I can see that one of my lessons to learn is to have faith and let go of all outcomes.
I don't know about you but I find that to be extremely difficult.
My father was a stock broker.
He became very ambitious.
Then he became very greedy.
Originally he was a philosophy major.
He also loved music even though he never played an instrument.
He loved our Boxer he named Brandy Alexander (the name of a fun alcoholic beverage he also loved).
He adored my mother.
He was obsessed with my brother's weaknesses.
He was lukewarm on me entirely.
Honestly, I don't think he really got me.
I don't know.
He liked to dance though and he'd invite me out on the dance floor as a young girl and as a teenager.
In his tough booming voice, "Courtney, get out here and dance with your father!"
He was fun, he was funny, he was mean, he was cruel.
He gambled big on his stock exchange career.
He drove brand new Jaguars every year in his heyday, and bought my mother a matching one for herself.
He started to lose big in 1976 and shit got ugly.
My mother couldn't handle the insecurity of his situation and turned to another older more financially secure man for comfort and help.
And when my dad found out it crushed him and he lost the will to turn the situation around.
We never saw him again.
I know now that he went around for a long while teaching English to immigrants on the Mexican border of the US.
I know that at fifty years of age he went to Yale and got a Masters Degree in Psychology.
He already had a Finance Law degree which he had used to work the angles in the stock market.
At Yale he fell in love with a female professor ten years older than himself, they wrote a book together about the psychology of the stock market and published it, and then they got married.
They moved to Maine and lived in a small town together for ten years, just quietly enjoying life.
I heard somehow that my father had died in Milbridge, Maine and I found out about the book and I eventually got this woman on the phone.
She was very kind, and we talked a long time.
But the main thing was that she didn't know my dad had any children.
She was married to him for ten years and she said they had a beautiful loving relationship, that my dad was very funny, very kind to everyone, very generous, very humble.
But he failed to mention that he had two kids somewhere.
It wasn't for me that I was angry.
It was for my sensitive struggling broken hearted big brother, who loved his father, tried to please his father, cared so much about where our father might be and whether we'd ever see him again.
My brother died alone, a homeless person, adrift in psychosis and failing health at the age of sixty.
My father died in Maine, in the arms of this kind and intelligent woman, in his mid seventies, never a mention of my brother or me.
I don't know.
I have no fucking idea.
I do what I do and I try to do it well.
I have to let go of all thought, all expectation, all prayers of positive outcome.
All I got is my dream now.
I will walk this path humbly, with no regret, no turning back, no fear, no expectation.
I will walk my path and not let anything get to me.
I'm alive and I'm well and I'm minding my own business.