How a radio changed my life

Where I now live people talk about life-changing experiences.  A life changed by tragedy. A life changed by a spiritual awakening.  A life changed by an experience.

I have had some life changing experiences too.  One of the most significant ones was not caused by a European holiday or a meditation class, it was caused by a radio.  A radio changed my life.

The house that I grew up in was built in the 1920s. Bungalow in style with two bedrooms downstairs, and an extra two add-ons created in the attic. Perfect for a small family, crowded for the 7 of us who called it home.

Grade school life was spare for me.   I slept on the the back porch, played in my school uniform, and had few possessions.  I was left with my imagination to come up with adventures and experiences.  And that is how I found myself in the basement.

Dark and dank. Forever musty.  A receptacle for junk, and other discards that were “too good” to toss, but served no real purpose.  A perfect place for a young explorer.

It was in the basement that I found her.  Dusty and checkered, but magnificent.  Constructed of wood, and in a style showing her advanced age.  It was in the basement that I found my radio.  

When I spied her I was spellbound.  My first thought was, “Does she work?”  I did a quick examination.  Close up she was pretty beat up.  I wasn’t sure how we got her, but she looked like she had not been turned on for decades  She had an odd musty smell about her, certainly acquired by her subterranean residence.

I looked inside and was mesmerized by her huge vacuum tubes. Large as lightbulbs, but oddly shaped, some sporting a metallic connector on their crowns.  I took a chance and plugged her in.  The tubes glowed a soft orange/amber, and static sprang from the speaker.  She worked!  Well sort of.  

Many of her controls were inoperable or frozen, and all that she could give me was her static sound.  But she still had some life in her.

Taking some of my dad’s tools I started to disassemble and diagnose her. Using my child’s mind and my non-existent budget, I plotted a course of action.  The variable tuning capacitor was clogged with dust. I could clean it. There was some sort of knob that use pressure to connect to the chassis, its rubbery sleeve had long since disintegrated. I could probably fashion a new makeshift sleeve out of a rubber cork.  The cording for the tuning mechanism had also dissolved. Dental floss might work, if I could figure out how to rethread it.

The list went on… and on went my project.  Trial and error, more error than trial.  Step by step.  For my young mind, plenty of frustration and a few victories. Did it take me days?  Did it take me weeks?  I just remember that it took a long time.

Finally, it was time.  I reassembled the chassis into  the cabinet.  I plug her in and turned her on.  Her tubes glowed, she sprang to life.  I turned the dials and WLS boomed in!  But she deserved more than this. She survived for 30 years; she deserved more. A new grill cover using a placemat from the 5 and 10, varnish found in the basement… perfect!

My radio taught me that I could solve problems if I allowed myself to make mistakes.  She taught me that problems that seem impossible could be possible, if you approach them a little bit at a time.  She taught me that reasonable risks can yield reasonable results.  She taught me that time and thinking are bedfellows when it comes to solutions.

Today my goal is to remember that persistence and plodding are just as important as raw intelligence.

Dear reader, my old radio actually taught me something much more valuable and life changing than how to fix her.  For that, you will need to stay tuned for part two of this little missive.

Groggy, sleepy, achy… I wake.

Dressing, eating, driving… I arrive

This was day three with the trainer.  Day three in gym class. “We are behind the wall.”  His voiced boomed out. We, meaning the trainer and me. Four Forty-Five in the morning and my day is already an hour long.

In front of me is a medicine ball. “Squat, lift, throw it to the ground… repeat!” Then backwards walking pulling a weight. Then lifting a kettle weight to my chest.  Then more.

My aches continue, but I am less sleepy.  My grogginess replaced by shortness of breath.  Again!  Repeat! And so it went for 45 minutes.

I do not like this, I hate it, but I do it.

I will return.

I will return because I promised someone that I would.  I will return because I know I will be stronger.

I hate it.

I am not good at this.  I am clumsy, I am weak. Towards the end every set I become wobbly.  My heart beats wildly. I am gasping…  

I will return.

My goal today is to celebrate that I showed up and did my best.  My goal today is to not dwell on how poor my best is.

I will return

Sunday morning, early Sunday morning…  before church Sunday morning.  No one  available to ride with me.  I will ride alone.

I could have stayed at home, in front of my computer… scanning, writing, learning.  That is what I used to do, but not today.  Today is a day for adventure and discovery.  My plan, to ride somewhere where my bike has never been.  My plan is to ride to Herrick Lake. About a 14 mile round trip, not too bad.

Cool breeze, crisp air, sweet smell.  But riding is hard today, harder than it has been as of late, and I’m not sure why.  The wind? My new exercise routine?  I don’t know, but it is harder.

Being on a bike is different for me than driving a car.  In a car most of the work is automatic.  I can get into a zone and into my thoughts. Riding is  active;  it sometimes feels good, and at other times it makes my muscles burn and ache.

I prefer to ride with someone.  Someone to talk to, someone to share with, someone to be with.  But, today I will ride alone.

