“We don’t see the world as it is, we see it as we are.” Author Unknown
I don’t know if there is anything more important than the way we think about a thing, the way we think about anything. Right or wrong, our perception is our reality. If we think something is giant and unsolvable, it can be overwhelming. If we think the same issue is something we can work through, we can do it. If we can change our perspective about something, anything, we can change how we view it, think about it or work through it.
It can be easier to agree with this premise than to practice it. It’s especially hard to change our viewpoint when we are in the situation, our judgment can become clouded. Our pride might get involved, we are convinced we are right and we can miss something we might otherwise see.
How can we possibly get a clearer perspective on anything? I think it starts with humility. Unfortunately. To be open to another perspective, we first have to be open to the possibility that we might be wrong about the way we are thinking about it right now. It starts there. Our estimation of a situation could be wrong. Our emotions may cloud our judgment or our broken, narrow, thought processes may lead us astray. If we want as much clarity as possible, we have to be open to the possibility that our initial, or previously held, assumptions and beliefs, might be wrong. That can be difficult.
“But that’s the way I feel. I can’t help the way I feel.” Beware when those words come out of our mouth. We are in the Danger Zone! (Cue the Danger Zone music.) We should be wary people who consistently speaks in absolutes and do not allow for the possibility that they might be wrong. Especially when that person is looking back at us in the mirror. They are the most dangerous.
The quote, “We don’t see the world as it is, we see the world as we are,” is attributed to a couple modern authors but Google tells me the idea appears in 1st century Hebrew texts and is probably older. It recognizes that we are generally unlikely to analyze a situation without filtering it through our own broken experience. The Apostle Paul wrote the Epistle of Titus around 60 AD and said, “To the pure, all things are pure, but to the defiled and unbelieving, nothing is pure; but both their minds and their consciences are defiled.” Titus 1:15. Notice, “…both their minds and consciences are defiled.” No matter our experiences, we see the world as we are, not as it is.
I am not advocating for a mush-mind, tumbleweed mentality of being blown to and fro by the winds of indecision. I am all for decisive action. Also, there are some critical life decisions and principles that, once we commit to them we are fully committed, and we should be. I am, however, encouraging that we consistently step back and assess things with as much of an open mind as we can muster. Detach, analyze, re-engage. Maybe we are absolutely on the correct track. Great. Charge forward. Then, later, detach, analyze, re-engage.
We might consider this approach for all things, all situations. How we approach adulting, parenting, our jobs, relationships, marriage, a golf swing, problem solving, everything. We will never be able to get better at anything without first accepting the possibility there might be a better way to do it.
I was 9 years old when I first ran away from home. I do not recall what exactly launched me out that day but I know there were a few motivating factors. I was terrified of my angry father for one. He called me “You little shit” so often I thought it was my name. Even though he coached my little league team and allowed me to go to the bar with him after his touch football games, he often spoke with a venom that I cringe today as I recall it. Also, I was sexually abused by a young adult stranger who caught me and a friend exploring an empty home in our neighborhood. On top of that, my Uncle Steven was fond of little boys and also sexually abused me a couple of times. As I learned later, this was common with him and other adults in the extended family.
Whatever the reason, in the summer of 1974 I took off on my steel wheeled skateboard to start my new life as a 9 year old hobo. Our home on Cherry Lane in Bozarah, Connecticut was about 5 miles to the town of Norwich where I would launch myself into the world that had to be better than what I was leaving. My determination evaporated after a couple hours and I managed to use a payphone and call my parents. I’m not sure they knew I was missing.
It was only 2 years later that I discovered the sweetness of Southern Comfort, weed and petty crime. When I was 11 we moved to the Rogers Lake area where I rounded most of the bases with Heidi and I found an equal passion for shoplifting, egging houses and destroying mailboxes. My grandmother once showed me a newspaper article about Roger’s Lake vandals and her wise eyes told me that she knew it was me. I also learned that “big kids” will beat you up for no reason and that wearing plaid Sears Toughskins jeans was a good reason to be ridiculed.
Without the perspective I am burdened with today, I was thinking I had a fine childhood. Summers in the lake, girls, sports, being Evil Kienevil on our bikes, drunken vomiting in the snow, a little weed now and then, lots of adventure and the lack of parental supervision that came with being a latch-key kid in the 70’s. Apart from the verbal berating, visits from the police and a few instances of sexual abuse, I look back on it with fondness. Also, it seemed like my friends had the same experiences, so, it was kind of normal.
