Anybody who knows me will tell you I am a veritable
fountain of ideas but always have a hard time following through. It’s something
I have really tried hard to work on over the past few years. So much in fact,
that I haven’t even mentioned to anyone I am writing daily as my form of Lent.
Frankly, I am worried I’ll stop in about a week or so. (I already missed Fri so
I’m trying to make up with three posts today. This is the make up one) But I am
really trying to focus and do this. I want to write and discipline is the key.
My dozens of short stories, novellas, and graphic novels fighting for my
attention on my hard drive are the proof I need to work harder.
I
am working on ideas constantly. It’s looking like we are narrowing it down to
getting Luke to do a show out in Fort Worth, something up in YHC, and the tee
shirts. I’d really love to focus here in
Savannah but the money just isn’t here. Kim covers dozens of articles weekly in
her freelance career regarding fundraisers but they just don’t pull in the type
of bucks I’m going to need. Savannah is the epitome of the model for the 1% and
I just don’t see that circle helping a teacher/tour-giude out.
So
I got to figure out to get the biggest bang for my buck. One thing I learned
from my days as social chairman for my frat was the bigger the net, the larger
batch of fishes that come to the party. The American Kidney fund will match me
up to twenty thousand dollars so that is my goal. 20 gs. I’d break that down
further into the “how many quarters, dimes, and nickels but I suck at math.
Twenty
thousand is nearly half my yearly pay and for some reason I honestly have this
notion that I’ve got this. It’s comparable to the sword and the stone and I am
the young Arthur. It’s overwhelming. It’s daunting and there is absolutely no
reason whatsoever that I can do this. Others have attempted to pull the
proverbial sword form the stone so why do I think I can raise “Excalibur?” I
have no idea except for this:
There
are a handful of lessons I’ve learned over the years and the biggest is to
listen to my inner voice. It’s that little nudging I’ve cultivated from a
whisper to a more conversational tone since my younger years. And you know
what? My little voice is saying to me in very calm voice, “Robby, you’ve got
this.”
I
can assure you there is no swagger in any of this like in my Baby Rich college
days. That voice is not arrogant and I’ve come to realize it’s not even mine
but it’s that of the Big Guy’s trying to reassure me.
Now
let me get this straight before we go any further. I do not honestly believe
the voice of my long dead father is speaking to me from the Great Beyond. I am
not lucky enough to have my Dad be my own personal Obi Wan Kenobi.
I just feel
like when my subconscious wants be to take things seriously, it knows to speak
to me I the tone of the Big Guy. It never failed to get my attention in the
past so why wouldn’t my brain know to use this to drive point home?
The
Big Guy taught me and my sister that in order to be successful, you’ve got to
have a plan and that involves preparation. It’s the beginning stages but I am
prepping like crazy. This week I am meeting with my social worker with a list
of questions in hand. I’ve reached out to Harvey who is my friend from NxStage
who has been through all this. Harv is working on a list to let me know
everything he wished he knew going into this. Timelines are being formulated
for me to start setting and meeting goals to get that kidney. And I have a
secret weapon:
Kim.
My
personal bias on the abilities of my wife knows no bounds but I also am well
aware I am married to not only a professional writer but someone who is an
expert in public relations, has a background in fundraising from her army wife
days, and next to my sister, is the best person in the world who can keep my
off-the-wall ideas in check with some sense of reality in mind.
Then
I look a little further among my friends and family and it’s insane at the number
of talented and resourceful people I’ve got to be able to beg and borrow from.
There’s librarians, DJs, nurses, salespeople, artists, musicians, scientists,
comedians, teachers, actors, preachers, camp counselors, computer people, and
just a general gaggle of amazing people I’ve gotten to know and become friends
with over the years.
So
when I have these moments, and trust me, they happen several times daily when I
begin to sweat how I’m giving up six months of my life to recover. Six months
where I can’t draw a paycheck form teaching. Six months where I won’t be able
to drive the back and forth from Savannah to Atlanta for weekly doctor checkups
at Piedmont. Thirty-six months where afterwards Medicare will no longer pay for
the immunity suppressant meds that cost over a grand a month. A swirl of how
will I pay for this? How can I support my family? How can keep from being a
burden on Kim?
“Stop.”
I hear myself say firmly inside of my head. “Take a deep breath. Breathe in,
breathe out.”
An overwhelming feeling of peace washes over me and it’s as if I
feel that giant hand slowly grasp my shoulder which recognize since childhood
and I hear it.
“You’ve
got this.”
Damn
straight I do. Let’s get a kidney. Who’s with me?
