Marshall Ramsey

Fear nearly destroyed my life. I know, stupid isn’t it? Talk about a complete waste of a perfectly good imagination. But it’s true. It wrapped around my soul 13 years ago and send me into a death spiral. I was held hostage by my imagining things that never came true — or sometimes became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Now, I see it destroying others. Let’s just say I’ve seen the devil and he ain’t the cartoon on the can of ham.

I guess I’ve danced with fear for longer than 13 years. Not to get on the psychiatrist’s couch, but I think of several times I allowed it to influence me as a child. But the biggie was April 17, 2001. That was the day I was diagnosed with cancer. I survived it. But I barely survived surviving it. Fear gripped me and wouldn’t let go. Add to it my changing career, and I suddenly craved security.

Which I soon found out was a mirage.

My fear kept me from taking a great job in Tulsa. My fear kept me from experimenting in the job I had. My fear kept me stressed out that my cancer would come back. My fear made me to believe people who tried to destroy my career. My fear kept me from loving my wife like I should and appreciating my family. It consumed me. It drove my actions. It kept me in my comfort zone.

When I speak, I tell the audiences I would rather be in a blasting zone that a comfort zone. Why? It’s safer in a blasting zone. Because when your world is shaken up, you get to see the opportunities. Fear keeps you focused on protecting what you have. That’s the polar opposite of reality. Change happens every single second of the day. You have to embrace it. You have to learn to surf the wave or you will drown.

Fear is intoxicating and powerful. I see politicians use it and frankly, it pisses me off when I do. I tune out those who try to scare me. It’s one of the things that frustrates me about bad talk radio. I don’t need to be scared witless everyday. (Yes, I used to do a talk radio show and still have a show once a week.) When you are afraid, you can be controlled. I don’t want to be controlled.

So how do I get past my fears?

Yes, I had a kind of cancer that does come back. Yes, my job is changing nearly daily. Yes, we live in a difficult and broken world. But I refuse to be scared anymore. I did that for years and my life suffered. Now, I focus on the good and find the positive. It’s my weapon to fight the dark moments.

That’s how I choose to live my life.

If you notice my shoes today, they’re muddy. And for good reason.

Why? Let’s go back to the beginning.

It was last night about 6:30 and life was punching me hard. Some things I have no control of were taking up all my brain’s hard drive and RAM. I was making mental mistakes (gas cap left off for example) as I hustled to get my son to soccer practice. I had fallen asleep previously during his guitar lesson. I was tired and frazzled.

So naturally, I drove past the soccer field where I normally drop him off. My brain was in some kind of automatic overdrive and was taking me to my workout (which was 13 hours previously.) I turned quickly to the right into the back of the field and cut across the grass — something I’ve done at least a dozen times.

But what wasn’t the case the other 12 times was that the field was now a bog. I felt the car sink and then the tires spun. Whirrrrrrrrrrr. Mud flew everywhere.

Groan.

The car (which was blameless) was stuck up to the front axles. And all my plans for the next hour were radically changed.

I sent my son to practice and stepped out myself.

Squish.

It was worse than I thought. I went over to a nearby building where a friend worked. He and I got some wood to help the car get some traction. I’ve unstuck cars a million times. But it wasn’t happening today.

The soccer team came over to give it a push. No dice.

I guess I could have gotten mad. But there was no use — Life had decided I needed a reset. And you can’t argue with life.

My fingers began dialing the number for a tow truck.

I guess the good Lord had decided He had thrown enough on my plate because an angel in a truck pulled up at that moment. His name was Jason — and he was dropping off his son just like I was. Except he had a four-wheel-drive and off-road tires.

“Let me go home and get some rope.”

“Good,” I thought, “I’m at the end of mine.”

He came back about 20 minutes later and we got the car out of the mud in about a minute.

We talked for few minutes; I really liked the guy. It’s funny how a man with a truck and a few straps can renew your faith in humanity. A bad moment had introduced me to a great guy.

I think a younger version of myself would have panicked. Or gotten mad. Or pitched a fit. While I did have a sense of frustration, I knew things would work out. And they did. Maybe it was because I had visited with a friend with lymphoma earlier in the day and had a better perspective. Or maybe I just knew that staying calm was the best option.

