Have Hammer, Will Travail (a confession)

"Everybody gets what they want.
I wanted a mission - and for my sins, they gave me one."

- Captain Benjamin L. Willard "Apocalypse Now"

I love this quote, although I generally leave the first line out. I've never really been a big believer in the sentiment. For those that do, however, I'm sure you will appreciate this.

I guess I've been discovering over the past number of years that I'm not exactly the most selfless of individuals. I don't know why that is - I always thought I was a "pretty good person." I guess in the same way that everyone thinks they are - knowing I'm not faultless, but somewhat blind to them none the less. The first time (that I recall) someone actually called me selfish was a young Japanese girl I was dating around 7 years ago. I would have liked to blame it on a communication gap - but since then I've been slowly reconciling myself to the fact, and trying to rectify it.

One of the reasons I decided to try WWOOFing was because I wanted to give something of myself without monetary compensation. I specify "monetary" because I do receive a bed and food. It's not exactly an entirely selfless act, but when you remove money from the exchange, it feels a little more altruistic. My first experience in this was 2 weeks around Oromocto, New Brunswick. It was more or less what I expected - 6 hours a day, 5 days a week. Pretty casual. It was neither demanding, nor overly revelatory. I met some nice people, ate some good food and did a few fun things. (Perhaps it's because I've been in Quebec for the last few days, but I can't help but notice that the french word for "work" - travail - so closely resembles the word "travel.") As I planned, a few days after arriving, I started to contact a few places so I could set up my next stop when I was ready to move on. One person, south of Montreal, contacted me and told me that I'd be welcome there, but to first consider going to the farm of a friend of hers on the Gaspe peninsula. Her friend "Julie" - a woman in her late fifties - who is married and has 7 adopted children (all victims of various forms of abuse), lost her house to a fire back in March (on top of that, I would later learn that one of the children was responsible for accidentally setting the fire and that her father had died unexpectedly just one month ago.) When my contact told me all of this, I was delighted that I would be able to help someone in such a situation. It reminded me of when I was a kid and our family lost our boat shop to fire. Although I don't remember a lot about it anymore, it was pretty devastating. I do, however, remember that in various ways, the community did help us out. This would be perfect. I could give something back. I got what I wanted.

Another of my favourite moments in (a war) film is in the epilogue of "Saving Private Ryan," when the old-man Ryan is at Tom Hanks' grave and, weeping, recalling Hanks' sacrifice for him, he asks his wife to "Tell me I'm a good man." That he "earned" his life. It kills me every time I think about it. In fact, a sure way to get me to weep like a child is to display some kind of self-sacrifice. I discovered this some years ago. I've reached the conclusion that it has this effect on me because it is something I place very highly, and yet lack myself. Speaking to my sister-in-law a couple of months ago, I learned that her yardstick for living was in lengths of selflessness. What's more - she lives by this. I envy her.

As soon as I arrived at the farm I felt the "intensity." That's the best word I can think of to describe the sensation. I'm afraid I can't even give examples to illustrate what I mean. It was simply a feeling. I knew, when I went to bed that night, that the experience would be draining, both physically and mentally. I don't know why. I considered the situation carefully. I have forsaken a "home" in service of some kind of "mission." Exactly what the mission is, I'm not yet sure. The effect is that I don't have a familiar place to go to when I'm exhausted where I can recharge myself. Nor do I yet have the capacity to regenerate the power within myself. In that it takes some to make some, energy is rather like money. So I have to be careful about how I spend my energy ( all forms.) The thing is, despite knowing this, I still opted to stay with the family because they needed help and I wanted to help them. I would simply deal with the consequences later.

The next morning, Julie told me how excited she was, that she told the children that I was a "blessing." I'm not sure anyone has ever said that to me before. It strengthened my resolve. And it helped that when she speaks, she always has a smile and her eyes shine like few others. She is also in incredibly strong woman. I would stay... for two more days. On the third night I laid awake, unable to sleep. I knew that I had to leave. The next morning I lied to Julie and told her that I had to go. She cried, and said it would be okay. "Maybe you will see someone and you will send them here?"

Of course, I must also say that I am, perhaps, being a little over-dramatic. After all, the family does have a warm place to stay (although 9 people in one room isn't exactly ideal.) And it isn't as though it's up to me to "save" them. I just wish I'd had the strength to do more. ("I could have done more." - Oscar Schindler. Just to round out the war film quotes. Although I always found that particular scene somewhat over-done. Perhaps it comes to me now, because when one travels, one feels things more intensely than they normally would. But we're hardly talking about the Holocaust here. Forgive me for over-dramatising again.)

Last night I took the bus to Riviere-du-Loup and am staying in a four star hotel for a couple of nights. I can feel my strength slowly returning, if not my pride. The funny thing is, as I sit here at the computer, it occurs to me that even writing this feels selfish - as if I'm sending this out into cyberspace, (figuratively) asking someone to "tell me I'm a good man." Regardless of the answer, I know for certain that I can be better. As a "rest stop" goes, this one is not without significance. I could just as easily head back to Halifax as go on. But at this point, it isn't really a choice. I have to continue on.

Late last night, after arriving at the hotel, I wrote to a friend (who is living under somewhat similar circumstances) only saying that I'd just had a few intense days. He wrote back that they are all just experiences. It's funny. It's been my motto for years now that there are no "bad" experiences - what's important is that it makes a good story. But (and with all due respect to my friend Pat) it's important to know that they aren't "just" experiences - to varying degrees, they are all trans/formative (but I suspect he knows that anyway.) He also wrote in his blog (and something that has been on my mind since I started out) "If ever your distant goal is more important than a human in front of you that needs your help - you will surely fail." I don't believe in regret. It is a waste of energy. I believe we all do what we must under the given circumstances. But it is with shame that I admit failure. And it is with hope that perhaps I am closer to succeeding when the opportunity next arises.

"I think the children are very lucky to have you for a mother," I said
"I think I am very lucky to have them - they teach me the patience. And hope. Lots and lots of hope," said Julie, laughing.