A great many years ago I heard a phrase that has pissed me off pretty much ever since. It goes like this:
The greater the dream – the greater the struggle – the greater the prize.
If it's true then that fucking sucks. I'm finding it to be true.
The farthest back memory I have of wanting to quit something – just give up because I really did not want to struggle anymore, was in Jump School. For those who don't know, Jump School is a 3 week school where you learn how to jump out of military aircraft, conducted under the auspices of the U.S. Army Airborne School. Those that pass either go on to some POG job and never see a T-10 again or they go on to become a Paratrooper. A Paratrooper is a soldier that jumps out of a noisy hot ass puke smelling C-130 into hostile territory (and the DZ's at Bragg are hostile even though its still within the boundaries of the US) with several hundred pounds of shit that isn't going to work strapped to their body. You hit the ground damn hard and roll it off with a dynamic PLF and say to yourself I'm the SHIT because I just did that shit.
Why would anyone want to quit Jump School ? I honestly don't even remember what it was about it that made me want to ring the bell, but I know there was something. Anyway, I kept telling myself "it just doesn't matter … it just doesn't matter" and singing cadence in my head, "Eighty Second … patch on my shoulder" and for kicks "down in the jungle where the coconuts grow." Somehow I found a place inside that said FUCK you fucking fuck I aint gonna quit this shit so bring it on BITCH!!
Can you feel me ?
When my high school friend Joe Adams walked up to me on graduation day (I had no idea he would be there) and slammed those silver jump wings into my chest I cried. Sure, it fucking hurt and my BDU's were ruined from the blood. That's not why I cried. It was my very first taste of real victory after a struggle where I did not want to keep going but I did it anyway.
That taste was bittersweet but every time I had my knees in the breeze after that I knew that I had done something that I can be proud of and that NO ONE could ever take away from me. I'm a fucking Paratrooper and that means I can do shit you would piss yourself if you had to do it. (No offense intended – just read my fucking story and STFU).
Seriously, please don't be offended. It's a cultural thing, and its part of the prize of completing Jump School – you get to do something not many people get to do. And skydiving does NOT a paratrooper make, but that's another blog.
The next thing in my life that I remember really wanting to quit (that I am willing to talk about anyway) was sailing that little 24 foot sloop from San Francisco to Mazatlan.
BT and I had been talking some serious shit about leaving as the storm season approached the Bay Area. Finally we got drunk enough - or sober enough, take your pick – to cut the docklines and head out the Gate.
Who the fuck decided that was Fleet Week anyway? We get into some nice reach right through the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge and the next thing I know the entire Pacific Fleet of the U.S. Navy (read – BIG fucking boats) was everywhere.
We made it out and every day we left shore it got easier and easier. I pretended that Point Conception was not getting any closer with each leg of the trip.
Well we got to Point Conception mid-afternoon on whatever day of whatever month that was and holyfuckingshit….. I think there were no less than 7 law of physics that were broken by the sea that day. It was big steep slam my poor boat into the dirt waves and I was a little freaked out. OK – I was scared a lot. I thought about turning around because I heard there were days people motored past the Point on a sea of glass and how wonderful that would be about right now.
Well we decided to keep going anyway. I called my position to the Coast Guard and somehow we made it to Cojo Anchorage just around the point. We set anchor in 5 foot swells and paid homage to Willie and Bob and Jimmy (all three of them) and played some buffet. A song came on that was branded into my soul. You likely won't know it, its called "Treat Her Like a Lady." And it was every thing that my heart was screaming to say at that moment. If you really want to know why finish reading my blog and Google the song.
The point is, after more than three months, BT and I had somehow navigated this little 24 foot flush deck sloop from San Francisco to San Diego. We found a big ass cheeseburger and reflected on the HOLY FUCK we did it! There were storms and squalls and I was broke the entire time. I wouldn't change a thing.
What do you care right ? It's important to realize that the day I dropped anchor in San Diego I grew up. Well, I STARTED to grow up. I had some demon to slay yet, and more trouble to find, but I slammed on the breaks and slid for a few years into adulthood.
Fast forward to 2008. The year I took the California Bar Exam. (There may be some airing of dirty laundry in what follows)
After the Baby Bar school went along fairly smoothly. Bar Review was starting in a few months and my wife was going to take care of everything so I could focus on the bar exam.
Except somewhere along the way we had a serious difference of opinion about the expectations and contributions of her tweenage daughter. So bad it seems that I wasn't wanted in the home anymore. I excused myself and rented a room across town and bar review began. There was some pretending that the problem would be fixed but we both knew it wasn't going to be. I'll own my share of the fault, whatever portion that may be. The point is, she decided to move to another State.
Then after I moved out her car got stolen or repossessed or whatever happened. They did find it, or give it back or whatever.
Around this time I noticed it was getting hotter outside and my car air conditioner wasn't working to good. In fact it didn't work at all. I live on the surface of the sun – AKA Phoenix. FUCK!!!
Next, my step father dies. Although I wasn't all that close to him I still need to be there for my family.
Next, she actually moved to Texas.
Next, we have that conversation – the one where I say leave me alone so I can get through the fucking bar exam without anymore drama or trauma.
That conversation leads to "yep – we are done."
With me so far?
Next, my air conditioner still doesn't work and its fucking HOT. I'm spending 7 days a week in my office studying and working and studying and driving in this heat.
Next, I start to have panic attacks about the bar. I don't know enough law. I don't know how to write. I don't know this, or that, or why did I go to law school anyway. It would be so much easier and peaceful to just give up. Lots of people graduate from law school and never take the bar right ?
Next, my power steering is leaking by the gallon because there is a hole in the hose. Hot and hard to handle.
Next, she gets in a car accident and lets me know while I am in the final stages of bar review.
Did I mention that bar review has made me so broke that I can't afford to fix the air conditioner in my car ?
Then something changes. I'm still a mess inside, but I'm at peace. Someone takes care of all the little things and all I have to do is focus and study. (More about all the PEOPLE who are important to my bar success in a later installment of this blog – I'm focusing on the bad shit right now and don't want to mix it up with the good stuff - thats next).
In the end, there were so many times I wanted to quit. I even said "I quit." I was frustrated and just didn't want to do it anymore.
I kept sailing.
I kept running to Georgia just like this.
I stood in the door and jumped into the open sky knowing I had struggled enough and it was time to get it on.
That fucking elephant tasted like SHIT! But I ate that fucking thing. All of it.
It started with a dream that I could be a lawyer – I could help people and really make a measurable difference in another human being's life.
The struggle was well, you read about a small part of it. I lost a lot of things. I had no life. It sucked in ways you wouldn't believe.
The prize. I took that bar – it did not take me. Whatever the results are. I've done enough, and if I fail well then I fail but not to me. I went into that room for three days and fought that monster every minute of time I was given. I stabbed and sliced and I can say FUCK YOU I can do it you BITCH!!!
I quietly slammed my bag of pens into the trash can on my way out of the room and knew that I won that war no matter what the points are in the end. I won that war because I know I won't ever quit. I won't give up. I will stab that motherfucker until it gives in to ME.
As Dylan Thomas said so many years ago …. "Do NOT go gentle into that good night…"
RAGE
RAGE
Because if you don't quit you will win.
I am many things, but I don't tap out like a bitch when it gets painful. I am not broken.
So it's not about the results in November. Its about the fact that I know the struggle has been worth every heart wrenching moment along the way.
To be continued….
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