Turn The Other Cheek; Take The High Road; Be Polite (Pour Burning Coals On Their Heads)

One (two) of the best observational lessons I took away from my second architecting job here in Jackson stood in stark contrast to another that was in (moral) opposition to it.  Each of these yin / yang lessons played out during separate seasons via two distinct, much older than Rob, individuals, one of which was my boss and the other a colleague whom I greatly respected.  As a side note, I was probably around 30 years of age whilst experiencing what I'm about to describe.

The first observational lesson played out over the course of +/-15-30 minutes, and it involved a very memorable exchange between my boss and a client (with Rob stationed naively off to the side).  In a nutshell, the client used the tail end of a scheduled meeting (which I believe he'd calendared) to railroad my boss, and this individual (it quickly became apparent) was quite adept at railroading.  

His gripe(s) was likely legit (I don't remember what it exactly was), but instead of professionally relaying his grievances, he chose to railroad.  And this resulted in the client obviously feeling quite empowered, but in the end, it definitively exposed his true bully colors.

The lesson I observed herein was to listen, stay calm, and answer any and all questions courteously, enduring the vitriol 'till it's completely exhausted.  And this is exactly what my boss did.  

But this is super hard to do, especially when you're perhaps not rested or really inexperienced relative to dealing with a railroader.  Nonetheless, I observed closely how he handled this event with aplomb, and as a result, I came away feeling pity for what he'd had to endure, but at the same time safely positioned beneath his guise.  I don't recall recognizing how influential his low-key reaction had been to me for such a time as that, but I do remember the quiet resolve I sensed over the course of the somber ride back to the office (from McComb).

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On the opposing end of that observational lesson is one I learnt via my aforementioned well respected, older colleague.

This guy was Type A, machismo, full-steam-ahead 24/7/365.  And I thought that was cool though quite intimidating as well.  In fact, I'd never engaged with anyone (up to this point in time) who did life with quite this much intensity.  And just to give you an idea as to how intense this middle-aged guy was, he'd no qualms relative to opening up his slacks - off the cuff - (after swiftly unbuckling his belt) in order to re-tuck in his ENTIRE shirttail.  I witnessed him do this countless times both in my office as well as our boss' office.  He was just that kind of no-holds-barred dude who never gave a shit about formalities.

This intensely engaging fellow was also a seasoned deacon at a prominent Baptist church here in the Jackson Metro.  Yet, when he discovered that he'd been intentionally unincluded from the church's building committee (they were gearing up to plan a new church campus), he protested by walking away from the church.

Now, you need to know that this man's job title was "Construction Administrator" at the architecture firm we were both employed at, therefore he certainly had the vocational credentials / experience to contribute therein.  Nonetheless, the decisionmakers had decided against including him on this particular committee (conflict of interest), and as a result, it no doubt pissed him off to no end.  From there, he picked up his toys and "moved his letter" to another Baptist church across town in disgust.

What was so stunning about his protest though was how many relationships he forfeited / left high & dry whilst doing so.  Imagine with me how much history he and his family were immediately severed from!  Over a stupid church committee sleight.  It was readily apparent that this was a ridiculously juvenile reaction on his part.

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Involving oneself within the Samson Society, over time, is going to result in some complex relational dynamics.  Samson Society is populated with loners.  We're men who have proven our mettle relative to surviving within extreme isolation.  Nonetheless, because of this, there can be, at times, not a whole lot of regard for "keeping the peace" / "playing nice" due to our survival instincts (pre-Samson Society existence) being our default.

To be frank, you're going to rub shoulders with men that you don't like one bit within this community of men.  You're also going to find yourself, at times, not at all liked.  If you're like me, you must recognize that being involved within Samson Society, no matter the tension, is ultimately for your personal gain / maturation.  Therefore, ushering oneself into other men's (dis)comfort zones (as well as your own) is a vibe you're simply going to have to become accustomed to at times.

A big part of doing this with ease is taking the high road, thereby doing your part to keep the peace.  Otherwise, Satan may very well succeed in derailing God's good work therein.  

In closing, only as a very last result should you jump ship in search of another group to continue forward relative to fulfilling your needs.  And this is due to the fact that it symbolizes a semblance of defeat, and don't nobody need no more of that within our ranks.

Need A Handout? Samson Society Is More Than Willing To Serve, But Especially So If You're Looking To Expand Your Horizons.

