Author: Ron Johnson

Life of Ryan IV: Work

Ron Johnson Feelings, men's issues

(This is the fourth in a series of blogs by “Ryan,” a person in my clientele who has MS.)

I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up. Now that might sound a bit strange because I am grown up, at least by age, since I’m 72. But somehow “I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up” still seems true for me. I think it has always been true for me. I have never had some passionate purpose in the world of work.

Now don’t get me wrong. Until my becoming disabled with MS I always worked diligently, consistently, and honestly. I never was out of work and sometimes worked a second job to make ends meet. I was the sole bread-winner in the family and was rather proud of the fact that I provided my wife with the opportunity to do what she did best, and wanted to do: raise our children. She did a fine job at that endeavor. In my working career, I did a variety of things, usually people-related, starting with stocking as a grocery boy, then landscaping, then after my brief stint in college and longer stint in the Navy, I worked in some kind of sales. I did a sales route for some time and ended my working career at an inside sales job. I think I can honestly say that my work ethic has always been good. For me, “on time” meant “early”, not late that it is for many people. I don’t know if I worked harder than anyone else did but I always worked faithfully. So work was never a problem. Vocation was, however.

I never had what I could consider to be a vocation. My psychologist and amanuensis (remember that word; it means ghost writer), Ron, and I have talked about this several times, and I always end up saying, “I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up.” I still don’t. If I were able-bodied (Gosh, I wish I were), I have no idea what I would do or could do as far as a profession. If I were out and about, I might have another sales job or work part-time for some landscaping outfit, but these would be jobs, not professions. Ron talks about a “profession” as something much more than a job. He told me about a trash collector that he knows who has a profession out of trash. That sounds a bit weird because I think of professionals as doctors, lawyers, and teachers. But the idea that a profession can be anything is an interesting idea. A profession is built on some kind of inner drive or purpose that leads to some kind of excitement and ultimately to some kind of purpose.

I never have had that kind of passion and purpose. My purpose of working was to put bread on the table and clothes on my family. So I worked to do that, and would probably dig ditches (Gosh, I wish I could) or anything if I could do such things. But the idea of doing something that I feel compelled to do is a real challenge. I’m not sure what that feeling of purpose is like. I don’t think I’ve ever really had that kind of feeling, like some people have for hang-gliding, doctoring, or starting some kind of business. If I were to start a business, I have no idea what I might do. I’m not sure I have that entrepreneurial spirit that some people seem to have, but more importantly, I don’t have that thing people call passion to do something great. I wish I did. I wonder how I missed that passion thing that seems to drive people, maybe to college, the military, some special business, or politics.

I doubt that I am alone in this dilemma. Ron tells me that many people are in the same position, i.e. not knowing what they want to do when they grow up. School was pretty easy for me, at least elementary and high school. The Navy was not so bad. You needed to be busy or look busy. You know what they say about the military: if it moved, salute it; if it doesn’t move, pick it up; if you can’t pick it up, paint it. That I could do. I did my jobs in the navy without complaint and rather enjoyed it, but I was never a lifer, and I doubt I could have really committed myself to 20 or 30 years in the navy. Likewise, I never found “it”, whatever “it” was in college. I was there about a semester and a half, but I wasn’t interested in the slightest. After my brief stint in college and longer stint in the navy, I was pretty soon in the work force, got married, and was off on a life of work, family, and bowling. By the way, I actually considered doing bowling for a profession but quickly learned that the time, effort, and money involved was not something I was willing to do. I did make 297 once, however, darn those last three bowling pins.

So here I am sitting like a bump on a log, quite literally by the way, me being the bump and the log being my bed or wheelchair. I sit here wondering what I could have done, should have done, or…(could it be?)…yet could do. Ron tells me that people should “discover” what they want to be or do in life, not “deciding” on what they want to be. I have never been particularly good at either discovering or deciding. I have been much better at responding. I respond to job possibilities; I respond to requirements of a job; I respond to everything. But if I were to initiate, discover, or decide on what I should do for a living, I have no idea as to how to do that.

Another thing Ron tells me to do when trying to find this elusive profession is to see what my “strengths and abilities” are. Here again, I am at a loss. I never have really paid much attention to what I was good at or maybe potentially even great at. I just did what was in front of me and I did it faithfully, whether stocking groceries, laying landscape logs, or selling something. Just did it. Didn’t really think about it for the most part. So I continue to muse about what these so-called strengths and abilities are. What a time to be thinking of such things, when I have, dare I say, a lot less strengths than I did when I was, like 0, or even 10. I am yet searching. Maybe you know how to do this thing of finding passions, purpose, and strengths. I’m certainly not good at it.

