Well here I sit on another Sunday afternoon with about 90% of my agenda for today accomplished. The unfinished 10% gnaws at me with a hunger that’s not gonna let up until Monday comes and I go back to work tomorrow.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll get up, make my coffee, lay out my clothes and watch Morning Joe and the local news for traffic and weather. Of course, there is the period of reflection as I shower and shave. What happened to that youthful body and face that I’ve seen most every morning of my life?
You know what I’m talking about. Your skin isn’t as taught as it once was, there seems to be a new wrinkle in your face every morning and of course, there’s less hair to comb each day. Of course there is more hair growing out of my ears, my eyebrows grow almost as fast and, my god is my nose really getting bigger? I won’t go into the many other problems associated with settling into your early 60’s, but the list is long.
Out the door I’ll go and soon I’ll be at work and back among people. I live alone and the period of time from Saturday night until Monday morning is almost like plugging an electric vehicle into a charging station for me. I’m a car salesman in my 19th year of this my chosen profession. Weekends are my time of reconnecting with me, a southern guy that grew up in the 60’s, desegregation, the Viet Nam war and some damn good rock and roll.
When you get to work and step out of your own car onto the asphalt, that is your field of play and you assume the identity. A problem is no more than the next opportunity, the goal is always to gather as much information as quickly as possible. Most people shopping for a car will tell you everything you need to sell them a car in the first 5 minutes, except the final price they’re willing to pay. The key is you have to train yourself to listen.
For me, that was hard and took a couple of years to master. I was an only child and was raised to “be seen and not heard” but in school I was often “the class clown” which was the opposite. It seemed that at the most inopportune time I could seize the moment and make my classmates laugh, without regard or forethought of the consequences soon headed my way.
Somehow, at age 62, I have manged to harness this lack of discipline and have become a good listener. I pay close attention to my customers or “ups” as we call them in the car business and respond to their stated needs and expectations and I “close” at a pretty high rate for my chosen profession.
Car buying, for most people is like going to the orthodontist for a root canal. They know its going to be a good decision but they just hate it and that often results in a bad post purchase survey. Despite my best efforts to address their needs and make it an enjoyable experience, occasionally, I get a bad survey and it costs me money.
But tomorrow morning, I’ll again don my Monday navy blue golf shirt and khakis and strike out in search of success. Tuesday will be a different color golf shirt and so will Wednesday and so on until Saturday and I’ll be back right here again.
Today, I gained one new follower on Twitter. The odd thing was, this person is a budding, but published writer about my age, but if you believe the bio, serious and with a plan for a writing career. I was intrigued as I read that after a career in something else, this person had pursued a lifelong interest in writing, gone back to school to study writing and has a plan.
My plan, well, I don’t have one, at least as far as writing goes. If I approached selling cars with the same lack of conviction that I have towards writing, well I’d be turning burgers at McDonald’s or hash browns at Waffle House. My initial plan was to write once a week, every week.
My new follower on Twitter has a plan, but she is retired and apparently, financially secure. Her plan is to write five hours a day for five days each week. Well that is unattainable for me. I leave for work around 7:30 in the morning and get home anywhere between 7:30 and 8:30 in the evening. I’m not complaining, but my brain and my body are usually done for the day when I get home.
I’m not being critical of my new Twitter follower, not even jealous, but maybe a little envious. Mind you, I wouldn’t trade my life, past or present, for anyone’s. My journey through life has taken me to unexpected places, but nothing rivals being a parent.
But my new Twitter follower talks about the things that I know are holding me back from be a good writer. The main one is discipline. I don’t keep notebooks of ideas and thoughts like she does. But then again, my compulsion to write is based on daily observations and I could probably use a notebook to help me keep track of story ideas.
Maybe one day, and maybe I might pick up a notebook in CVS tomorrow morning. I have a 20% off coupon on my key ring and their store is across the street from my dealership. In the meantime, I’m going to just continue along my undisciplined path, pretending I’m some sort of southern sage of the keyboard,