Marshall Ramsey

He’s one of the most positive people I know — and he’s in pain. His marriage is unraveling, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. As we sat at the table, I could see hurt in his eyes.

If I had three wishes, I’d give one to him.

We had lunch the other day and shared our personal woes. Both of us are having cognitive problems from the stress we’re under — I can’t remember squat right now, for example. He’s having similar issues. He’s losing his marriage. I’ve had a tough couple of years with my parents. It’s exhausting. Grief has walled off part of our brains. But what could have easily turned into a pity road trip never quite got there. We got off the first exit and headed in a more positive direction.

He’s worried about his kids. I’ve always known him to be a great dad — so his concern doesn’t surprise me. He’ll still be in their lives — thanks be to God.

Speaking of, he said that God obviously wanted him there for a reason. I admired his ability to try to find a diamond of good in a big heaping pile of crap. He knows love will get him through this. He has been volunteering and trying to help others. He did that before this latest crisis. But now, it’s good therapy. He has a way of inspiring people — and I have to admit, he inspired me.

Winston Churchill said it best, “If you’re going through Hell, keep going.” I know it is tempting at times to lie down and quit. But we all have so much more inside of us than we use. There are times when you have to take a long, hard look at your life and decide what’s truly important. My friend had the decision made for him. But he’s doing a great job plowing through the pain.

He’ll be fine. I have faith in him and his heart. And I’m proud to call him a friend.

It was the tightest security we faced in New York City. I turned to my son after we got through it and said, “This is the true monument to 9/11.”

We were in the 9/11 Museum and were about to take our long journey downward.

Outside are the footprint fountains of the Twin Towers. Their size and power will overwhelm you — just reading all the names will suck the breath out of you. I had visited the World Trade Center first when I was in high school. I remember the lobby and the mall underneath. I remember standing next to Tower one and looking up as it tickled the sky. I also visited it when it was a smoldering ruin in early 2002. To see the area redeveloped now is incredible. The new World Trade Center is an architectural marvel. But still….

We rode the escalator down into the subbasement. Next to it were the stairs that a handful of people had survived on when the towers collapsed. I’m not sure if it was the air conditioning, but I definitely felt a chill. At the bottom, I think we were where the mall and the train station were. To one side was the iron cross that inspired so many. On the other was the giant retaining wall (the bathtub) that holds out the Hudson River was on one side. One of the greatest miracles of that dark day was that the wall held. The Hudson could have flooded much of lower New York, making the disaster so much worse.

But after looking at the photos of the victims, I thought, “how could it be worse?” There were artifacts like ID badges, glasses and wallets. A crushed fire truck told the story of the violence of the collapsing buildings. My oldest son was a baby on 9/11. My middle son wasn’t even born. He never knew a world where you could go to the gate to meet your loved one. They read the exhibits and wondered why their dad was crying.

Yes, I cried. I am not normally a crier, but there was one exhibit that totally got to me. There was a set of Pooh headphones and a stuffed bear that belonged to two girls on two of the crashed planes. We had just gotten off the plane and all I could do was picture my youngest son holding his BB-8 toy.

The museum had taken me down my lowest depth and completely gutted me. It successfully humanized one of our nation’s darkest days. As it should have. As we rode back up the escalator, I felt sadness and then I felt anger.

How dare those bastards do this?

I’ve felt that feeling off and on for 15 years. I felt it on the actual day. And I’ve felt it over and over when we watch the planes crashing or the victims jumping to escape the flames (if you’ve ever been burned, you know why they jumped.) But seeing those toys and hearing the last recordings of people who were about to die tore at my soul.

Sunday  we will remember. But this year, I’ll remember a little differently. It’ll be more personal.

Yesterday, I asked this question: When times get rough, how do you keep from giving up?

I was very impressed with the answers that I got. A friend of mine asked me, “so what do you do?”

Good question.

Guess I’ve had a little experience with that. I thought about some tough patches I’ve faced and how I managed to stumble through them. I know I’ve made plenty of mistakes. Most of what I mention comes from learning the hard way. That seems to be the only way I’m capable of getting an education. But here are a few things I use to plow through bad times:

1. Get back up.

I’ve ingested so much of the Tennessee River that I am surprised I don’t have a third arm. Let’s just say when it came to teaching you how to waterski, my dad waterboarded before it became national news. And when you did get up, he took glee in knocking you back down. He’d turn the boat to sling you to the outside (and make you go even faster.) One day, I hit a piece of driftwood and did several cartwheels. I hit the water hard — and one of my skis hit my head. I was laying half conscious in the water when he guided the boat slowly next to me.

“You alive?” My Dad’s concern overwhelmed me.

I groggily nodded.