I hosed most of the mud off my car last night but didn’t clean my shoes. Why? Because I wanted to be reminded that when we sink in life’s mud, it takes friends to pull us out.

The dark shadow of fear threw him into darkness. As Tom Drake sat at his desk, he felt himself gasp for air. And he felt cold. Very cold. Not a terribly religious man, Tom knew the Devil when he met him. And that is exactly who had brought this fear. Well, the Devil and a corporate Vice President. And his dad’s cancer. And….

The list was longer than Tom could process at one time. A tree had fallen on his house the night before during the storm and he could feel his bloodshot eyes trying to focus. And then there was his wife. And his kids. And…

No one was happy in Tom’s life. And at the top of that list was Tom.

Tom gripped his coffee cup like is was a life preserver because he definitely was a drowning man. Pity washed over him like a crashing wave, sending him reeling. His soul tumbled and he once again tried to gasp. A pain hit his chest, sending him out of his chair and onto the office floor.

“You ok?” Carol, his assistant, rushed over to pull Tom off the floor.

Tom, embarrassed, sat back in his chair and apologized meekly, “Um, yeah.”

Reflux. His body was even mad at him. Fear was ripping him physically apart. The Devil grinned. He’d soon have another soul.

“Good morning, Mr. Blake.” It was Barry, the man who came by every morning to empty the trash. “Blessed day we’re having today, isn’t it?”

Tom scoffed. How could a man who emptied the trash be having a good day? Heck, he should be more disgruntled than he was.

“What’s so good about it?” Tom spewed his venom.

But Barry wasn’t buying it.

“We’re above the dirt, Mr. Blake.”

“You can call me Tom, Barry. You’re my elder after all.”

Barry laughed, “Age isn’t a number. It’s what is between here.” He pointed to the space between his ears, “Hey, you got a minute?”

Tom didn’t, but he said, “Sure.”

Barry led him over to the window.

“See all those people?”

Both men stared at all the people on the sidewalk below. It was lunchtime and the streets looked like someone had kicked over a fire ant nest.

“You know how many of them are problem-free?”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, “I dunno.”

“None of them,” Barry said, “In fact, the only people who have no problems are dead.”

Tom thought they were the lucky ones.

“No,” Barry said while almost reading his mind. “You are the lucky one. Fear has knocked on your door and brought you opportunity. But you have to stand up to it, first. Show courage.”

Tom looked out at the people below. Cancer. Financial problems. Disease. Depression. Fear. It was all down there. But they kept going. They kept moving. They stood up to the Devil.

Barry emptied another garbage can. Just like he had Tom’s mind.

“You know, the only person who loves a pity party is the person who is throwing it.”

Tom smiled as Barry walked away. There seemed to be a glow coming off of the old man, but he couldn’t figure out why.

Six months later, Tom’s life had changed radically. He had been laid off. His father died of cancer. His wife and he separated. But Tom didn’t lie down. He kept pushing through the pain. Eventually he got a better job. And he and his wife reconciled. They fixed the foundation of their marriage and joy rendered their household. Tom made time to spend with his kids. He found joy in unexpected places. In return, more joy came his way. Fear continued to visit him, but Tom no longer felt afraid. He faced it head on and it had changed his life forever.

He couldn’t help but think of Barry. How could have a simple man have changed his path so drastically? As he threw football to his son, he laughed. “Sometimes, son, angels show up to empty your trash.”

I used to complain. A lot. About a lot of really stupid things. And the sad thing was, I had it pretty darn good. But because I was complaining so much, I let the good things slip through my fingers. Then I woke one morning and had real things to complain about. And guess what? I complained some more. More bad things followed. It was a self-defeating cycle.

I still complain but not as much. I read a couple of things this weekend that really made me feel unappreciated. I started to complain about them, too — but instead, I emceed a roast, drew four cartoons, co-emceed an awards banquet, cleaned my house and got to spend four amazing hours with creative kids at the Mississippi Childrens’ Museum. As I sat with my family last night watching the Super Bowl I figured something out:

The next time I feel like complaining, I’ll get busy to change the situation. And then I’ll focus on all the good things. It’s a better use of my energy — and time.

It can all change in the blink of an eye.

Ask the Seattle Seahawks. Vicksburg’s own Malcolm Butler showed how you can change history in a single moment. Pete Carroll demonstrated how one bad call can bite you in the buns.

