For Pete
When Pete hired me, I was a quiet, shy kid coming out of graduate school. Within just two months on the job, he asked me to lead professional development for the whole staff. Perhaps this was when I first realized that Pete made convincing points and was hard to disagree with. Even though I was nervous and felt unprepared, Pete had faith in me that I had something to offer. That faith never faded.
Pete started as my supervisor, but quickly became a close friend. We golfed, bowled, played guitar a few times, and even did karaoke. Well actually, I left the singing to Pete. I’ll forever think of him anytime I hear Whipping Post by the Allman Brothers or New York State of Mind by Billy Joel.
We both shared a belief that the unexamined life is not worth living. And so we engaged in many deep conversations exploring topics such as education, politics, religion, leadership, society, and human behavior. Pete was a gifted thinker. When presented with an idea, he could quickly determine the eventual, logical outcome or its implications. Even with such intellectual prowess, he was always approachable and open to opposing ideas — even though he may not have agreed with it. He could entertain a thought without accepting it. Pete was wise.
He understood that “when you outsource the problem, you outsource the reward.” I never knew Pete to pass on a problem without first seeking to understand it, and then usually taking a crack at it. We once spent two days changing the brakes on my Honda Civic, something I would have gladly outsourced from the beginning. However, Pete wouldn’t let the opportunity slide. Whether it was a rusted bolt that wouldn’t budge or a parking break mechanism he had never seen before, he honored each challenge that arose. His reward seemed to be the satisfaction of figuring it out and teaching me along the way. Also, there was something intrinsic for him to spend hours listening to music in the garage with a few IPA’s.
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Over the years, Pete became a mentor to me and many others — and not just about cars. He never shied away from a difficult conversation, and better than just about anyone I have ever met, he had a way of talking about difficult to talk about things. At times, it felt as if I was in therapy…and that was such an invaluable gift. He selflessly gave so much of his time to be present with others and to help them be their true selves. So many of us feel that we are better because of Pete. Is that not the hallmark of a life well lived?
Shortly before he retired, Pete left a note on my desk which I have kept to this day. It was a page from a daily Zen calendar that he had torn off and saved. Perhaps that’s why he was sometimes called a “half-ass Buddhist,” a nickname that he embraced and always drew a chuckle. On the paper was a quote from Carl Rogers that read, “The curious paradox is that when I accept just as I am, then I change.” Below this quote, he wrote: “Josh, A wish for you, not a task. I hope you’re able to ease into it like walking into a pool of warm water.” Pete knew this was at the core of what I’ve struggled with much of my life. He saw me, and he cared deeply about my wellbeing.
Pete once recommended to me a book by Alan Watts called The Wisdom of Insecurity. Perhaps in a twist of fate, I finally read it for the first time last month. The author, Alan Watts, states that “You cannot understand life and its mysteries as long as you try to grasp it. Indeed, you cannot grasp it, just as you cannot walk off with a river in a bucket. If you try to capture running water in a bucket, it is clear that you do not understand it and that you will always be disappointed, for in the bucket the water does not run. To ‘have’ running water you must let go of it and let it run.”
The pain I feel now without Pete here is rooted in the fond memories of the past, and the future that will not be shared. In essence, these are just my attempts to catch a river with a bucket — to hold onto the past and to not let go of future moments that I had hoped for and planned. Yet, when I allow myself to “let go” and be fully present in any given moment, I experience the joy of the river — that we are all one in the running water and can not be separated by buckets. To know me is to also know Pete, and any impact I make will be through his impact on me.
