Excerpt from Road Map to Power: Bob
This book is written for people
whom society labels as average and refuses to consider as elite. They have neither
the family fortune nor the biological endowment that would enable them to
achieve power as it is modernly defined. This group constitutes the
overwhelming majority of any community. They may openly reject or suffer
silently in a culture that values celebrity and materialism and therefore
favors the few who can muster seemingly unlimited resources. Its aim is to
promote a sense of respect to these individuals’ lives and affairs, allowing
them to wield an authentic power that can lead to personal satisfaction.
Although this book has been a
lifetime in the making, its evolution gained momentum during a chance
encounter. The experience would plant a seed of questioning that would
preoccupy my mind and challenge what I had convinced myself to be true.
This story begins modestly, save
for an overwhelming heat.
August in Missouri is a devastating
formula of 100 degree temperatures and hot, wet winds traveling up the Gulf
stream. A stretch of black parking lot trapped my vehicle, glistening golden in
the sun, my means home after 10 hours of hard work. As I opened the door, I
braced myself for the wave of humidity that accompanies a car baked in the
heat. Situating myself in the driver’s seat I felt suffocated. Relief would
only come from the turning of the key, the starting of the ignition, and the
eventual sweet breeze of the air conditioner. However, the car wouldn’t start.
I turned the key over and over again and was barely rewarded with a slight hum.
Every day since I accepted my
position as the director of a newly built psychiatric treatment center for
children and adolescents, I drove 30 miles each way from my home in Columbia to
the small town of Fulton, Missouri. This journey was common among the employees
of the hospital that preferred the more urban, not quite metropolitan, feel of
this college town over the isolated, if not tranquil, scene of central
Missouri. This daily drive was part of the justification for splurging on the
gold Audi 5000. Now this car was failing me despite the efforts of a gathering
number of colleagues attempting a jump start.
Contemplating my shrinking options,
a voice cut through the thick air. “Well, Dr. Husain, looks like I’ll be taking
you back to Columbia.”
His name was Bob (not his real
name), a mental health worker with whom I had collaborated previously and who I
had always naturally liked. Bob was also a resident of Columbia and a fellow
traveler. His offer was especially enticing considering the alternative –
calling my wife, asking her to make the 60 mile round trip, and spending 30
miles of it hearing the many reasons she knew buying this car was a terrible
idea.
It was at that moment that I first
noticed his automobile. Bob’s two-door Toyota Tercel was splattered with rust
holes that resembled coffee stains on a bleached white napkin. Stepping down
into the passenger side, I caught a glimpse of a weathered dashboard with
noticeable cracks forming. Despite the obvious physical blemishes, the interior
of the car was extremely clean and judging by the long list of digits on the
odometer, obviously well cared for. Besides, I was no stranger to “rough”
accommodations, having experienced refugee camps at age eight, sharing a living
space with ten siblings in Karachi, Pakistan, and more recently, being a
penniless medical intern in Harlem. I may have embraced more luxuries in this
current chapter of my life, but memories of a more simple existence were hardly
difficult for me to access.
Bob had positioned himself behind
the wheel and we began our journey down the country roads that dominated the
first portion of our journey home. Due to all the effort placed in resurrecting
my vehicle, sweat had saturated my shirt while penetrating the thick fabric of
my suit coat. Bob’s car had been running long enough that the cooling influence
of the air conditioning should have kicked in. However, there was no relief.
Reflexively, I reached for the
handle with the thought of rolling down the window. Seeing the dust of the dirt
road swirling around us and imagining it rapidly engulfing the cabin of the
car, I suppressed this impulse. Instead, I attempted to steal a glimpse of my
rescuer to sense if his body language was giving away any signs that he shared
my annoyance with the heat and, more importantly, whether he would attempt to
do something about it. My observations yielded no tension, anxiety, or
motivation to act. In fact, he seemed undaunted by the searing temperature. My
glimpse also allowed me to ascertain part of his secret to success.
Bob was wearing a short-sleeved
shirt with a neatly pressed collar unbuttoned enough to expose grayish-brown
chest hair. His pants were thin, light khaki, and a brown covered-toe sandal
concealed only a fraction of his foot. I had long ago conceded formality by
draping my suit coat over my seat, loosening my silk tie, and unbuttoning the
top two buttons of my shirt. Still, I was left with long sleeves, an undershirt
unsuccessfully designed to prevent sweat from seeping into my designer shirt,
heavy olive dress pants, and a pair of maroon snakeskin shoes that the salesman
assured me breathed well.