Mississippi is the least expensive place to live in America.  Everything here is below national average costs, and this includes real estate, retail items, fuel and so forth.  Much of this is due to the Magnolia State being on the opposite side of a thriving economics (engine) paradise.  Hence, (from a retailer's point of view) there's simply no logic to slapping those who're hardly able to feed themselves, so to speak.  When 25% of your citizenry is enrolled in Social Security Disability, that says a lot relative to income thresholds / capabilities. 

The latest census numbers too show that Mississippi's citizenry is shrinking.  People either haven't moved here during the last decade or many have died, not to be replaced (Mississippians' lifespans are shorter) by subsequent generations (who've survived).  If you travel to certain rural parts of our state (& even within vast sections of our capital city, Jackson), and bring newcomers along, more often than not, they'll make comments like "it feels like we've entered a third-world country, or we've gone back in time".  Regarding the former, think of it as a dystopian Mayberry. 

And this is where handouts come into play combined with shunning / ostracization inside of closed (to the outside world) communities.  

For a handout lifestyle comes with compromises and a massive reduction in expectations.  More often than not, it's a longstanding marination in shame that literally has become the vernacular.

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As we all know, Samson Society is about combating shame in and through relational accountability.  I've said this for years, but I need to personally expound.  Our community in 2022 (& it was not like this when I first walked inside) offers an almost unlimited amount of opportunities to connect platonically with men.  And, I would argue, this ever expanding vastness adds exponentially to our community's capacity for healing.

For Rob (& I know I'm not unique), inclusivity within the Samson Society (localized) hasn't been near enough for me to obtain God's best relative to my recovery.  It was a wonderful starting point (back in 2014), but bigger / beyond Mississippi was / has been beneficial.  

Why?

Being from Mississippi is embarrassing.  No one here admits to that, but it's true.  Plus, there's a finite quantity of Samson guys available to me here.  They're all wonderful men, but there's simply too few to meet my needs. 

Putting yourself out there amongst Samson guys who're from everywhere but Mississippi takes much more work than I ever expected it to.  But, it's worth the effort.  It's worth overcoming the embarrassment.  It's worth engaging with men who're from everywhere but Mississippi because it works to resist that stigma that permeates so much within this beautiful state.

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In closing, I cannot overstate how cool it is to be accepted into a Samson community made up of guys from all over the world.  Guys who know of Mississippi for what it (public relations) is (& now in & through Rob), yet have put that aside to accept me - as well as our entire state - as I am / we are.  

We cannot separate ourselves from where we come from / call home, but we can find acceptance / love outside of that place (even whilst humbly residing within!) so long as we're willing to take the necessary risks in order to begin that process.  If you're like Rob and feel so moved to expand your recovery horizons beyond Mississippi, I would encourage you to jump into the Samson Society virtual meetings today.  It is an amazing resource for us to consider when we feel the timing is right.

You really can have your cake and eat it too.

Lagniappe

Spring In Mississippi. It's Glorious.

 

Recommended Reading

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Mr. Justin Schwind's Story - Say The Truth & Not Blame The Truth, & It Will Set You Free - Chapter 1A: "Wandering The Wilderness Of Trauma"

Disclaimer: Mr. Justin Schwind is a personal Samson Society friend who resides in AZ. He was kind enough to agree to document his story in several installments. This is the first.

Trauma was explained to me as an emotional response to a distressing experience in life.  So to start this story of my life, it all started with a distressing experience as I came out of my mother when she birthed me.  I had poor oxygen, and they had to place me in the NICU for two weeks, and my trust in comfort and humanity was damaged at the start.  This all took place on an island in Galveston, Tx, so YES, I am a Texas native.  No one's fault in this matter; it's just how the cookie crumbles.  

I was the oldest, so let it be known that my parents had no idea what the heck they were doing.  It always seems to be that way as you learn from your mistakes and those mistakes allow you to be more aware, if you get a shot at it again.  Growing up into trauma, let's just say I had a need for attachment, and that was not my mother's thing.  She quit breastfeeding me at 6 weeks because she couldn't produce, and she wasn't patient enough to keep trying along with supplementing. 

After having my own kids, I have seen the value of long-term breastfeeding via the connection and soothing of the child, especially the bonding element of it.  I also was a colicky baby, and bless my mother and how she did not lose her mind in the process.  The doctor, in his/her best understanding, told my mom to let me cry it out; so she did, and I did. I cried and cried and cried.  There was no space to be secure, soothed, seen, or safe, just more room for abandonment.  When I was two years old, my mom and dad went up to St Louis, MO to visit good friends and hauled me along with them.  My parents were staying at their friend's parents' house.  The kicker was the room my parents were occupying, during the stay, was a renovated detached garage into an extra bedroom.  Great place to really have peace from the rest of the house, but not so much the best space for a 2-year-old to be left alone. 

