I write an adventure blog. But this post has no adventure, inspiring vistas, or heroes. During said adventures I'm known for my indefatigable optimism. But the events I'm going to relate here resulted in me prostrate on the floor muttering to myself, "what have I done?" This is the story of the day the bed broke.
Two weeks ago my wife and I owned a nice house. Each room was comfortable and adorned with our personal touches. The two car garage housed my turbo charged subaru, Hemi jeep, and the bicycles that transport me to freedom. We were totally happy, comfortable, and content. Then a realtor,
Colby Peterson, planted a for sale sign in the yard.
For the entire year we'd had the impression that a big change was coming. Following this impression my wife had a yard sale, we sold furniture, and we even sold my beloved WRX. In fact, without knowing what was coming, almost all of our non-essential valuables were listed on
KSL and sold. Then on a whim I went down to a builder's model home and was made an offer I couldn't refuse by
Arive homes. A couple weeks later a full price offer was on the table for our current home.
Things seem nice and clean don't they? Stuff sold, new build lined up, and a full price offer on house.
Life just isn't that easy.
The family that bought our new home is in the Navy. Dad got orders to go to Florida unexpectedly and they requested to move up closing to get settled in before he had to leave. FROM 2 WEEKS TO 2 DAYS. This would save us a mortgage payment and seemed like the right thing to do so we agreed. Also, the builder notified us that when they had agreed to build our new home for a set price they hadn't done their homework on the lot we wanted and it would cost tens of thousands of dollars more (top soil had been sold off the lot, and they would have to replace it to make the lot buildable). Enough more that we wouldn't be able to afford the build.
Now with no bright plan or hope of something better the move of moves began. My wife worked like a Greek Titan and I stayed up until 1am packing only to get up at 5am for the next couple of days. Supported by friends who came in waves we had everything moved out of our house into storage or our new apartment. Before this move my family has always moved somewhere bigger. Each apartment was bigger and then we bought a house. Now we were moving from a house into a small apartment which created a serious issue that can best be explained from a popular television show.
In the
A&E's Hoarders a team takes on homes that are completely filled with junk. With a form of obsessive compulsive disorder individuals are unable to throw anything out and collect hoards of stuff over years. Eventually this basic problem results: there is more stuff owned than will fit in the square footage where they live. Like a hoarder our stuff now exceeded our square footage.
Each room of our apartment was completely full of stuff. Trying to unpack a single box was a monumental task because there was simply NO WHERE to put ANYTHING. Sleep deprived and exhausted my wife and I would take turns collapsing. During my turn, I'd push stuff around until there was a 3x6 rectangle clear and lay on the floor muttering to myself 'What have we done?' During my east coast tough wife's turn she would just start crying--this happened with increased frequency on the third night of no sleep, after she had been up with one of our sons who had caught a stomach bug. We had to get something right. Some ray of light had to break through noxious clouds of apartment downsizing. So we made the bed.
At the 2014 University of Texas commencement Admiral McRaven with the Navy SEALS gave an excellent talk on the lessons he learned during SEAL training. He stated, "To me basic SEAL training was a life time of challenges crammed into six months." This was his advice on making your bed:
It was a simple task–mundane at best. But every morning we were required to make our bed to perfection. It seemed a little ridiculous at the time, particularly in light of the fact that were aspiring to be real warriors, tough battle hardened SEALs–but the wisdom of this simple act has been proven to me many times over...If you can’t do the little things right, you will never do the big things right.
And, if by chance you have a miserable day, you will come home to a bed that is made—that you made—and a made bed gives you encouragement that tomorrow will be better.
If you want to change the world, start off by making your bed.
Ok, Admiral. We were happening to have a miserable day. So we made our bed. A spot was cleared, the frame built, and sheets located. The bed became the only sanctuary in an otherwise dismal existence. Then while taking a small respite my son and I were sitting on the sheeted sanctuary when SNAP! BAM! The sanctuary was invaded by barbarians, the walls lit on fire, our idols and paintings defiled. The bed frame had been compromised in the move and it broke under the weight. The ray of light slammed shut.
Also from Admiral McRaven's talk:
As Navy SEALs one of our jobs is to conduct underwater attacks against enemy shipping. We practiced this technique extensively during basic training.
The ship attack mission is where a pair of SEAL divers is dropped off outside an enemy harbor and then swims well over two miles—underwater– using nothing but a depth gauge and a compass to get to their target.
During the entire swim, even well below the surface there is some light that comes through. It is comforting to know that there is open water above you.
But as you approach the ship, which is tied to a pier, the light begins to fade. The steel structure of the ship blocks the moonlight–it blocks the surrounding street lamps–it blocks all ambient light.
To be successful in your mission, you have to swim under the ship and find the keel—the centerline and the deepest part of the ship.
This is your objective. But the keel is also the darkest part of the ship—where you cannot see your hand in front of your face, where the noise from the ship’s machinery is deafening and where it is easy to get disoriented and fail.
Every SEAL knows that under the keel, at the darkest moment of the mission– is the time when you must be calm, composed—when all your tactical skills, your physical power and all your inner strength must be brought to bare.
If you want to change the world, you must be your very best in the darkest moment.
My son and I got up. I bought some screws. I fixed the bed. We unpacked boxes. Put everything in its place. Then I registered for the Squaw Peak 50 mile Ultramarathon. Bring it.