Bob was smiling now. He spoke
measurably, “You’re wondering about my car.”
Hesitating, “No, not at all.”
“It’s okay,” he responded. “It’s
perfectly reasonable to question.”
“Seriously, Bob, it seems like a
fine car,” I said, trying to cover my true intentions.
“Let’s face it – she’s not much to
look at. I bought it used eight years ago with cash.”
“With cash?” I asked, impervious to
the idea that people still did such a thing.
“Yeah, it took me several years to
save up. I even rode my bike or walked to work before. Of course, my job wasn’t
this far away at the time,” he responded.
I was beginning to see the car in a
whole new light.
He went on, “It has been very
reliable, a good companion to me and my family. Since it is completely paid
for, I don’t see any sense in retiring it while it still has legs.”
“That’s very practical,” I said
sincerely while contemplating the monthly sting of my sizable car payment.
“Well, I have to admit, it doesn’t
seem nearly as practical on a hot summer day,” he said with a laugh.
I was fascinated with an individual
who clearly ran counter to the “greed is good” mantra that dominated the era. For
the remaining 25 miles of our trip, Bob explained to me the unique manner in
which he and his family lived their lives. We started with my top-of-mind
issue: Air conditioning was neither cost effective nor environmentally
friendly. It was only one of the many examples how Bob, his wife, and two
children had learned to live within their modest means. Each was content to own
three sets of clothes for each season. They never borrowed money from any
lending institution nor had Bob ever applied for a credit card.
Money was saved until purchases
could be made with cash. Cash is how they acquired both their car and their
one-story home.
“A car paid in cash is one thing,
but how on earth could you afford a home?” I was genuinely puzzled.
“Early in our marriage, my wife and
I lived with her parents. When our first child was born, we moved into an apartment.
Slowly we built up the capital needed to get a place of our own. I’m 46, Dr.
Husain, and it has been a long road.”
Bob continued to explain the extent
of his commitment to this lifestyle. While believing in not borrowing from any
bank or person, he also chose not to lend any money to family and friends.
“Lending money does not solve the person’s problem if he has to worry about
eventually returning it,” he reasoned.
This statement rang true as I
quickly reviewed the myriad of family sessions I had overseen in which
relationships were strained due to the obligations of the borrower and the
expectations of the lender.
“Any cash we can consider extra, we
freely give to anyone in need. We do so without any anticipation of return.”
Bracing for more of his accounts, I
was surprised and disheartened to find the car slowing down and coming to a
stop. Throughout the conversation, we had paused intermittently for me to point
him in the right direction, but I was still taken aback when we reached my
house. I exited the car staggering; this seemingly average, middle aged,
meager-salaried social worker had clouded my head with a litany of competing
thoughts.
After this insightful experience, I made it a point to pay
attention to Bob. In meetings, he would usually sit quietly and observe. On the
occasion he did speak, I found his words to be wise, pragmatic, and always in
the best interest of the client. His superiors mostly ignored him.
Winter was quickly approaching when Bob stopped by my office to
say an unexpected goodbye. He told me he was resigning from his position. He
explained to me that he was unwilling to compromise his work ethics to please a
supervisor who was asking him to cut corners at a cost to the people he had
sworn to help. I did not probe into the nature of his conflict, but instead
began to feel deep concern about his future.
“Do you have another job lined up?”
With an air of confidence, he replied, “I do not.”
He thanked me for always treating him with respect. I thanked him
for his kindness and, of course, the car ride home. We both hoped to run into
each other in the near future. Immediately after he left, I tried to come to
grips with his decision. Had Bob thought about the implication of leaving one
job before finding another? He had a family of four to support. What would he
do? How could he live? Then I smiled and realized the folly of my thinking. It
was Bob who had enough money tucked away for such an occasion. It was Bob who
had no car or mortgage payment that kept him up at night. It was Bob and his
family who had no need for the latest fashion trend or new technology.
My anxiety for Bob was what we psychiatrists refer to as
projection: I would have been incapable of making the same decision if I were
put in his situation. Forced to choose between my career and my values, I would
have been overwhelmed by worry stemming from bills, mortgage, car payments, and
other extravagances I had accrued by not living within my considerable means.
Much like that hot, summer day, Bob had left me in awe over a life that allowed
him the luxury of removing himself from a situation that caused him moral and
ethical discomfort. In contrast, I found myself trapped by a variety of
constraints that would not have afforded me the same freedom.
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