Bluetooth earbuds fastened to my ears, iPhone placed in a handlebar holder, I’m off!  Classical music, straight ahead jazz… the music keeps me company.

14 miles, but it seems longer.  Panting, pushing, standing and pedaling. I keep moving forward.  Along the way I greet people.   An old couple hand in hand, the many joggers, a teen texting… they nod hello, and the music fills my ears, and I feel happy.

I’m  ever fonder of my bike.  Ever grateful for what it gives me.  I want to give it a name, but I can’t think of the right one.  A bead of sweat runs off the tip of my nose, and the music keeps me company.

Just ahead… now there, the little lake shines like liquid silver.  It is surrounded by green grass and trees that are still deciding if they should change colors.  And the music keeps me company.

Today I will be grateful for my bike and my music. I will celebrate that I have the ability to adapt when the ideal is unavailable.

Hey, will you ride along with me?  Close your eyes and imagine that you are gliding on a path, cool air,  crisp air, sweet smell… close your eyes and listen to the music, and let it keep you company.

Julie interrupted my phone call with sister Carol saying that we were late.  Before I could respond she was already out the door.  I hung up the phone, jumped into the car, and drove the 6 minute trip to the high school.

This was preview night, where we would see the marching band’s show performance.  The one that they would do for BOA in Indianapolis a week for now, or at least most of it.  Act three was still being worked out, and only days before the big show.

Our son Will had been going to long practices.  After school, weekends… hours and hours.  Going without fail.  Sometimes returning home tired and crabby, and at other times tired and slightly satisfied.  All that work.  All that time.  And for what?

Julie had started a meatloaf and it was in the oven.  The show plus the announcements had one hour to complete themselves, less we catch our house on fire.

The band tuned up.  The flags positioned their props on the ground … and then it started.

These events have themes.  This particular theme was based on a famous artist.   For some reason the joining of a painter and a marching band seems odd to me.  I honestly could not make the connection.  It was like randomly walking into an opera performed in a different language.  You know a story is happening, but you are not quite sure what it is.

What I did see was the dedication of these kids.  With instruments in hand they walked backwards, sideways, bowed and did other feats, all while playing.  The flags did their thing too.  Often interacting with the instrument players.

Months of long practices all boiling down to 7 short minutes on the field.  Step, play, bow, play… it was over in a blink.

During the announcement Will returned to the stands to sit with us, his new black performance uniform accented in neon green. He started practice at 10 AM and it was now 6 PM.  Tired, but still willing to share a small smile with us.

Next week the band will compete at Bands of America.  To me it doesn’t matter if they win or not.  Awards look great on band director’s desks, but that should not be the reason for extracurricular activities.

Will had to show up.  Will had to dedicate himself.  Will had to practice.  Will had to sacrifice. Will had to work with a team.  In the end he was able to do something that he couldn’t do in the beginning.

Today my goal is to realize that the act of learning can be just as important as the act of doing.  As they say, life’s a journey not a destination.

It is 5:30 on Saturday morning, and I have already been up for a while.  Dressed and ready to go, but still sleepy, as I have yet to have my morning coffee.

Silently, my friend’s car pulls up and places itself conveniently astride my driveway.  We have done this routine so many times that a text message is no longer necessary.  In moments I’m ready to go, and out the door.

Traveling to his office, only a few minutes away.  Backpack containing a computer rests at my side.  His computer in a logo’ed nylon briefcase, tossed in the back seat.  Today we will focus on some business strategies, and we will try to solve some practical problems.  It may sound like work, but it isn’t. It is enjoyable, honestly it is fun.

The enjoyment and fun are derived from working with someone who has a similar  goal, but a slightly different perspective. The process becomes a ping pong game, with ideas bouncing back and forth. For me learning something new is the extra bonus. My friend’s work is completely outside my discipline, and so everything is new for me.  I like the fact that there are entire bodies of knowledge that I have yet discovered.  Their practical use unimportant.  They stand alone on their information.

Work, conversation, food, break, work, and so it goes.  Each element painting something on the canvas of the morning.

My goal for today is to acknowledge the satisfaction that collaborating with others brings.  My goal today is to be grateful that I have people who I can collaborate with.

I started the drive in 2009.  Back and forth, rain or shine, I always went. Ninety miles, an hour and twenty minutes, two tolls. Traveling, only to return back to where I started in my round trip.

I travel mostly silently, surrounded by my thoughts.  Thoughts not of grand scale, but small thoughts that entertain me.  Small thoughts that keep me company. They reside privately with me, rarely to be shared.

They drift and slide, here and there, as I look ahead at the road before me.

I drive 90 miles to Rockford, then 90 miles back to my home.  Net distanced traveled is zero. This simple calculation misses the point of my journey.

I think small thoughts that  can be circular.  On the surface their value is also zero. But to value them based on this metric misses the point of their existence.

