by BJ Beauchamp
ROADS TAKEN
I woke up this January morning feeling like the day after the 1992 Los Angeles Riots, the 1994 Northridge Earthquake, and the attacks on the World Trade Center on 9/11. On the news this morning in 2010 it was Haiti that was in ruins after an earthquake; and in the local newspaper a 24-year old man was arrested and faces the death penalty in the rape, torture and murder of an 84-year old Anaheim woman on Sunday night. In years past I was motivated into action by crisis, whereas today I am paralyzed with fear and panic.
After the Northridge earthquake as a studio executive (pffft, i.e., lowly manager) I phoned staff to ensure they were well and for them to stay put and deal with what was necessary as many of their homes had been red-tagged or were pending this classification. The day after Martin Luther King’s holiday in 1994 I travelled to the studio and the normal freeway route had collapsed – so even that wasn’t easy. Fire, police, and other safety personnel were on site along with other some corporate personnel. I remember walking the place taking inventory of the damage done and looking for potential problems. I huffed and puffed and crawled over that which was busted. Elevators failed to work. Sheets of glass in the atrium hung precariously over the lobby. Huge copy equipment sailed through walls creating big holes. Cracks in the structures looked menacing. And then there were aftershocks. But all of this chaos I could manage, including convincing the powers that be at the studio to pay for the time off the staff needed to get through the crisis. This devastation I could dig in and do something about. Today’s economic situation and the financial devastation that whirls around in my orbit have left me at the mercy of the universe. I didn’t know how to save me, hence the paralyzing feelings of fear. Worst case scenarios include loss of home, loss of credit rating which pales in comparison to loss of life caused by an earthquake or murder which makes it all the harder to wrap my brain around. Finally my brain kicks in and says, “So what.” Perhaps seeing someone else’s horrors finally made me realize my life isn’t so bad – which is an awful way to get to that point, but the truth is, I won’t be dead and I can always start over.
In the midst of this epiphany, I should mention that I live with my parents, who are not aging as well as some might, but still better than others. They move slower, and have difficulty tending to a small dog that can’t see. It is a hardship on my parents for me to be away from them for any long period of time, so I will have to work while they rest, and arrange for help when I’m not around.
This is my life. This is the road taken.
AND NOT
At the age of 17 there was a gentleman who was from a long line of farmers, and several years older than me. A very tall (6' 4"), attractive, and nice guy, who immediately started calling my mother “mom” which made me flee faster than you can say “Abracadabra.” It was at this time the driver’s keys to dating should have been taken away from me.
Thirty years later and I’m still not married and have had no kids – I don’t recall making that decision outright, but that’s what happened. I suppose I could have just gone with the flow and married the farmer, had a couple kids, and written a few novels; but there you have it, the road not taken.
Did I mention that I’ve no regrets? Go figure.