“It’s time to get back up.” My Dad wasn’t going to allow me to wallow in my misery. I grabbed the rope and we did it all over again.

Fifteen years ago, I had serious surgery for my melanoma. I was home, lying in bed and floating on a sea of pain pills. My Dad, also a cancer survivor, walked in my room and poked me.

“You alive?” He grinned.

I groggily nodded.

“It’s time to get back up.” We walked around the block together.

Since then I’ve learned that when you get knocked on your butt, you evaluate where you are then you get back up and get moving.

As Sir Winston Churchill said, “When going through Hell, don’t stop.”

2. Cancel the pity party

When I was a janitor after college, I threw a massive pity party. For six months, I pushed my trash barrel around with a copy of my diploma on it and a black cloud over my head. I was like a fart in the elevator — no one wanted be around me but couldn’t escape. I had a major attitude change one Sunday after hearing the Parable of the Talents. I went to work the next day with a much better attitude and doors began to open up. One of those doors was a co-worker introducing me to her daughter. I’ve been married to her daughter now for 23 years and have three amazing boys. Thank God I was a janitor after college.

3. Find the good in a bad situation

SuperTalk fired me after two years on the air but I didn’t mind. Because even though I wasn’t doing a show they wanted, my ratings and phone calls proved I was doing a show people wanted. I was able to translate that into books sales and a new radio show. That has led to a television show. And who knows we’re that will lead. It’s very hard to have that kind of positive attitude (at least for me), but experience has taught me that if I look for the good, I will find it. If I focus on the bad, I will crumble like a stale cookie. I firmly believe that some bad moments are just a shove from above to knock you out of your comfort zone. And I can tell you from experience, a comfort zone is more dangerous than even a blasting zone.

4. Believe in something bigger than yourself.

It’s faith. I’ve known my fair share of narcissists (and have teetered on that illness myself). But when bad things happen, if you believe in a bigger picture, a higher power and people you need to serve, it gets you out of the black hole of misery. I, of course, have faith. That is a personal journey for me that I keep close to my vest. But I also believe my role is to serve my family. When I lost past of my job, I didn’t panic. I looked at my sleeping boys and got to work. Love is a powerful motivator.

5. Get help

I’m a guy so even asking for directions is hard for me. But over the past couple of years, I’ve dealt with some serious issues. One day I woke up feeling like I was driving with a parking brake on. I leaned on my friends and started to work through it. It’s OK to reach out to a therapist, minister, priest, rabbi, dear friend, etc. When you’re in the middle of a crisis, your brain can lie to you — and make things seem much worse than they are. Sometimes it takes someone helping you for you to see reality. Things aren’t as grim as you think.

6. Live in the moment

Hard to do, but important. You have to learn to eat the elephant one bite at a time. Otherwise you can get overwhelmed. I know that feeling.

7. Laugh at the things that drive you crazy.

I tell people at the beach that my cancer scar is from a shark attack. Laughing has kept me sane for the past 15 years. I know that when my wife and I are laughing, we usually aren’t fighting. A sense of humor is probably the most valuable asset I have.

Well, I need to run to Natchez, Mississippi for a speech. It’s all part of that “keep moving” thing that seems to work so well for me. I didn’t have time to edit this — this is just off my chest. But I hope you got as much good from it as I did from your answers. What are your thoughts? Add them to the comment section below.

Scars make you tougher.

I just finished a piece about the flooding in Louisiana and a couple of the comments reminded me that yes, Louisiana will be OK. But they will be scarred.

I know a little bit about scars. A friend of mine asked me recently if I had any tattoos. I replied, “no, I do scars instead.” And boy do I ever — I have 80 of the darn things. Most of them are nearly invisible now (the gift of a great plastic surgeon), but they’re there. I feel them when I work out. When the weather changes. And when I stretch the wrong way. I have one that is several inches long on my back. I used to tell staring swimmers that it was from a shark attack.

If you can’t laugh at things that drive you crazy, you’ll go, well, crazy.

Most of my scars are from bad moles. I’ve had one malignant melanoma, two melanoma in-situs and nearly 70 dysplastic nevi. I’m darn lucky to be here. And when I forget that? I rub my scar.

Because of my scars, I appreciate life in ways I never did before. I am more empathetic, too. There is nothing quite like your own skin trying to kill you that will make you less self-centered.

Scars are bookmarks for your life story. Whether it is a great loss, a broken heart, cancer, heart surgery or an accident, they represent that moment in time when you had to make a choice. “Will fight or will I give up?” Your scar is proof that you fought — and won.

I wouldn’t trade a single one of my scars. Not a one. Although the I do mourn the loss of my career as an international back model. But somehow I think I will survive.