Further Reading

Life of Ryan I, II, III

Life of Ryan III: Family

Ron Johnson Connection, family, Feelings, mindfulness, relationships, Self-Awareness

(This is the third in a series of “Ryan,” a patient of mine who has MS. I serve as his amanuensis.)

I love my family. That is for sure. There is nothing that is more important to me than my family. I think of them daily, if not hourly. I think of my wife. I think of my daughters and their husbands. I think of my many grandchildren, some of whom are now adults or soon to be. Family: what a wonderful part of life: you love them, you enjoy them, you look forward to seeing them. You laugh with them and cry with them. Can anything be so wonderful as loving people who have your heart, and most of them have your blood.

There are lots of things that go along with family, lots of statements that are often made in regards to family, like”

  • Family first
  • Family is never wrong
  • Family will never leave you
  • Family will always accept you
  • Family forgives you
  • Family is right even when they are wrong
  • Always support your family.

All true, and I believe all these things. I can think of nothing that is more important to me, not ideas, not things, not beliefs, not things, and certainly not money. Blood is thicker than water, right? Am I missing anything here? Perhaps one thing: family, and all that goes with it, is…difficult.

We don’t have to look far to see that family problems are all over the place. It seems that the more money and fame you have, the more likely you will be divorced. How many times was Elizabeth Taylor divorced? Nine times, I think. And all those other actors whose faces you see in the grocery store, and all those millionaire baseball players. The lot seems to have trouble, at least with their marital relationships, and often with their children. How many “tell all” books have been written about these famous actors and actresses who seem to have been less than model parents. But I am not so concerned about these rich folks as I am about us normal folks who just may struggle with various family difficulties. Does every kid have ADHD and every parent suffer from bi-polar disorder?

Forgive me, but I was born in 1946 at a time when we didn’t have all these diagnoses. I might have been diagnosed ADHD had that diagnosis been around in the 1950’s when I was a kid, or any number of other diagnoses that are now around for everyone to choose from.  I may not have been the best parent with my girls but I can’t say that I ever thought of them as having some kind of “disorder.” There were times they didn’t like me, and I must admit there were times that I didn’t like them very much. But we stuck it out and they have done pretty well in life despite my flawed parenting. Thank goodness for my wife who did the bulk of the “parenting.” I don’t even think that the word parenting was ever in my vocabulary. Most of my vocabulary with regards to the girls was “no” when they wanted those $45 jeans when you could buy a pair for $12 at Walmart. When they used to ask my wife for something, she would say, “Ask your father.” But then they would respond with, “You know what he’s going to say: no.” I did my best, but it might not have been good enough. Glad they have turned out so well. Things are not so well in the present, however.

If you’ve been bored enough to read my previous Life of Brian series, you know that I have this minor medical difficulty that has kept me somewhat limited in what I can do. I have multiple sclerosis. I can’t do much of anything but sit around like a bump on a log, and I can’t even do that. I am more like the bump or the log, just sitting there. But I don’t want to go over my physical state. I want to talk about family as it relates to my physical state. The most important thing is still this: I love my family. Love them to death. And…they’re difficult.

They’re not difficult because they are difficult. They’re difficult because I’m difficult. All those things I said about family, like loving them to death and valuing them above all else: all of this is true even though I can’t lift a finger to help them out. I can’t actually lift a finger. Wish I could. But I can’t. No way to change that save some kind of miracle by God’s hands or some remarkable scientific discovery that can cure MS. Not likely to happen. In the mean time I have my family: love them and all the rest…but can’t seem to find a way to be a family man. God, what I’d give to be able to lift a finger, or lift a grandchild. Or lift anything. No such luck. So, family is difficult, or rather I am difficult when I am relating to family. And I expect that they feel the difficulty of my being difficult.

