Run, Baby, Run

Back in high school, I was a sprinter. I was one of the fastest runners on the junior football team. Once the starter’s pistol went off, my pent up energy from being pinned behind the starting gates would propel me to the lead, often from start to finish. I could also do the standing long jump longer than most kids in my class, one time doing nearly 9 feet.

But it wasn’t always that way.

In grade eight things were very different. My times for half-mile runs were consistently over 5 minutes. There wasn’t a huge difference between my jogging and fast walking pace. In those days we did the Canada Fitness Test. It was a series of tests to judge strength, speed and agility. One event was the standing long jump. In grade 8 I did a lofty 5’ 3” – nearly 4 feet less than I did a year later. What was so different? What changed in only one year?

We moved.

I grew up with the same kids from grade one to grade eight. I had a reputation for being a slow runner. There were no expectations for me to do otherwise. It was my label and I lived up to it exceptionally well.

In the summer between grade eight and high school, my family moved to a different area of the city and I started going to school with all new kids. It was a clean start – new friends, no expectations, no history to dictate what I could or couldn’t do, no labels. When I had to run in gym class, it seemed like a weight was off of me and I kicked it into gear. I didn’t hold back and I didn’t let up. What resulted was a whole new set of labels and expectations, ones that were much more productive and beneficial for me. The voice in grade eight said “that’s not you”, but the voice in grade nine said “run and soar” … and I did.

Striped Cat

What about a black cat. When we see a black cat we expect it to be able to jump and play. Some people have superstitions about these cats. We all expect the black cat to sleep most of the day away and chew your toes in the middle of the night. That’s part of the “cat” label.

But what if we paint a black stripe down its back? The same animal with just some surface modifications. Instead of a cat, now we might see a skunk. What we expect now is a slow-moving, lumbering animal that if approached could cause us some nasal distress. All that changed was a painted white stripe, something on the surface and our ability to still see a cat changed.

Imposed Labels

In many ways, my step-father was a daunting figure that I feared, especially up to my late teens. Owing to his own upbringing, I now see he was not afforded the skills to be a balanced father – not knowing when to hit and when to hold, and he rarely attempted to hold. To compound that, I could see very clearly the difference how he dealt with my sister. To her, he extended a soft touch. Birthday gifts to my sister and they came once a year – on her birthday even though our birthdays were six months apart. I found out much later that my mom told him that if he wanted to bring birthday gifts to my sister, he had to bring overdue gifts for me.

I have little recall what any of these gifts were and it doesn’t even matter. Was does matter were the labels that my father subconsciously imposed upon me without my knowledge or permission. Although I didn’t recognize it then, as a young boy and teen I felt unworthy and simply not good enough. These were labels that were imposed upon me and became dominate drivers behind what I said and did for many years.

In my teens, I had no idea that these labels were driving me one way or another. Yet, it was these labels that put me on the brink of taking my own life a number of times when I was 16 years old. In my late teens and 20s, I was more able to recognize these drivers, but harnessing them was trying to hold a cup of water in my bare hands – without the cup. Even now, remnants of those labels of unworthiness remain and I find I have to push a little harder to complete the things I want and need to do, including writing a book.

Chosen Labels

As I have discussed in other articles in this blog, I spent a lot of money and time drinking throughout my teens, 20s and early 30s. When I finally hit my own rock bottom, I reached out for help. A friend of mine who I shared thousands of beers with had joined A.A. and had stopped drinking. In my early 30s, I decided to join A.A. as well. Whenever I got up in front of the group to speak, it would start “Hi. My name is Randy and I am an alcoholic”. It was a label that I adopted officially after joining A.A. even though it was something others may have seen in me beforehand. It was a label that served me well for the brief time I was in A.A.  … up until I realized it wasn’t serving me anymore.

Within a year or two of joining A.A., I had little interest in drinking. The challenge I had in calling myself an alcoholic is that it created a tension in me. If I am an alcoholic, I need to keep that part of me pushed down and that required energy that could be better spent elsewhere. I decided to label myself simply a “non-drinker”. No more tension. No more internal struggles. No more drinking. I appreciate that A.A. still works wonders for many, but for me, this shift in chosen label was liberating.

Sink or Soar

Sometimes we choose labels, sometimes we don’t. Sometimes they are brief bursts of crappy thoughts when we think to ourselves “I’m an idiot, I can’t do this, Who’s going to read this anyway”. They can also be short, empowering thoughts like “I did a great job, I am so lucky, Damn I’m good-looking”. Other times they are so deeply entrenched within us that we sink and struggle for a lifetime with the ones that hold us back, or soar with the ones that propel us forward.

Labels have greatly influenced my identity and destiny.  I’ll be returning to labels frequently throughout this blog as I take in the View From The Edge.

What labels have you carried – for your benefit and/or otherwise?