspective has taught me I should not be in the business of unnecessarily judging people or demonizing those who think or believe differently than I do.

Flashback, again, to my time as a young man. I drove my 80-year-old grandmother to the bank for some financial dealings she needed to fulfill. My grandmother, Clara, from what I knew by watching her all my life, was a stern, devout woman. She had conservative views and an outspoken nature. But she knew how to make the kind of small talk common in rural communities.

All the bank clerks knew my grandmother and she and the current clerk, a middle-aged woman I’ll call Betty were discussing upcoming plans for the Summer months. Betty mentioned that she was making a vacation trip to Las Vegas. I braced myself for what I expected would be an icy turn on my grandmother’s side of the conversation. That is, if she didn’t outright warn Betty of the evils of cards and gambling.

“You only live once, child,” was all she said, good humoredly as they finished the transaction. And at that time I caught a glimpse of the potential I see for me now. To grow in acceptance, compassion and good will. I’m happy with that.