I gave this talk last month to two people. Two more people showed up about 20 minutes after I had finished. I was grateful for the audience.
Good afternoon. Thank you for coming.
Welcome to 3 lessons from building my own house
Straddling the top plate of my west wall, ten feet four and a half inches in the air, tool belt shoved to one side, safety glasses on and hair coiled under the come-to-be uniform headwrap, leather chaps protecting my dangling legs, and an eleven pound cordless nail gun pulling my right arm just short of its socket...I'm installing my final rafter.
Willingness is my first lesson. I'm open - willing to do anything, try anything, go anywhere, take high level risks. I have no fear of people, places, things, or tasks, and have come to recognize willingness as a fuel to embrace the discomfort inherent in possibility. Willingness hoisted me to the top of this wall with a cordless nail gun pointed at my face.
Now, as I sat atop the wall, ready to nail in my final rafter - my mind wandered off - as it has been known to do from time to time - and fatigue took its place.
In order to fire and hold the gun's weight, my legs clamp the wall and my torso swings low to bring my gun arm below the rafter and my face and head to the same level of the top plate - out of harm's way. For leverage in this maneuver, the gun is jammed against its entry point to stabilize my swing. I'm tired.
This brings me to the 2nd lesson of perseverance. Perseverance is mastery of the mind by removing emotion from a situation. Epictetus, Greek Stoic philosopher says, "humans are disturbed, not by things, but by the principles and notions which they form concerning those things." Persevering in this build required constant surveillance of my mind - a protocol of noticing most thoughts as habitual patterns rather than relevant information. Although I am not always successful, I continute to practice this skill because on the rare days when I am, perseverance has proved 100% useful with rewards constantly unfolding. Back to the top of the wall.
As I swung down to fire, the weight of the gun pulled my arm out of position, and I lost my balance. In a nanosecond a sharp inhale fills my lungs, my left hand frantically searches for something to grab, my legs turn into vice grips, while adrenaline races through my bloodstream - every ounce of energy was concentrated on breaking my fall.
Dr. Andy Galpin, Professor of Kinesiology at Cal State Fullerton, says, a deep inhale "creates intra-abdominal pressure, forming a cylinder around your spine." This happens automatically in fight or flight in holding the breath to prepare for the burst of energy needed to either fight or run. That burst is normally expressed in a roar or grunt - a slow, deep, loud exhale from the stomach. A 2014 study at Drexel University showed, "when lifting heavy loads, you need a large amount of intra-abdominal pressure to brace and to expand skeletal muscle for force production, and a grunt signals the body to recruit more muscle fiber
s for whatever you’re preparing to lift...increasing handgrip strength by up to 25 percent." I needed every bit of that 25%.
With the gun currently pointed down, pulling me off the wall, I gritted my teeth and let out a loud slow grunt while curling the gun upright against the sheathing then sliding and pushing the gun up toward the rafter. Still in "save yourself" mode - once the gun reached that intersection of the rafter and top plate - I automatically squeezed the trigger.
I feel a thud on my jaw.
I swing up, lay down the gun, take off my gloves, and feel my face. It's huge. I gently run my tongue all over the inside bottom of my mouth on both side of my teeth feeling for a nail. I look around me, pat my shirt, scouting the area for a stray nail. Nothing. Then I start pressing the swell. Lightly at first, but there is no pain. So I press harder, all along the jawline, neck, face, and throat. No protrusion. I climb down the ladder and find a window to see my reflection. Fat face. No blood. I keep running my tongue inside of my mouth as I head to get frozen peas for my face, I'm surprised at the lack of pain. I wrap the peas on my jaw, climb the ladder, and persevere through the final rafter installation.
I gave no energy to the incident other than the peas. No cross words were said or blame administered - No scoldings in the forms of advice or demands for knowledge unknown. Vaporized in the ethers, the memory faded, lost, dubious. This is perseverance. Letting go of those things that I do not know or understand, to make room for what is.
Lessons - inexhaustible in number - were taught on this job, just as they are in daily life. Most of them were...are repeats - necessary reminders that as a student of life, learning is perpetual. Thus, patience and diligence came most days, but so did impatience and arrogance, neglect and inattention, insolence and pride. Some days were an all out war...and only after the dust would settle, and I would sit with my head in my hands amidst the debris of miscut boards, bent nails, and heaps of sawdust and experience hardship and wisdom as one. Those are tough days, but never enough to eradicate dreams.
Zen Master Suzuki Roshi said, "In the beginner's mind there are infinite possibilities; in the expert's mind, there are few." In those infinite possibilities lies the 3rd and most important lesson: Always have a beginner's mind. I was adopted, and when I was a little girl I used to dream that my biological mom was the Queen of Denmark. She would send for me any day now.
She never did, but I never stopped dreaming. When our paths finally crossed, she - an average human living an average life - was every bit the Queen to me.
My mind is a constant storm of tumultuous activity, a whirlwind of ideas - some good, some sketchy, all risky; "a bad neighborhood" like Annie Lamont says, "I try not to go into alone." But I know I must.
So, as this house build winds down, the unknown calls - enticingly uncharted and seductively uncertain. What it is and where it leads is of no concern.
My bags are packed, I'm ready to go,
the wind carries me how far I don't know,
willingness and perseverance stuffed in the sack
beginner's mind leads
knowing I'll never be back.
the universe hints
breaks will be few
that this time around
resilience and grit
are on the menu.
thank you and good night.
