Keep Going.

I was feeling a little depressed earlier this evening as I was driving home. One of my greatest assets at work used to be my speed. Some pieces I'd design would be better than others, but the one constant was that my superiors always marveled at how quickly I got everything done. Nine years ago I was even faster and more eager to please, but in the years I've been out of college and in the “real” world I've slowly been learning that the faster one is, the more work one is “rewarded” with. Still, I can't help a certain personal satisfaction when I set a goal for myself and actually achieve it.

Work's not too bad right now. I left for the weekend feeling confident about what was complete, and what I still needed to accomplish. Before I left tonight, knowing I'd be out of the office for a feast in Hoboken, I planned to finish designing seven flyers. Normally I get through flyers pretty quickly, even those as large as 8 pages, but somehow this afternoon hours just slipped away from me. I was constantly working and not getting sidetracked, yet every time I looked up at the clock an unbelievable amount of time had elapsed. By the time I left the office, I had completed but one flyer.

It's hard to push myself sometimes. My parents are from a completely different generation with a completely different work ethic. If not for the uncanny physical resemblance and other traits I inherited from them, I'd wonder if I was adopted. Twelve years ago, when he was 62, my dad found he would get winded very easily, getting a strange feeling in his chest when he walked fast. He described it as feeling as though he had breathed in cold air. He met with a cardiologist, had some tests done, and discovered that most of the major arteries in his heart were clogged. After two unsuccessful balloon angioplasties and a third procedure with a laser failed to clear the blockage, the doctor was very blunt. He told my father he had two options: have bypass surgery or go home and sit in a chair and wait to die.

I spent a lot of time in college worrying I'd lose my dad. He persevered meanwhile and, not liking what the doctor told him or wanting to have surgery, sought other solutions. I never thought it would be possible for someone to change his diet with the discipline and immediacy he employed. After years of baloney for lunch every day, and daily visits to Carvel, he quit cold turkey. I doubt I'd have the willpower to do the same. He also began an alternative treatment known as chelation therapy, in which an intravenous supply of vitamins would help flush out some of the blocked arteries. Twelve years ago, a cardiologist gave my father six months to a year without surgery. Today there's a 75-year-old man who still gets up at 5:30 every morning, does his own automobile repairs, does yardwork to keep busy, and plays just as many parades and feasts as his 30-year-old lazy son. When I'm walking for six hours in the heat tomorrow, he'll be right beside me. Some days, I can't even walk as fast as he does. No matter what, he KEEPS GOING.

My mom is the same way. She's not the morning person my dad is, but her work ethic kicks in at night. I called my dad around 8 to let him know I was still at the office, and he told me my mom had just gone outside to do gardening. She's never let her asthma slow her down for long, and she remains active in her own yard as well as several arboretums in the area. No matter what, she KEEPS GOING.

Lorna left a comment yesterday that despite being picked on as a kid, I was “strengthened by adversity.” I hope she's right. I've written confidently about surviving, before, and I hope my own hype is true. In high school, the abuse from bullies and cool kids was verbal and not physical like in the preceding grades, but it still took a few years before I stopped flinching. Surviving can make us strong, but fear can cripple us if we let it.

Reading about Lance Armstrong winning his seventh consecutive Tour de France on Swimming in Champaign definitely put me in the survivor mindset. If ever there was a role model, a source of inspiration, it's someone who had cancer, had it spread in the worst possible ways and not only beat it, but went on to greater achievements in his athletic career. In 1996 Lance Armstrong got some bad news from his doctor, and he KEPT GOING.

Somewhere amid distant role models like Armstrong and the two I have closer to home, the answer to life may be gleaned. When I get frustrated with the mundanities of my office work, I often have to remind myself that eventually, it all gets done. Sometimes it's overwhelming that the day I turn in some pieces is the same day I'm given new assignments, but I wouldn't have a job at all if there wasn't anything to do. Work keeps going, and life keeps going until we get tired and stop. I might get tired on the treadmill at work after a few weeks away from the gym. People may snicker at the humorous sight I no doubt present. I will never let any of it stop me. There's no reason to ever give in when we think we can't press on, can't go even a little further. We can do more than we think we can. The trick is to stop thinking, and just keep going.