My introverted mind uses my trip time… my quiet time, to grown and recharge. In a pressured life that measures time in quarter hour increments.  Well spent time.

Today my goal is to accept who I am and celebrate it.  To judge myself based on my own self, and not by comparison to others. To known what I need, and to freely give it.

Today I needed to drive to Rockford, and to drive back home… and to think.

It’s getting darker outside.  Partly due to my 3:50 AM wake-up time, and partly due to the ever escalating advance of fall.  This morning it was also raining.

I gathered myself  and found myself in my car at 4:25 AM, driving in dampness.  A block into my journey I was halted by the flashing red lights and the whooshing sound of a freight train.  But I arrived.

The gym seems to be gathering a larger crowd these days.  Early attenders with purposeful looks on their faces.    They assemble themselves onto their machines, and start their morning journey.  A stationary one.

I suppose that I am now joining their ranks.  I stepped on my treadmill and programmed it for my jog.  The gym seems less difficult now, as the inevitable personal training has become more of a focus.  My muscle more sore today, sorer than yesterday.  My resolve unchanged.

So many times I want things to come easy.  Without effort or energy. I don’t want to deal with rainy days, freight trains and personal trainers.

I know that I learn by repetition.  I know that I change by consistency.  Tomorrow I will don exercise shirt and shorts and move one more millimeter closer to my goal.

I am unsure why I do this to myself.  It is not like I don’t know better, but I do it.

I will think of a question, and then I need to come up with a solution. Hopefully, multiple solutions.

Case in point: I am just getting familiar using WordPress.  In fact I created this blog as an experiment to learn how to build one for a friend… and then I started to post on it.

That wasn’t enough, and I had to figure out how to relocate the blog so it could become  a website, drmikekuna.com.  That wasn’t enough, and I had to figure out how to re-direct my other domain, drmichaelkuna.com, to point and mask to drmikekuna.com.  Why?  I have no idea, but I spent the last few days thinking about it, and a frustrating few hours tonight making it happen.

I just can’t seem to stop myself.  I’m always solving problems and finding problems to be solved.  It is a strange affliction, and one that apparently has no cure. It is the process itself that drives me.  The process and possibly the second of euphoria that I experience when it all come together.

So now I have a blog that is redirected from several domains, it also automatically posts to several social media outlets; and I feel satisfied.  Solving problems must be my Mount Everest.  I solve them because they are there. Strange things amuse me.

Today was the day.  The anticipated day, The day of stress, the stress that I paid for.

Today was the day that I started with a personal trainer.  The morning started early.  Coffee using my new speedy coffee system, homemade low sugar muffin, then a 15 minute car ride.

My trainer is pleasant, but business like.  My ability is as expected.  I fatigue easily and the “next” set seems more difficult than the “prior” one.  After exhaustion using TRX bands and running “suicides” I’m told that I just completed about 1/2 of a normal exercise session.  Not even a hollow victory.

I’ll return to the gym tomorrow and run on the treadmill.  On Friday I’ll face more training.  Training that I don’t look forward to.  Training that reminds me of high school gym class and my inadequacies.

This journey started years ago with a dedicated effort to reduce my stress.  It continued a year ago with a dedicated effort to give up sugar.  It continues today.  A journey, part of a greater journey.  A journey with an unknown destination.

Despite my soreness, I also see the irony in my life.  As I try to “let go and let God” strange things happen, and I am pushed forward.  I don’t think that I would have started walking if it wasn’t for a friend.  I don’t think that I would have joined a gym, if it wasn’t for a friend.  I know that I never would have engaged a personal trainer, if it wasn’t for a friend.

My goal is to become strong so I can move my life in a different direction.  Hike national parks, explore, write, photograph and ponder.

As I was leaving the gym, already feeling sore, my friend said, “You are working towards having 5 more good years of  hiking in national parks.”  He was right.

Here is the irony.  My friend is not a very religious man and yet he is serving as an agent of change for me.  In reality, he is serving as an agent of God, and he doesn’t even know it.  For some reason this understanding makes me smile.

My morning continues, and my workday starts.  Life flows on.

It strikes me as interesting that simple pleasures have become profit centers.  Where I live kids don’t play softball games in the street, they join a club that structures that activity for them.  The same can be said of adults, who take classes or partake in activities, all for a price.

My comment is not to be derisive of purchased experiences, as they certainly have their place.  However, I don’t think that they should replace all of the many things that are free for the taking.

This last weekend I went on a bike ride along Chicago’s Lake Shore Drive.  The weather was cool, and the sky was clear.  I went with a friend, and shared good conversation.  I was dazzled by the beauty of the sun rising up from the lake.  I was stunned by the elegance of the Chicago skyline at dawn.  I was amused by my people watching.  Total cost, free.

How many times do I pass up free experiences?  Do I think that something has to have a cost to have a value?  Today, and everyday, I hope to have the wisdom to see the “sunrises” that present.  All free of charge, and all plentiful.