Good Work

“What goes on in your innermost being is worth all your love, this is what you must work on however you can and not waste too much time and too much energy on clarifying your attitude to other people.”

Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

As Rilke states, I have my hands full working on myself to spend much time working on you.  It’s not that I’m not empathetic towards you or unconcerned about your situation, it’s just that on any given day I’m too busy dealing with my own issues.

Delving into one’s “innermost being” is hard work.  And usually you need some help. Although the first professional counselor I saw came highly recommended, I went reluctantly. Jack worked out of a room in a United Methodist Church on Signal Mountain, Tennessee.  He was not affiliated as a minister of that church, he just used their room.  I don’t recall the first thing he said to me, but I vividly recall the first thing I said to him.  I said, “I’m uncomfortable with paying you to listen to me.”  And then I remember as he responded with, “Do you want to talk or not?”  And I said that I did.  Like so many people do, at that time I blamed my emotional problems on unresolved issues with my parents, especially my father.  Jack heard me out as I explained that about all my dad ever did was fish and golf and that if I wanted a relationship with him it had to be on his terms.  My counselor, who by now was probably growing annoyed said, “Then I suggest you do some fishing and golfing.” And I did just that.

Over the next ten years I lost count of the trips I took to fish and golf with my father. We golfed at either the Enterprise Country Club or one of the courses near me in the northwest Georgia area.  I never beat him, and few did, but I was at least competitive and we had great fun. We fished quite often at West Bay, Florida or in my grandfather’s pond outside of Enterprise near New Brockton, Alabama. When the Bible says, “Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling” who knew you could work it out on a golf course or in a boat holding a rod and reel. We continued to fish and golf after Dad was diagnosed with lung cancer until he was incapable of making the effort.  Whatever I paid that counselor to listen to me and talk to me is worth its weight in gold. Maybe I would have figured it out without him, but I would have wasted precious time.

After I had returned home after Dad’s funeral, the song “The Living Years” by Mike and the Mechanics played on my car’s radio. Hearing the lyrics about unresolved issues and unresolved grief with the writer’s father I was so deeply grateful that Dad and I, without ever having “a talk”, had worked much of it out just by spending that much time together. "I wasn't there that morning when my father passed away. I didn't get to tell him all the things I had to say" thankfully didn't apply to me.  When I cried listening to the song it wasn't for pain or anger; I cried for joy and gratitude.

But all my problems weren’t solved.  I saw my last counselor twenty six years until he retired last fall. Rilke says, “What goes on in your innermost being is worth all your love, this is what you must work on.” After all that time and all that work with Dr. Brown, all of my emotional issues still aren’t resolved. I still need help. I already miss my counselor and friend so much.  But I will always see the smile on his face and hear him as he closed out each session with “Good work.”

"I just wish I could have told him in the living years."   I did tell my father. And he told me. And for that I'm  eternally grateful.  Thanks Jack. What do I owe you?