My plate is not full!

I noticed that it has been exactly one week since my last post. Apparently, I've been busy moving from one town to the other. The days slip through you fingers like sand through the hourglass. But while I have a moment, I want to bitch about some worn out 'sayings' that haunt me. One in particular is the phrase "My plate is full".

To me, this phrase is stating that you already have too much to do, too little time, and you are not willing to take on any other tasks at this moment. How convenient, huh? Now, I love my sister and she taught me many things throughout my life, but she is one of those people that often refers to her full plate. I think her plate has been full for about three decades now.

Although I learned this phrase 30 years ago, I rarely used it and I rarely heard it. But, when I did hear it, It always struck a nerve. Two examples come to mind along with sidenotes of other phrases too.

First, lets get some things out of the way so I can concentrate on my full plate. When I lived in Charlotte, I had the same boss for years. He often said "Plan your work and work your Plan". Well, thats a great saying, but it is not always practical. Sometimes you hit a snag. Sometimes you find out that your original plan needed a tweak. You might even have found yourself between a rock and a hard place.

Several years ago, my 70 something Mom married a wealthy man that tried to rule her and her grown children with an iron fist. Needless to say, we didn't care much for him, but my Mom loved him, so we remained mum. One day in particular, I had just moved from Charlotte to Raleigh and my car broke down on the beltline. Not having any local friends or a cell phone, I pulled off to the side of the road and walked to the next exit. I called my new stepfather and asked for some help. He told me that I should pull up my own bootstraps. He suggested that I get a job pumping gas at the local gas station. When I told him that gas stations are self serve only and nobody pumps gas for a living anymore, he balked and told me to find a job where a commute was not needed. He told me to plan my work and work my plan. Oh, for God's sake. Having your car die on the beltline on my way to work was not in my plan. He told me that he did not like the fact that I had three different jobs in the past ten years. "You pick a company and you stay with that company through thick and thin". Oh, Paleeeze. Times have changed you old geezer. I'm not staying for the gold watch and I'm not Japanese either. I guess his plate was full. I didn't cry at his funeral.

A few years later, I started getting serious about this golf thing. I decided to find a PGA professional to help me hone my skills. However, I made a poor choice. I chose a guy that was tall and skinny like me. I thought he could teach me to use my leverage to smack that ball to kingdom come. But he was an asshole and I realized that after spending about thirty minutes with him. We started out on the range and he asked me to pull out my 8 iron and hit the ball to a target 120 yards away. I told him that I use an 8 iron for targets about 160 yards away. If you want me to hit a 120 target, a pitching wedge would do nicely. He got angry and told me to do what he said. So, I hit the target with my 8 iron, but I didn't understand the syllabus, and I asked him what we were trying to accomplish. He told me not to question his motives. But that was where he and I differed. I don't want to just know how, I also want to know why. At the end of my first lesson, I told him that I did not pay him big bucks to teach me how to hit an 8 iron, I hired him to help me get leverage, accuracy and depth required to reach the next level. That arrogant tall drink of water looked down at me and pointed his finger in my face. He said "Wow, you sure do have a full plate, don't you?" That was the last time I saw that guy. My heart was hardened and I drove away frustrated. Maybe I should just pump gas for a living near my house like Gomer and Goober in Mayberry. I tried for months to rationalize his teaching methods and thought maybe I was wrong and he was right. But I came to my senses and decided that he was an asshole. In reality, PGA professionals are a dime a dozen. What works for him doesn't really work for me. I needed a new pro.

I found that new pro, but this time we sat down and talked before we went to the range. I told him that my plate was full. I want to change this but I don't want to change that. Can you help me? He did. My plate was not full anymore. He opened doors for me that I never knew about. He pulled back the curtain and showed me that Oz was just an insecure man pretending to be something bigger than he was. Don't dream it, be it.

As time went by, I got my own certification, but my wife was struggling at work. She was the one that assigned the jobs with a deadline. She distributed the work evenly, but there was that one prima donna that never wanted anything new. She was too busy planning her wedding and used her work hours to talk to caterers and her mommy. "Don't you roll your eyes at me, I'll just go and talk to your boss. My plate is full." It turns out that the boss had a stiffy for this girl, so she could continue her wedding plans and forget about deadlines. He could beat off in the shower and she could use her workplace for personal use. Deadlines were never met because her plate was full.

So, I don't ever want to hear somebody tell me that their plate is full. Their cup runneth over. Seasons change, people change. Plates are often emptied and you put them in the dishwasher. You get a new plate. I guess we all have full plates, but do we really? I don't. I'm not dead yet and I have lots of new people and new adventures to seek. I have room on my plate and I hope you do too.