Like many people, I’ve experienced significant, life-altering days. But no day has had more effect on my life than 30 May, 1973.
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It was a day on the cusp of the southern hemisphere winter, probably a little chilly in our unheated home. But it started more-or-less as usual, just another day in my last year at elementary school.
However, that brief normality soon morphed into a nightmare.
My coach had died. What could I do?
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My apparently healthy Dad had died in the pre-dawn darkness.
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I’d lived and flourished in my Dad’s bright light.
My aunt apparently described my Dad as ‘my entire world’; even looking back, I don’t know that I would have used those words myself. But I felt complete in his presence; everything was all right while he was around. In contrast, my relationship with my mother was rather difficult; we didn’t understand each other.
My Dad was an engineer, a visionary one; a designer. Ideas bubbled from my Dad. While growing up in the home he was building around me, I developed my own dream. I knew I would emerge from his shadow after my high school and university years as a fully-trained architect, ready to design beautiful homes, alongside my Dad, naturally. He worked for a prestigious international firm. I intended to join it. He had twenty years to go before retirement, so I knew I’d be learning from him and working with him into my thirties, and perhaps beyond.
Not many twelve year olds know what they will be doing for the next twenty years. I didn’t either. But until 30 May 1973, I thought I did.
◊♦◊
Without my Dad, I struggled to find a path.
Mathematics wasn’t my strength. An architecture degree required physics, and maths. My coach had died. What could I do?
For many years, Nothing I tried was satisfying.
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And my mother didn’t think I was “suitably academic” for university. The obstacles piled up.
The magic and allure of the profession faded as I struggled to regain belief in the future I’d imagined. And so my dream died too, though its corpse remained unburied.
My mother was a writer; my second-best strength was writing. I dabbled in that world for a while. My high school magazine venture was successful, but my initial novels were not nearly polished enough to be published.
I drifted.
My dream hadn’t been merely “to become an architect.” My dream had been to create wonderful things with my Dad. He was a “man,” I would be one too. But in the space of a day, that path changed from inevitable to impossible.
After high school, I looked for a job in a drawing office, but there were no architectural openings. The drawing I learned was map-making, not architecture. Close, but no cigar. And so life took me down other pathways.
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Over the years, I dabbled, never settling.
Back in my late twenties, I did open an architecture practice, without a degree, and I even had staff for a time. I pioneered some techniques in earth and straw-bale building. It was fun. I’ve designed many buildings which I am pleased to have my name on. But life threw other curve balls. I failed to secure sufficient architectural work, and I drifted further.
I’ve done lots of things subsequently; I could have been labelled one of those “jacks of all trades, master of none.” For many years, nothing I tried was satisfying, so I didn’t stay in it long enough to get proficient.
However, a continual drive to try new things in new places used up a lot of years. I’ve now traveled to and lived in several countries.
And then, eventually, I returned to writing, as the internet’s development made new things possible. I’m in a niche now that never previously existed. I publish a magazine with a growing circulation; I’m on a new road. Life’s exciting, with a lot of new challenges, and I’ve excised a lot of the ghosts.
It’s not the road I imagined though, all those years ago.
◊♦◊
I’m now in the second half of life.
Or am I? Do I have half left, or do I have only one more week?
How long is life?
How long will yours be?
Eventually, I understood that my old dream belonged to another life.
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I’ve lived longer than both my parents. I’ve lived much longer than my brother.
I’m well aware of life’s frail, momentary flicker that extinguishes without warning.
I also don’t blame fate for the path I now walk. I’m older. I’ve learned a few things. We all decide the steps on our journey, on a daily basis. And many people have got over a mentor’s death and continued to pursue their dream. If architecture had really been burning in me to the exclusion of all else, I would have gotten that degree; I would have gotten it done. And I would be designing homes today.
But somehow, my Dad’s death so changed my outlook, that nothing has ever been the same.
It took me years to get over it. But eventually, I understood that my old dream belonged to another life, which had long ended. I realized I had to make the most of every moment. I’ve learned that what’s behind is of no consequence, and whatever is ahead tomorrow isn’t worth worrying about either.
The only time I can make a change is during my next breath.
If you’ve a dream, go for it. Don’t let anyone’s words or warnings stop you. And if it’s no longer a path you value, find a new one. Start today. What if this will be your last day? My Dad didn’t know his last moments were upon him, until they were.
Spend at least a few minutes in pursuit of whatever matters most. And if you don’t know, find out.
I write about this, because too often too many people waste too many days on ‘what ifs’ and ’maybes’. And I’ve found that helping others build their way in life is easily as satisfying as building architecture, perhaps more so.
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Photo Flickr/ Angelo Di Blasio