Can’t blame them. I have to admit that I am difficult. I think about being “difficult” a lot, especially about my family. Who would want to see a father, grandfather, or husband who is the bump on the log that I talked about. Can’t stand up when they come in the room. Can’t get down on the floor. Can’t go to the grandkid’s graduation. Can’t hug. Very often I can’t even speak when this damned MS attacks my voice box only letting me whisper. And lots more “can’t’s.” So, I get it. I’m difficult. And this makes “family” difficult for me. Still love them to death. Still would do anything I can do, which isn’t much. Still hold them all in high esteem. But it is difficult being me with my family.

I think I have it better than many other residents here in the nursing home. Some of these people never see any of their family members for one reason or another. Some don’t have any family and they’re just…I don’t know, waiting to die? Some have someone who visits from the state of Oregon once a year. Some have family members who come to visit them, but obviously they don’t really want to visit; they just put their time in. So, I know that I’m not the only guy in this “difficult to be me” situation. But it still sucks. Certainly, would be nice to have this situation be less than difficult, but this is what I have. The whole situation leaves me in a bit of a quandary: I don’t like it, don’t like this lonely thing not seeing my family very much, but I understand it. I just don’t like it. Yeah, I can live with it. I have been living with it for years, now decades really. And the difficulty of who I am (now) and the condition that I am in has only become more difficult.

I hope this doesn’t sound like so much bitching. I’m not complaining. I’m just telling you how I feel. It’s not about what’s wrong with people. It’s not what’s wrong with my family. It’s not even what’s wrong with me. It’s not what’s wrong with anything. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love things to be different. I’d love to be walking and talking like a normal person. And I’d love to have family and friends visit me. But for now, I’m just feeling that life is difficult. Ron tells me that there was some very popular book written 25 years ago called The Road Less Traveled that began with the statement, Life is difficult.

Further Reading

Life of Ryan I and II

Life of Ryan II: Legacy

Ron Johnson Feelings, mindfulness, Self-Awareness, Spiritual

(NB: this is the second of a series of blogs written by “Ryan” (not his real name), someone who has become quite important in my life. He has a bit of trouble writing, as you will have note in Life of Ryan I, so some of the words are mine, but the feelings and the thoughts are his. You might take advantage of writing to Ryan through me: ron.johnson@midlandspsychological.com. Rj)

This is the second in a series of “The Life of Ryan,” which came out of a conversation with my psychologist some time ago. Ron and I have been meeting pretty regularly for many years…well, not always regularly. You see, he has what I call the “Smith gene,” which is a reference to a tendency certain Smiths have of being tardy…or not present at all, or coming a week late or a day early. I just have to put up with it. Ron tells me that he has inherited this tardy-inclined gene from his parents, but they were Johnsons, not Smiths. Maybe the names got mixed up on the boat from Europe. At any rate, we have conversation every week, or two weeks, or three weeks, depending on how Ron’s Smith/Johnson gene seems to be acting up.

Ron’s malfunctioning gene isn’t the topic of this discussion. I want to talk and write about my “legacy,” or perhaps lack thereof. By the way my “writing” is sort of figurative because the idea for this writing came during one of our recent meetings. The “writing” I do is a bit of a misnomer because Ron actually does the writing. I just sit back and dictate, well…sort of dictate. It is a bit difficult for me to write these days. I have this small malady called multiple sclerosis, which has caused me a bit of limitation in what I can actually write. My hands don’t work real well. Actually, they don’t work at all. In fact, not much of anything works in my body except my heart pumping blood into my cardiac system and my lungs pumping air into my breathing system. My doctor tells me that I am healthy as a horse…aside from the MS. So given that my hands don’t work real well…well, not at all actually…and my arms don’t work at all…and my legs don’t work…, I’ll have to depend on Ron’s words. It sounds like I’m complaining so I will give up on this line of thought because I don’t want to bemoan my current state. I want to bemoan my previous state. Hence, the current discussion on my “legacy.”

In one of our recent meetings I told Ron that I had been thinking of my legacy, meaning the legacy I will be leaving behind. I have been thinking such things since I raced past age 70 not long ago and I remember the Bible says that the “number of man is three score and 10.” That’s me plus some. So this thought about my legacy, or perhaps more accurately, my thoughts about legacy has been on my mind for some time. You tend to do that when you get past 50, more at 60, and then 70 really hits you. Most of the people my age (which would include Ron, by the way), had grandparents who were 70, and they always looked “old.” I can’t say that I feel “70” but that is what my birth certificate apparently says, so I have to believe it. Whether it is “legacy” or some other phrase that describes the same thing like, “what I have left behind” or “what I have done in life” or “what the world might remember about me” these all mean the same thing. And these thoughts lead to the big question: did I do anything of significance in life that could actually be said to be a legacy? I told Ron that I didn’t think I have any sort of legacy.

