Don Quixote is a fictional character famous for fighting windmills and doing other absurd things. His basic story is one of taking a fantasy world and trying to imprint it onto the real world. The results are comedic for the outsider but almost tragic for Quixote himself. As I was reading his story in college, I always pictured him sitting Indian style in his armor with a child’s toy box trying to hammer the square peg into the round hole. It is easy to label Don Quixote as a “fool” but personally I identified strongly with the character and his trials. Around the time that I read the book, I was on my own Quixotic adventure that put my mental image of the world into question.
I am Peter Huryk III, named after both my father and grandfather. Due to my name, I have always identified very closely with my father. My parents met when my mother was going through a divorce and leading life as a single parent to my older brother. My father became the answer to her prayers. Within a short time, he was a husband to my mother and a father to my brother. This narrative was inside of my subconscious in college when the world offered me the perfect Quixotic situation.
At the time, I was taking a full course load in college, had a full time job and renting a townhouse with two friends. It was then that the universe served up a perfectly ridiculous challenge to my self-image. A young girl with two sons (2 & 1 years old) started working at the sub delivery place where I was employed. In short order, we ended up in a relationship. Unfortunately, the script was far more complicated than my father’s.
The custody of her children was being contested because she didn’t have a stable place for them to live. They had been nomads between different family members’ homes. So I took it upon myself to pay for an apartment for them. Every problem that the world and the situation served up, I responded with my knight in shining armor script. It made no sense but I pressed ahead anyway. At 21 years old, I was a full time student, full time employee, renting two apartments, caring for two kids and handling it all. Luckily the ridiculousness of the situation knew no bounds and she broke up with me. I remember the older boy balling the day that I left. He’d never done that before. It was as if he knew I wasn’t coming back. Getting into this situation was probably the worst decision of my life. It was foolish on so many levels and could have been long term disastrous. So it still feels odd to say that it was one of the best things that ever happened to me.
In those few months, I figured out exactly who I was and what I was capable of. The script of my father was not my own. I needed to follow my own path for my own sake. It also let me know that I could handle almost anything. At 21 I had handled more weight from the world than I thought was possible. Although it was reckless and stupid to heap it upon myself, it didn’t crush me.
The stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves are extremely important. They, rather than conscious thought, will often make the decisions about what we will or will not do. So my suggestion is that you get your story straight. Who are you really? Or better yet, who are you ideally? If you are creating yourself (and you are), why not decide what it is that you want, need, value, love, without the interference of the world. Then when you see your round peg, you’ll put it in the right spot and leave the square ones for someone else.
Go be you today.
Pete
It’s one of my favorite lines from a song by one of my favorite bands “Your actions speak so loud, I can’t hear a word your saying!” The song is called “I want to conquer the world” and it juxtaposes the idealism and the reality of people. It’s a punk rock song and due to soccer’s historical underground following in the US, I usually equate the two on a few levels. At the moment, the youth soccer world is caught in an almost Jekyll and Hyde scenario. Many of the positives of the sport that is loved by millions are regularly mangled and deranged in the pursuit of momentary glory. In each paragraph, I will start with the ideal and follow it with the real.
My last name has a silent “H” in it. Despite the spelling of Huryk, it is pronounced “Yer-ick”. I’ve grown accustomed to correcting mispronunciations (or not). It can be a great separator of the people who know versus those who don’t. The letter has no function but it has importance. Running through a box of memories that I have, it became obvious that there were several events and people that have gone silent through the years. They are the silent letters of life.
Before Amazon, there was (at least in my world) the Sears Catalog. It was a huge “magazine” that had just about every product in the Sears store. It was a place that my brothers and I would peruse some time before Christmas to find things we wanted. I remember that I always focused in on the guitars. They weren’t overly expensive at the time and I fancied myself as a future guitarist. Despite my desire, I never told my parents nor did I save up money to purchase one. In hindsight, I really didn’t want the guitar. I liked the idea of the guitar but if I had truly wanted it, I’d have found a way.
With summer almost here, it almost time cotton candy, hot dogs, games and fun. Unfortunately fair’s not coming to town. The trucks, the rides and treats might all show up for a few days but there will be kids and adults alike expecting fair. Johnny whose cotton candy is smaller than his sister’s cries about fair. The father who remembers when the ticket for a ride was a quarter, not a dollar will complain about fair. The Scrambler operator will hear about the pay that his friends get at their jobs and wish for fair. Fair is not coming to town because it’s usually a one sided proposition.
In high school in the 90’s, it was difficult not to be bombarded with the safe sex talk of that era. The positive test of Magic Johnson with HIV gave a famous face to a disease that had not fully hit mainstream awareness. Many actions were taken to help protect young people from their hormones. Not least of all the education system’s attempt to prepare us with lessons about condoms. I remember very plainly Mr. Vellucci, my bio teacher, asking us if we understood how condoms worked. Or did we need him to demonstrate using a banana as he had been instructed to do. It was all very well intentioned and I’m sure that it worked to some degree. Unfortunately with the widespread use of the internet and mass media, our children need to be protected again from a disease that threatens to kill every last one of them: LIFE.
One of the best movies from a pure story standpoint that I’ve seen is “The Usual Suspects”. The film takes you on a ride where you’re continuously led down paths for particular reasons. A main reason for the perplexing nature of the film is the doubt surrounding the myth of Keyser S
Personally I never heard that version of spook story when I was a kid but I can see its usefulness to some people. The fairy tales and legends that we are told as children vary greatly depending on the desired outcome from our upbringing. Aspirational and cautionary tales alike are used to push the child in particular directions. Keep on trying courtesy of “The Little Engine that Could”. Be prepared by “The Three Little Pigs”. Don’t be sexually promiscuous by “Little Red Riding Hood” (Didn’t know until I talked to a German teacher). These stories were all fashioned to get a result.
It was January 2nd 2003. A clever little trick of mine to always remember the day that I proposed to my wife 1/2/03. As I waited in her apartment with dinner ready and candles lit, I was extremely nervous. That feeling was only compounded when she arrived. Then I started to ask and I could feel my legs shaking. This was gut-wrenching but necessary. The fear and the nerves came from risk. The risk of putting myself out there and the possibility that the answer could be “no”. It ended up going in my favor but I think that risk is an important factor to the things that really matter. You need to care enough to be willing to lose.
For most of my life, I’ve had a portion of Teddy Roosevelt’s speech at the Sorbonne memorized. “It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena.” It’s moving. It moves me in the sense that I actually take action when I think of it, hear it in my head or in my heart. The issue is at the moment, the critics have such a large megaphone that it becomes hard to hear our heads and our hearts. The echo of other people’s point of view tends to linger, burn and even cut the ones who are actually in the arena. The credit may belong to the man in the arena but that credit is hard earned because people want you to lose and never let you forget it.
Huryk Unlimited 