It’s been a particularly shaky new year thus far, checkered with slumps, bumps, and a few disappointments. As the days wear on, it’s easy to get sidetracked by worry, and to not place as much attention on the habits that help me remain grounded like meditation and cultivating a positive outlook. I would be lying if a sense of panic hasn’t reared its head from time to time, and I had become very adept at keeping such emotions under control, so to experience it again (albeit in fits and starts) was alarming. Coming back from a litany of errands today, it took all the energy I had to drag a few bags of groceries into my home. When I realized that I hadn’t checked the mailbox yet, I walked towards the bank of boxes, waiting for a handful of bills to await me upon opening the little gray metal door.
What stared back at me from the dark recess, however, was a bright turquoise envelope with a gold sticker on the front. I happily ripped it open, knowing by the handwriting that it was an Easter card from my mother. I’m from a family that finds any, and every, reason to send correspondence. No holiday has passed where every window sill and shelf hasn’t succumbed to a staggered squadron of cards. As I expectantly pulled it from the envelope, I smiled, reassured that the small fortune I had sent to the government earlier this morning (tax season!) wasn’t being followed by another institution’s request for money. What awaited me was more than an Easter greeting, however. This bejeweled card held within it a black and white picture of my grandfather from 1951. It’s a photo of him in his military garb while he served on a base in San Diego during the Korean War. With my groceries melting on the entrance hall floor, I held the picture and began to cry. It was the most uplifting and nourishing message that I could have received at this time, and it wasn’t really a message at all, rather it was a reminder of why I hold such high esteem for this man, someone whom I consider the most influential man in my life.
When my grandmother tells the story of her courting days, she is adamant to include how meticulous my grandfather was about his appearance and image. He worked all throughout high school and college, pressing his clothes nightly and polishing his shoes after every wear. Loved by all who knew him, he was always laughing, smiling, and calmly plotting his next challenge. As a child of an Italian immigrant, he had a stigma to move beyond before attaining respect for his exceptional academic and social accomplishments. When he married my grandmother and returned from serving, he catapulted himself into a life that exemplified defying all doubt. He often made entrepreneurial decisions that held so much risk, my grandmother would look at him in shock with every new scheme he proposed. He put everything on the line many, many times. Whenever he was met with doubt or concern, he calmly replied with a signature smile, “it’s going to work.”
Because he had an unwavering faith in himself and in his dreams, he went from a small town kid in a working class Italian neighborhood to a man who flew his private jet to New York on a whim if he felt like a leisurely lunch. It was that confidence in the Universe that always helped him to remain on the crest of the tide, never succumbing to the fear that often puts so many of us underwater and drowning in a sea of despair. It’s that characteristic that I admire most in my grandfather, and I hope that maybe, just maybe, through some miracle of DNA, I acquired his stamina and hopefulness.
So even though my frozen grocery items may not have made it through my emotional contemplation today, I know in my bones that every single one of us can, and will, make it through as long as we retain that knowingness from within that we are the co-creators of our own destiny and happiness. In the words of a very smart man, it’s going to work.
