I’m the kid who left home. Barely an adult, I took my inheritance and walked away. Well, actually, it wasn’t so much walking or meandering or even wandering; it was more like sprinting, bolting, or running. Yes. I ran away from home. I made the deliberate choice to get away, get out on my own, and find my own path to success. And I was sure I had it made.
However, it hasn’t gone so well.
I tried all the tricks. Even the ones Dad told me wouldn’t work. You know — the gimmicks, the shortcuts to making friends and influencing powerful people. I tried sweet talking them with my dreams. I tried wining and dining them with extravagant parties. I even tried buying their investment into my plans. I was throwing money around like it’s confetti to attract followers and make an impact. And it worked. They liked it. They followed me. They enjoyed my generosity, until it was all gone. The money was spent. Then, everyone moved on … on to the next new thing … on to the next foolish young dreamer with a pocketful of cash.
So, after all that hard work, what have all my investments gotten me? Hmm. Yeah, I got a couple of returns alright. Mostly, misery and mud. So, uh, nothing, actually.
I’m beginning to think maybe Dad was right. He had tried things that didn’t work and he made mistakes. Why? So I wouldn’t have to. But, here I am stuck in a life of my own making. I keep defending my choices because I like them, because they’re fun. I still enjoy them more than the nose-to-the-grindstone, working hard all day, sunup-to-sundown kind of life my dad and brother live. Two men, who, by the way, embody the old adage, “When we all work, the dream works. And when the dream works, we all succeed.”
I tried that. Really, I did. For years I did things Dad’s way. And all it got me was a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table. What’s so great about that? That’s just the bare minimum. Everyone who works for him gets that, from the lowest grunt all the way up to Dad himself. But, I wanted more. I still want more. I want the success he promised me. I am tired of working, waiting, solving problems, scrimping, saving pennies, and sacrificing my own wants in the never-ending effort to get ahead. Besides, I will never be anything but the second child. My brother will inherit all the success, not me.
Anyway, here I am. My money is gone and so are all my friends … well, except for the hogs I feed. And now I’m stuck: stuck in the mud of believing that success is possible, that my ideas will work, and I am not willing to give them up.
I am the prodigal. And right now, all I want to do is go home … Maybe tomorrow.
~ Peggy Lundy, writer
~ Danyelle Yoder, painter of “I Know Now”, danyellyoder.com