The summer before 8th grade, in 1978, we moved to Nashville, TN. My Dad wanted to break into the Country Music business as a songwriter. He didn’t. What did happen was that I learned that being poor and unkempt also attracted bullies and the kids I found acceptance with were in the same boat as me. I began a serious love affair with marijuana. Not coincidentally I suspect, I often wore a black, flat brimmed Zorro hat, with sunglasses, and carried a souvenir bullwhip around our apartment complex while wearing cowboy boots with cut off jeans. Like a 5 year old. I was 13. Some days I would wear a complete baseball uniform out and about despite not being on a baseball team. This is the type of thing that bullies live for. Too bad I wasn’t better with that whip. Apparently, an elderly gay man liked this look as well because he tried to molest me in his apartment but I had seen that movie before and was able to get away.
A year later we moved outside of Nashville to Bellevue,TN. We lived in an apartment complex where I began to fully explore what being a wayward teen could really mean. I smoked weed like a young Rastafarian. Stealing my Dad’s weed was a point of contention with him but I was pretty comfortable with it. I was also introduced to Quaaludes, Valium, LSD, Crank (meth), huffing spray paint, stealing cars and breaking & entering.
“Breaking In”, as we called it, was a hobby. There were a couple kids who showed me how to get through locked front doors, sliding glass doors and windows and I became proficient. I broke into a cop’s apartment and stole several guns that I traded for weed and acid. He later tracked me down but, mercifully, didn’t arrest me. Another time I stole liquor and a .38 revolver which I eventually traded for weed. I stole coin collections, food, candy from cupboards, money, weed, liquor and prescription drugs. I skipped school for weeks at a time. I stole, or helped steal, at least 4 cars, wrecked one and damaged another.
I was often in trouble and my Dad handled it by whipping my ass like a grown man. That didn’t cure me. I ran away from home a second time after stealing all the payday money from my Mom’s wallet and took a bus to CT. Upon arrival, I hitchhiked for 15 miles to Rogers Lake, slept through the early morning on the snowy ground and showed up barely alive at Heidi’s house. My grandmother came and got me and I stayed with her for a week before I was sent home to face the music. Another time I ran off, I attempted to steal the family car, wrecked it trying to leave the parking lot and rode a bus around Nashville most of the night. Clearly I didn’t have a plan beyond immediate escape. My parents brought me to therapy a couple times but gave up on it quickly. All of this was in my 9th and 10th grade years.
My antics continued in my 11th and 12th grade years although we moved to different apartments and much of my outright criminal activity ceased. Weed, acid, pills and mushrooms were all part of my life though. A close friend refused to sell me acid any more because I was doing so much. I would often go to school to score drugs and then leave. I had multiple bad trips on acid and mushrooms. Trouble and I were still well acquainted but without the breaking and entering and grand theft auto.
I lost my virginity in the summer before 9th grade and, as teenagers do, became absolutely and wildly consumed with the pursuit of girls. It was 1978-1982 and it seemed like all my friends were sleeping around. I do not know how I didn’t impregnate anyone in high school but I thank God, for all involved, that I didn’t.
By a miracle of God I graduated Hillwood High School in 1982 and a year later, joined the Navy. I knew my future didn’t look incredibly bright so I thought I’d learn a trade and travel the world. In February 1984 I left for boot camp and it probably saved my life. The military was great for me and I’ve written about it here.
The experiences of my childhood produced a screwed up kid who turned into a wayward adult. I’ve battled my demons, had great victories and suffered abysmal defeats that have harmed people I love. I wanted to be the one that broke the family curse of anger, violence, substance abuse and more. I have failed in major ways but I’m grateful that my kids’ childhood wasn’t anything like mine. I’m also grateful that God’s mercies are new every day and I’ve been able to get up when I’ve fallen.
Regardless of the baggage I carried from my childhood I know that, as a man, there was a point that I became 100% responsible for my own actions. There are simply no excuses, we are responsible & accountable. I don’t have a victim mentality and my failures are my own.
I am incredibly grateful for my parents. Things were not ideal back in the day but they were doing the best they had with the cards they were dealt. Later on, my Mom ended up being very loving and supportive and my Dad was the same. As he became “Grandaddy” he was idolized by many, including me. He has since passed away but he finished strong and I’m forever grateful for his love, support and the lessons he left with me.
As for me, I have gone from a worshiped father to alienated and now rebuilding. In my next post I’ll talk about success, failure, forgiveness and, maybe more than anything else, developing a new mindset. I hope some of the lessons will resonate with a few people.
Encouragement4Men 