What’s my constant?

By Kirby Kaufman
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For a long time, I defined so much of myself by music, TV shows and random quotes like “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt.” That’s D-E-N-I-A-L. Denial. The inability to accept what’s happening right in front of you. Mark Twain said it first. I’ve repeated it often, but I can’t really tell you what I mean by it.

From clichés to catch phrases, they just stick with me like the way you probably remember Hy-Vee’s early-90s jingle: “Hy-Veeeee. Where there’s a helpful smile in every aisle.” Does that define who I am? Absolutely not. Does the fact I remember that mean anything? Yeah. It probably does. But for that to be true, we’ll have to substitute it with the phrase: misery loves company.

Do you remember that TV show called Lost? One of the top-rated episodes was called “The Constant.” Penny was Desmond’s long-lost lover. She was his constant. She kept him in place. This is something I always come back to. What are the constants in my life? What is always there? What will never change?

What will never change is where I came from.

Growing up, I was this poor ass kid in north Omaha, slinging the food stamp special for a sack lunch every day. This used to cause a lot anxiety, guilt and shame. Kind of like I was harboring some dark secret. It had been instilled in me that it’s not good to be poor.

I mean, is it ever good to be poor?

Some days, I’d come home from school and there would be no food in the fridge. We’d wait for Dad to get home from work. Maybe he’d have enough money to feed his wife and three kids. One of the most memorable meals of my life was the day Dad brought home McDonald’s. Chicken nuggets. Barbecue sauce. Sweet and sour.

Not long after that, I realized I could get free lunches at school. And yes, school cafeteria food counts as good food. I was excited any time they had pepperoni sandwiches because cold cuts got boring. Even being that poor kid with no food in the cupboards at home, I still didn’t want to eat celery. Vegetables really sucked.

I’m not that poor boy anymore. I finished high school. I just had my 10-year reunion a couple months ago. I graduated from college. Some people still give me shit that a kid who went to Omaha Northwest High School actually graduated from college. I have a new car, and I bought a house in Benson this year. I really do think it’s fair to say that I’ve distanced myself from that poor boy I used to be.

But therein lies my mistake. My fatal flaw. Recognizing this was another step toward identifying myself.

Distancing myself from where I came from — essentially denying my hardships, my struggles — that made me undervalue the world around me. I wasn’t happy. I was really bitter about dumb things. Like bad relationships, missed opportunities and the uncertainty about tomorrow, the next week, the next month, the next whatever. I was losing the present in the worst way possible. I tried defining myself by accomplishments that didn’t hug me back. Then I realized I couldn’t run away from that poor boy.

That was my mistake. My constant is and will always be where I came from. What I experienced as a child. What influenced the person I am now. That is my constant. That won’t ever change. I’m not ashamed of where I came from. I do still see it as a handicap, but I made the best of my situation and drove myself to be the successful person I am today.

Of course, my definition of success has changed over the years. Whenever I’m questioning where I’ve been and where I’m going, what opportunities I’ve missed and what ones will always be out of reach, I revisit a column from the New York Times, titled, “Learning to Measure Time Through Love and Loss.” A down-on-his-luck writer takes a job in a prison while trying to finish his novel. He meets an inmate named Mike, who’s been locked up for 16 years and has at least eight more to go. Mike teaches him a valuable lesson: Be the best prisoner you can be.

Life isn’t going to be perfect. You’re not going to have everything you want or get it how you want it. What’s important is that you take what you have and always do your best. Because there’s always going to be someone better than you. At least, that’s what one of my college professors told me. When the world is trying to beat you down, you just have to bounce back and give it another try.

Some people have life a lot easier than you. Some people have life a hell of a lot harder than you. It really goes both ways. Maybe there’s an in between that’s a balance of both worlds. Some flavor of mediocrity that’s the middle of the road. That doesn’t really matter, or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. You can spend a lot of time thinking what if this or what if that.

But at the end of the day, my upbringing is my constant. And in fact, I am my constant. No matter the circumstances of my surroundings, I’m always here. I’m always myself. I am always me. And I sure as hell hope that’s something that’ll never change.

Originally told live at Beacon Story Lab in Sioux City, Iowa and published at eepurl.com.Founded by award-winning journalist Ally Karsyn, Beacon Story Lab creates more courageous, compassionate and connected communities through the healing art of storytelling.