One night they decided to go out together while their good friends stayed home in case something happened to me. My parents laid me on the bed to sleep prior to going out to have fun.  At some point after they were gone, I woke up and found myself all alone, having no idea what to do.  I remember climbing down from the bed and going to the door and finding it locked.  I was trapped, and tears began to pour down my face prior to me banging, with all my might, on the door hoping to find rescue from the outside.  After a period of time, I gave up, all alone and broken.  I decided to find the safest place in the room which, for a 2-year-old, was under the bed.  Once I settled into a ball, I cried myself to sleep, only to awaken to my parents finding me and comforting me.  This was the first traumatic experience I can remember happening and continuing the cycle of abandonment relative to me finding coping methods to soothe myself.  To this day, I can't sleep with my door closed at night because of the anxiety it presents to me.  To top it off, to this day, my mother still pokes and makes fun of me for that and states it wasn't that big of a deal.  Right or wrong, own your mistakes and don't entice a distressing experience for anyone as it just creates a festering of the original experience.  

One of the next biggest traumatic experiences I had during the early days of my life I feel truly sealed the deal on fracturing my trust with others, especially ones I loved.  I was around three, and my father had built me a kid's dream house of a playhouse, and it was also kind of "several broken bones" waiting to happen.  My father literally built it amongst the trees in the backyard - 15ft high.  I was 3-years-old, and I now had a playground amongst the skies (that would take some getting used to). 

My dad constructed the slide using stainless sheet metal, which no doubt would work well due to us living in a coastal town of Hitchcock, Texas.  That being said, there was an apparent problem with the current state of the slide. Its sides had not been secured, and the exposed sheet metal edge was still exposed.  At this point I had amassed enough courage to climb the 15-foot treehouse in the sky with the aid of my mother (with her following after).  I made it to the top, and I thought I was on top of the world!  You know the saying though, what goes up, must come down.  Keep in mind that I had to ride that stainless beast down at a 45-degree angle with my dad waiting at the end. 

I came up to the edge and braced myself, and simply couldn’t do it.  There was too much fear in my heart of what could possibly happen.  So that led to my father's impatience and rage.  Yes I had a father that loved me, but he also had anger and rage that painted a sense of intense hatred for me. 

Now at age three, all I could do was break down to someone I absolutely didn't trust. From there, I was screamed at to "Do it or else!".  My mother, waiting at the top of the slide, was also hesitant because she could feel the fear looming in the air.  Out of blind fear and giving the last ounce of trust I had at that young age, I proceeded to slide 20 feet down that 45 degree sheetmetal slope.  But this is the catch that sent my trust out the window.  I'd placed my hands on the outer sides of the slide. Sides that had not been folded over. Instead, there were two sharpened blades. Like a hot knife through butter, my 3-year-old hands went.  When I was at the end, there was a lot of blood, tears, gaslighting by my father, and a trip to the ER which resulted in numerous stitches that took several months to heal.  From then on, I was no longer going to fully let go. It was simply too risky for my childhood self.

"Pity The Fool" As You Yourself Were Once Pitied. You Just Might Usher Them Into Samson Society As A Result.

As an architect, I'm qualified to design buildings and to review proposed designs in an effort to provide guidance / adherence to a plan's feasibility (both aesthetically & functionally).  In summary, my training puts me in a position of authority regarding building design.  Pure & simple.

Currently, my income doesn't come from architecting, though I am still using my training on a voluntary basis.  Within our Reservoir 'hood, I serve the homeowners' association board as "Architectural Review" committee chairman.  This affords me the privilege of adjudicating R & R and new planned construction (which is rare) within prior to it commencing.

Last year, one such adjudication request came my way.  Hence, my fellow committee members and I paid a visit to the homeowner in order to review, on site, some color samples relative to an ongoing home rebuild (that had sustained fire / smoke damage +/-3 months prior).  After politely scheduling a date / time, it was apparent that the mid-30s man obviously lived alone, having no doubt recently divorced, and as such, was overseeing the reconstruction remotely during the tail end of the pandemic.  He was very cooperative with the review procedures, and thankful even for our time / input (versus seeing it as a burdensome nuisance).

