Where do you live? What kind of car do you drive? What do you do for a living?
These are questions that can usually be answered in a word. Sometimes two, three or four words if detail or embellishments appear required.
Harry had a tough time answering these simple questions. The landlord was threatening to evict him and his car needed repairs to be drivable. What he did no longer qualified as making a living; he had spiraled downward from broke to impoverished.
Harry and I go way back. We both put ourselves through college hustling fellow students who believed luck or steely eyed resolve won games of chance. Harry became a mover and groover with a Midas touch. He had a house with a scenic view to die for, took annual Caribbean vacations and got drunk on single malt scotch. Yet, every five or ten years he made a bad choice or two. He would lick his wounds, make a few resolutions, buckle down building a stake, roll the dice and move on to a new and glamorous enterprise. The world moves on too - Harry now gathers old furniture and appliances, makes repairs and sells them on craigslist.
Lately, he and I have been talking about changing times, “woulda shoulda coulda” and advancing years. Harry, who always used to keep his troubles to himself, said, “I’m out of ideas and my life is collapsing on all levels. My wife is leaving me, my back is out of whack, I’m going to be homeless soon and suicidal thoughts creep into my mind.” He asked if I knew any solutions, but the only one I know is to just keep muddling on.
Last week he opened up his heart and told his pastor and some of his fellow churchgoers about the dire straits he was in. “I was hoping for help,” Harry told me over coffee. “In fact I outright asked for it.”
“What did they say?” I asked.
“They told me to pray,” was Harry’s response.
JDA©2/22/11
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