That word, and the feelings and thoughts behind the term legacy led to this writing that I’m doing. Ron thought the idea of legacy, or lack thereof, was somehow important. So he said he would try to put together some sort of statement, or page, or blog, or something that might be a way I could communicate my thoughts and feelings down on paper. So I sort of dictate these words to Ron and then he goes back to his office and re-writes what he thinks I said. Then he sends it back to me, and I go over it and trash it because he isn’t always as good at saying what I think and feel as I am. It is a joint effort. In my first “Life of Brian” I mentioned that he is my amanuensis, a word I had never heard of before Ron used it. Amanuensis sounds like some kind of disease, but it apparently means ghost writer. I will have to use my amanuensis because it would take me an hour to write this very paragraph, and Ron tells me he learned to type 110 words a minute, evidently with 100 errors or something. I’ll just have to trust him on that one.

Back to the legacy idea. Yes, I told Ron I didn’t see that I have a legacy to leave the world. Now, if anybody ever reads this monologue, you might say that I had children and now have a flock of grandchildren and the like, and this is my legacy. Perhaps, but it doesn’t feel that way. I told Ron that my wife did most of the raising of our kids, at least that’s the way it seems to me as I look back. And I can’t do much more than look back. Unfortunately, when I look back, I am not too pleased with myself. I just didn’t do much. Let me try to fill you in on how I see the past…or we might say the lack of a past…or the lack of a meaningful past. It starts with opportunities ignored. It leads into being lazy. It ends with regrets. Opportunities, laziness, and regrets. That’s about how I see it when I look back at my life.

In many ways I had a good life. I did a lot of the right things. I always went to work, usually early, since I don’t have the Smith gene noted above. I always paid my bills. I always cut the lawn. I even did a bit of housework from time to time. But I never got around to fixing that front door handle that kept falling off. Have you ever seen that token with the words “round two-it” on it? I have a trunk load of those things. Just lots of things that I couldn’t seem to “get around to” doing. Hence, the “lazy” word that I found myself using with Ron. He didn’t like the word, but he didn’t see me sitting in my easy chair watching TV and drinking a beer when I could have fixed the front door. Or the back door. Or the garage door. To say nothing about re-wiring the kitchen so you didn’t have to turn the light on in order to get the toaster to work. Or fixing the plumbing so we had hot water going into the laundry room. Lots of “round two-its”.

But there are more important things that I didn’t really do. I didn’t finish college. Well, more accurately, I hardly went to college at all. A semester with barely passing grades and another part of a semester that got tangled up with playing a lot of pool and drinking a lot of beer. So I went to the Navy, thinking that the Navy could be a way of getting rid of those round two-its. Didn’t do too badly, but for those of you who know what the military is like, there were a lot of times that I just needed to look busy, not be busy. Did my stint, but got out early. Maybe a mistake, maybe not, but certainly I didn’t put my whole heart into the Navy any more than I did with college. Ron tells me that things came a bit too easy for me. I don’t know if I am as smart as he seems to think I am, but I admit that I could get the “gentleman’s C or B” without much effort. Never seemed to have the drive to study and perform. A’s just didn’t seem important. Lazy? I don’t know. Sure looks that way. I have lots of regrets.

Regrets. Lots of them. College for sure. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to college at all. Maybe I should have gone right into the Navy, or into the workforce, or into some kind of trade school. Yet at 70, I don’t know what I might have done. Nothing seemed to draw me. Nothing seemed interesting. Nothing that I wanted to put real effort into. But I didn’t put real effort into anything aside from working faithfully, and a fair bit of bowling. Got a 297 once. Damn. Just did what I needed to do in order to get by. So I have these regrets about not having established a life that would now look like some kind of legacy. I’m still looking.

Ron thinks that this writing might be a way to find a legacy. Maybe. I don’t know. All I know as I sit here reading what Ron has transcribed out of my ramblings is that I feel disappointed in my life. Not the people in my life; not my wife, kids, and family. Just me. Just disappointed in me.

Stay tuned. The more I talk, the more it seems I have to say. I’m particularly interested in family, with all that it means.

Further Reading

Life of Ryan 1: The Easy Life