Post adjudication, we turned to leave, and from there, he insisted we circle back once the restoration / renovation was complete in order to have a grand tour of the finished product.

And I made a mental note to do so.

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Yesterday afternoon, (3/27), I knocked on my neighbor's door whilst admiring the gleaming newness of his home's recently renovated exterior.  He answered with a slightly surprised countenance (it had been 6-9 months since our previous juncture).  I told him I'd stopped by a few times before, only to find no one home.  And there was some truth to that.  For I had walked down to his cul-de-sac once, only to see his full-size pickup absent from his driveway.

As I stepped inside, I was not surprised to find that his renovated home was over-the-top Chip and Joanna Gaines' farmhouse chic (as it seems everything within the Southeast is these days).  Hence, it was current to the nth degree, looking perfectly ready for its Magnolia photo shoot.

At the same time though, there was a sadness there.  For he'd made an overabundance of "to hell with it" design moves that were no doubt rebelliously enacted (to the chagrin of Joanna).  Those consisted of both the "Deer head wall mount wall" and the full-size billiards table (where the dining room table should have been).  Not to mention the gargantuan flat screen TV mounted on the rear of the freshly painted garage (it was his extra one!?!).  

I didn't want to linger as he showed me around (I even got to see the massive luxury shower within the master bath).  Overstaying my welcome is one hiccup I work hard to avoid.   

We shook hands, and I headed out for my weekend run, ready to take advantage of the glorious Spring weather.  

As a coda though, I did send him a text message later on that evening, feeling obliged to apologize for not remembering his name during our time together earlier that day.  We both laughed about getting older, etc. before I thanked him again via the magic of my pocket computer.

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As I lay in bed last night, I kept remembering the underlying sadness that I'd surprisingly encountered during my afternoon walkthrough.  That dark emotion that simply hadn't been renovated out of that structure.  

It was a sadness that was rooted in loss and shame.  Regret and defeat.  For this guy was / is military.  Built like a tank.  With the shaved head and everything.  He's exponentially masculine.  Hence, the sadness was no doubt well-hidden underneath his gladiator-ness facade, yet it was definitely there. 

So what do I do in response to my concern?  How might I overcome the intimidation factor long enough to get to know him better (in hopes of becoming / gaining a friend)?  

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During the February regional Samson Society retreat, every man shared prepared-in-advance stories of both harm and blessing.  The latter for me was centered on a cherished experience I had in high school.  Afterwards, my old friend & former Silas, made a statement that is still resonating with Rob.  And that statement was centered on how he truly saw me versus how I saw myself (the void).  As a result, I felt like I'd been hit by a bolt of lightning in spite of the insulating factors brought on by the group setting (+/-15 men in the room).  

Essentially, he directly affirmed my masculinity via his understanding of who I am / have always been within his eyes.

Even as I write this, I can easily circuit into that emotional surge, still lingering within my psyche.  

What a blessing via the influence of old, old friendships!

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Here's to my attempts to circle back successfully - one more time - in order to minister to a neighbor that I'm assuming is in need of friendship.

Man, I hope my pool-playing skills quickly resurface.  For as you all know, deer hunting is most definitely not my thing.

Mississippi Rob's Pilot Facilitator Role Within The "Make Thursdays Great Again" Virtual Samson Society Meeting

Thursday, (3/31) at 7 PM CST is when the "Make Thursdays Great Again" virtual Samson Society meeting takes place.  The meeting facilitator, Mr. Justin Schwind, is located in Arizona, and he is a phenomenal virtual meeting facilitator.  Justin's persona is ideal for Zoom.  He's energetic, outspoken, and consistently engaging as the host.  

I initially met Justin at a Samson Society National Retreat years ago, and was immediately taken aback by his love for this community of men.  As such, had I not met him there, it's unlikely I would have transitioned from the Jackson, Mississippi Samson Society groups to virtual.  For Justin gave me hope that I could find just as relevant a community therein as I had here locally (ever since 2014).

And I have, thanks to my commitment to the "Make Thursdays Great Again" group for the past +/-4 months.   

What's fun about all of this virtual Samson Societying is how it allows God to use one's story outside the confines of the Magnolia State.  

I am a bit nervous about facilitating on Thursday, (3/31), but overall, I know Mr. Justin Schwind's shoes are, no doubt, certainly not too big for Rob to fill.

I covet your prayers regarding this endeavor, and thanks so much for reading.