Every Little Ounce of Energy | Business of AV
Joe Way, PhD, CTS
Let me start by saying that I don’t know why I’m writing this article, and I don’t know where it’ll end up. But, I’m being pulled to write it, so let’s just pray there’s a point at the end of it all. (Well, I guess I just don’t need to publish it if there isn’t one. LOL)
So, let me cut to the chase… Sunday night, we had another fire at our house. Now, nowhere–like really, nowhere–near as bad as the other, but a fire nonetheless. As you all know, almost exactly two years ago to the day, we lost everything to a house fire. And, as I started seeing many of you all during my travels this year, when you asked how things are going, I usually responded with something along the lines of: “Thankfully, we’ve turned the page.” For all intents and purposes, it was behind us.
Fast forward to last Sunday. After two years post-fire, Amy said, “I think I’m finally ready for us to try to use our fireplace.” (Yeah, you see where this is going, right?) Well, a couple hours later, she walked down the street to chat with a neighbor, so I thought it’d be great to surprise her when she came home with a romantic fire and a Hallmark Christmas movie to show her that “we’re finally past it. It’s a new chapter.” Well, she got a surprise. I did not fail at that attempt. It turns out… while the new fireplace did pass inspection, there was an issue with the nozzle. After I lit it, the flame came out at full blast and couldn’t be turned down-or-off because the chuck key just kept spinning. Additionally, there was wood debris that had been left behind the facade that you couldn’t see… which, of course, caught fire. The flames started coming out from the fireplace and running up the mantle, with smoke coming out from the side wall. Thankfully, one thing having a house fire teaches you is how to respond to a fire. So, I ran outside, where Amy happened to be standing after returning from the neighbor’s house (with a very confused and concerned look on her face as to why I was running down our side walkway in my socks and shorts). I grabbed the pliers, killed the main gas to the house, and was able to quench the oxygen. Fire out. “Major” disaster averted. The smoldering smell still remains four days later, but no “real” damage.
Correction: No real physical damage. The mental damage, however, is a different story. And this is where the article is going… I actually haven’t told anyone about this event at all until right now, while writing this article. For the past few days, I’ve just gone on with my normal work week, even while our repair guy was here getting everything “back to normal.” I’ve just tried to stay strong. It impacted Amy. The anxiety returned. Of course it returned. The fear returned. Of course it returned. And I’m not going to lie… It is taking every little ounce of energy inside of me to keep it together right now. Physical losses can be repaired and re-bought. But emotional loss lingers. Even when you think it’s gone, it’s there. I’ve actually probably done more work for Higher Ed AV and HETMA and USC during the last few days than I’ve in the last two months total, because I think that if I stop “doing stuff” for even just a minute, I will have such a freaking breakdown, I’ll never recover from it. I’m pretty sure I’ve only slept about six total hours in the last four days.
I’m so tired and exhausted, yet so anxious at the same time. I know y’all understand. You all have gone through some trauma at some point in your life that put you in this state. You know, the “#everythingsfine.gif” state.
So, why I am I writing this? And why as part of my “Business of AV” Column? Well, here’s why… At about 3:00am on Tuesday (so, like Monday night, but Tuesday morning, ya know), I started breaking out in tears mid-half-sleep. Like, really balling, like a baby, like a baby on their worst cry ever… Ever ever. It came out of nowhere. I felt helpless. I felt like everything I did, do, try to do, whatever, is just a facade. Like my whole life was just “smoke” and mirrors. It could all just disappear… it could just go “up in flames.” Even after replacing everything over the past couple years, it was all still just nothingness. I felt useless. Meaningless. Worthless.
So, I did what anyone would do… I got up. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand charger. I walked downstairs. And, I started to scroll. Yeah, and scroll. And scroll. And scroll. And scroll like I needed to get that $1.00 slot on the Price Is Right wheel. … And then… all of a sudden, a notification came in. The little Twitter bell on the bottom menu turned solid. Someone randomly liked this tweet on the right by James King from over a week earlier…
“Sometimes U don’t realize the friendship U have until someone else points it out. Last night I was talking 2 @JosiahWay when my daughter got in the car. She asked ‘who was that’ I explain and said what Joe has done for me. She reply ‘I hope I have a friend like that one day’ [Add… Golden Girls Hug gif]”
(Aaaahhh!!!) I’m crying again right now. Ugh. I’ve given so much of myself to this industry, this vertical. And often at the expense of my family life. Truthfully, pretty often, I question why. I think about how much easier it would be just to do my regular day job, kill off Higher Ed AV, give up my HETMA chair position, and maybe even take one of the job offers that come in almost weekly. Just disappear. Yeah, house fires (and almost second house fires) make you think about things in ways that make no sense. But I think you get it.
But then, James’s tweet! Dang you, James! Your tweet! I love you, brother. I love you all, AV family. You all bring me purpose. You make me want to be better. You all make me want to make a difference. When I started the Higher Ed AV Podcast, it filled a void that I “felt,” but couldn’t quantify. That spawned HETMA, which filled a void that BC and I “felt,” but couldn’t quantify. And ya know what, I still can’t quantify it all. But those of us in higher ed all talk about how we are different. We are not like all the other verticals. We collaborate. We share. We care. We give more than we take. We use AV as a tool to serve one another. You can’t “burn” that down. No matter the metaphorical “fire” we face, we are special. Higher Ed AV and HETMA prove that. And it’s the people of our vertical who prove that to me… every… single… day.
While I definitely don’t want to lose any of my physical “stuff,” and the pain of the loss definitely still remains, the fulfillment I receive from you, my AV family–and especially my higher ed family–remains and grows… And grows.
So.. the “business” lesson here… We all continually talk about the importance of building relationships in this industry (in fact, it was the point of my past couple Business of AV articles), but it’s not about the relationship that is important. It’s about the impact. I challenge you all during this holiday season… create impact. Reach out. Let someone know how they impacted you. If it were not for James’s completely unsolicited tweet, I truly don’t know what mental or physical state I’d be in right now. (Like I said earlier, it’s taking every freaking ounce of energy in me.) Work is work, but impacting each other’s lives doesn’t just help the other person; it may be the one thing that keeps you moving forward in your deepest time of need.
The holidays are a time of celebration, but they are also a time of hurt for many people. Many have lost family members and jobs. Many have lingering pain they “think” has gone away (ya know, like house fires). Your simple tweet, text, or word of encouragement may be exactly what they need in their time of struggle. The best “business” we can do in AV is not about installs and classroom trouble tickets, but remembering that there are real people with real needs–both spoken and unspoken–behind it all.
Merry Christmas everyone. Thank you, James. Thank you, higher ed family. Thank you, AV family. I love ya all. God bless you all.