Or ask Nationwide Insurance. We’re cruising along, enjoying their heartfelt commercial and BAM! It’s depressionville. Poor Katy Perry and her landsharks couldn’t lift me out of my funk after that one. Yikes. Even the Budweiser puppy went back out to get eaten by the wolf because it made him so sad.

Yup, it all can change in the blink of an eye.

We kind of go through life big-boned, dumb and happy. And then life punches us in the mouth. It’s going to happen. But what really defines us is how we react to it. Some people blame others or even just quit. But others, well, others prove they have what it takes in life. If it is their fault, they own up to it and learn from their mistakes. If it is out of their control, they try to find the positive and use it to pick themselves back up. Heck, they even manage to lift back others. That’s how they survive being punched in the mouth.

Unless they’re in a Nationwide commercial. Then they’re toast.

I don’t talk about faith easily. It’s not because I don’t have any — I just prefer to live it rather than preach it. Why? I think it’s because I’ve known so many people who don’t practice what they preach. But there I was, at a church and talking to a church’s men’s club talking about, you guessed it, my faith.

I spoke about the Parable of the Talents and how it changed my attitude when I was a janitor. It still changes me even to this date. (I don’t want to be the servant who buries his talent.) I then mentioned how using your abilities is writing a thank you note. I told stories about how the worst moments of my life turned into my best. How that was the seed of hope that keeps me from getting into the fetal position. I then talked about change and how sometimes angels come in bad clothing. I closed with how powerful forgiveness is and how being in your comfort zone is more dangerous than being in a blasting zone.

I think the speech was well received. I know I enjoyed the fellowship with the group. And getting up in front of them reminded me of something pretty important.

My family has experienced some pretty radical changes the past few years. I’ve sat up at night fearing for the future. But things worked out way better than I could have dreamed. And now, I am grateful for those radical changes. Why? Because when I stopped treating them like disasters and started believing they were opportunities, doors began to open up.

I guess that’s called faith. But I’d rather not talk about it. I’ll just keep trying to live it the best I can.

“Do you actually run?”

I got that comment under one of my running photos. The answer is, “Yes.” And I also take pictures. If I see something that interests me (which is harder than you’d think — I don’t wear my glasses when I run), I stop for a second and snap a photo with my iPhone. Then I move on. And on. And on.

We are blessed in Mississippi to live in a naturally beautiful state. Then as an added bonus, Ridgeland Mayor Gene McGee pushed for running trails in his city. Add the Reservoir as a backdrop and you have an amazing pallet to work with.

So I take pictures of one particular oak. The sunrise. Swamps. Animals. And whatever moment of beauty flashes before my eye.

Running is a lot of things to me. It’s my Prozac, therapist, doctor and trainer. It helps me strengthen my brain and body. I’m not a natural athlete and at times, I’m a reluctant one. But I get out of bed and go anyway.

Because when you see the sun sneak above the horizon, you somehow forget the pain.

And I have the pictures to prove it.

From the top floor of the Hilton Hotel on County Line Road, you can see the Reservoir. If you look to the south, you can see downtown Jackson. And if you squint, you can almost see Vicksburg. What you can’t see is the future. But today, The Clarion-Ledger’s new publisher Jason Taylor offered the members of the Mississippi Press Association a glimpse into the C-L’s future. And for the first time in years, it didn’t involve the word “cuts.”

His speech was like a Cat. 5 hurricane of change. But he isn’t tearing things down. He’s rebuilding. Rebuilding content. Rebuilding revenues. Rebuilding hope.

That’s Jason. Many of you have ready met him. He has been out in the community nonstop since he arrived in town. That’s so important. As you know, the #1 rule of business in Mississippi is this: If people don’t know you, they will ignore you.

It’s hard to ignore Jason.

He has brought hope inside and outside 201 South Congress Street.

And I’m glad. Not just because my cartoons appear in the C-L (and I hope they do for a long time). No, I am excited because I am an 18-year subscriber who wants great content to read. I want all my coworkers to continue to be able to do the jobs they love. And I want to see a healthy C-L be a leader in the community. A community that I love.

I looked out the window as Jason finished his speech. I don’t know what’s over horizon. But I at least know it will be a fun and frantic race to get there.