Gratitude: Popping The Clutch in a COVID-19 World

It was Thursday, January 9, 2020 when I took a Yellow Post-it Note and wrote in big black letters “How can I disrupt my life?” and stuck it to the wall of my home office. I was thinking, of course, as many do, that this was a great opportunity to rethink my personal and professional goals. How could I challenge myself, push myself out of my 2019 lethargy? What was I going to accomplish at work? What did my wife and I want to do with our family this year? It was a clean slate, chocked full of new opportunity. Or so I thought. Now, eleven months later, I realize the joke was on me. COVID-19 has provided more than adequate disruption. It's still here with full force and implications, even as we approach our most treasured holidays. So earlier this week, as I stared at the Yellow Post-it Note, my first impulse was to reach up, rip it away, and sail it across the room, I thought twice. I decided to leave it. Before I explain why, I want to tell a story.

It was the early 90s, and I was a freshman in college. I had started working part-time afternoons and weekends at an Equipment Rental Store. This store had various and sundry items—anything from space heaters to chainsaws, jackhammers, weedwhackers. Another popular item that could be rented was plastic chairs and tables. These were often rented out for graduation parties, corporate events, etc. The store belonged to my friend’s dad, Charlie, so I thought this job was great opportunity to make a little extra money and have some fun besides. As it turned out, the experience was worth much more.

One Thursday afternoon, I walked into store and Charlie, the owner, greeted me. As we exchanged "hellos", I turned to walk into the back. Charlie stopped me and said, “Brad, wait; I got an delivery for you”. Intrigued, I turned around to hear more. “I need you to load 500 plastic chairs and 80 tables in the truck…..and haul them to across town to Johnson’s Electrical; they are a planning a party tomorrow afternoon and they need ‘em tonight.” Simultaneously, he tossed the keys to me and I somehow managed to catch them—even as my knees went weak.  I grinned sheepishly, muttering under my breath that this truck was a five speed. And, I did not know how to operate a five speed. Before I could issue my full protest. Charlie sensed my hesitation and shut me down. He said, “I don’t care that you haven’t driven a five speed before, because there’s no better time than now to learn.” He also offered a wry grin before volunteering, “You may need to ‘grind ’em until you find ’em’." I snickered and shook my head, but the conversation was over. I dutifully walked to the back of the store and saw the truck was already backed up to the dock, which made the loading easier. About an hour later, I stepped back to survey my work.

The truck was loaded with the chairs and tables and winched tight with a canvas strap. All ready. I hopped off the dock and climbed into the cab of the car. By now beads of sweat had started forming on my brow which was more an indication of my anxiety about trying to operate the truck than the summer heat. I slammed the door shut with bravado and prepared to start the engine. The plastic seat scorched my bare legs; I gapped at the five-speed gearshift as if it were a rattlesnake that might strike. Mumbling “grind ’em until you find ’em.” I turned the ignition. It rumbled, but begrudgingly roared to life

At this point, I was a flood with memories of my last attempt to drive a “stick”. Several years earlier, not long after I had first gotten my license my Dad had attempted to teach me to drive a standard transmission. We had been car shopping and we had taken a Chevy Spectrum for a test drive. As we drove the car off the lot, I watched my dad masterfully operate this vehicle. I thought to myself, “How hard can this be? After all Dad's doing it?” However, as we pulled into the deserted school parking to practice, my optimism was quickly doused. My Dad unbuckled his seatbelt hopped out of the car and I slid over into the driver's seat. I turned on the ignition and awaited his instructions. “Now, Son, shift into first and slowly release the clutch while depressing the gas.” Sounded easy enough. The car lurched forward and…died. My father proceeded to tell me that the car had died, which was not especially helpful. 45 minutes later, red faced and hoarse, my Dad indicated it was time to return the car to the dealership. After my “failure to launch” with a manual transmission, he suggested we shift our car buying focus to a nice automatic.

So, here I am sitting on the cracked plastic seats of this beast of a truck, half choking on the still smoldering cigarettes of the previous driver. Still though, my friend Greg had taken notice and started to watch me. He sensed my hesitation and was starting to smirk. He was also pointing at his watch and wording something about a deadline. At this point, I knew my pride was at stake. I recalled my Dad’s word; I depress the clutch. I grab the gearshift and push it left and right and somehow manage to find “first”. I slowly release the clutch and depress the gas as the truck lurches forward. Suddenly I’m moving forward slowly, methodically, purposely. But then the truck dies. By now Greg is doubled over laughing. My face reddens even more as I yell at Greg and tell him where he can go. I replace the gear shift into neutral depress the clutch again and turn the engine back on. I repeat the previous steps. This time something is different. The car inches forward faster and faster. I’ve now traveled some 30 feet without the truck dying. Instinctively I realize I need to shift gears. I depress the clutch again and managed to find "second." However, the truck alerts me that I have not fully found “second” gear with an ear-piercing reminder. “Grind’em until you find’em.” I adjust my gear shift and the truck rewards me by increasing speed. 

Fast forward. An hour later I return victorious to the rental store. Chairs delivered. Check. Truck return in one piece. Check. Transmission in tack (more or less). Check. No more episodes of dying engine (none with eyewitnesses). Check.

So, why the story? COVID-19 has forced us to depress the clutch of our lives and shift gears. At some points along the way it may have felt like our engine died and we have stalled out. But, we can always reset and begin again, and sometimes we may need to. We might realize we need to shift to a higher gear or, more than likely, shift “down”. We might feel like we are being forced to do things we feel ill prepared. Maybe we are trying to do things that we had previously tried and had failed. Sometimes those previous failures are the engine of future successes. Hopefully during these times, we can call to mind the people that have challenged us because they thought we could, that believed in us. We can also call to mind of people that have encouraged us to go beyond what we thought was possible. More than likely, along the way, we have discovered a hidden reservoir of strength and capacity that we never dared believe we had.

As we approach the days ahead and realize the journey continues (far longer than many of us expected), we should challenge ourselves to demonstrate equal measures of self-confidence, gratitude, and humility. The self-confidence is sourced in the fact that we have overcome before and that this time is no different; we shall survive. The gratitude comes from the fact that there is always something to be thankful for, even if our appreciation meter requires adjustment this year. But, why the humility? Because ultimately our ability to succeed is sourced from the love, support, and belief that others have invested in us. Those are gifts that should not be ignored. Independence always originates from point of interdependence; we did not “get here” by ourselves. We are in this together! Let’s not forget that!

Back to the Yellow Post-it Note. Why did I leave it stuck to my home office wall? Although the path of disruption initiated by COVID-19 was not of my choosing (or any of us, for that matter), I still must choose my response each day; sometime by each moment. That yellow Post-it Note provides that crinkled reminder...