DAN THE GO TO MAN

Dan was the go-to man. He was a company executive for Ding, a rival of the greater company Whoogle, which was the name on everybody’s lips. When people wanted to know something, they said they would ‘Whoogle it’. This used to piss Dan off no end. ‘Dang’, said Dan, ‘they should be saying Ding it’. But no matter what they did, their rival company was just too strong. Whoogle had cornered the search engine market.

Dan would orchestrate meetings, get the team to research ways of getting traffic so people would use Ding as their main search engine, but dang it, Whoogle just kept on whopping them at their own game. Whoogle was a monster larger than life. Dan felt like he was in a godless David and Goliath play without a stone in his slingshot. He was a fighter and his motto was ‘never give up’. It played on him, but he tried not to show it. ‘Stay strong, be the fearless leader’, he would say to himself. But every day the pressure built up and his release valve seemed stuck. His energy was waning, but he tried not to show it. He kept it to himself. After all who could he talk to? His wife wouldn’t understand. He had to bring home the bread and butter. His colleagues wouldn’t understand and anyway he had to lead, not wallow. He couldn’t let down his guard. It was a ruthless game he was in.

To lead in this game, you had to be tough, you had to play smart, and you had to be at the top of your game. He used to work out, and he lived on restaurant food as his wife didn’t like to cook. ‘It might damage her nails after all’. His sarcasm was palpable. She didn’t clean either. She hired a cleaner twice a week, and had a laundry service pick up and drop off new linen all nicely folded. Of course, she didn’t make the beds either, although she did like having coffee with her friends, going to the beautician, the hairdresser and having a masseuse come over once a week. She liked having her girlfriends come over to swim in the pool, and she did know how to make mean Margueritas and expresso Martinis.

When Dan came home, she would ask him ‘How was your day Dansy?’. He could tell she wasn’t really interested. ‘As long as I keep going to work and she can keep going to the beautician’, he thought, ‘She’s happy. Why wouldn’t she be?’. They had stopped doing things together long ago, after all, he was too busy, and she seemed happy enough. A quick boom bang a couple of times a week helped the pressure ease, but they had lost the intimacy that they had when he married her. They were like ships in the night, passing in the fog and blowing their horns, then they were gone to face their days alone. ‘What a life’, he thought.

Dan didn’t feel supported or appreciated in life. He felt he just had a function to serve and that was it. His circle of friends was small. Only two in fact, Mick and Rick, and even then, they didn’t really connect over the things that mattered to Dan. After all, Mick was from his old neighbourhood, from before he became a high-flyer and had hardly any money, and the other, Rick, was from work, and held a lesser position than Dan. They both looked up to Dan. And so, he hardly felt he could burden them of his problems. After all, in their eyes, what problems did he have? He had a job that paid him a gazillion, and a beautiful, although vacuous wife. He was a legend in their eyes, and he wanted to stay that way.

He didn’t want to talk about it to his doctor as it seemed trivial, but his blood pressure told the story. It was racing nearly every day and he took meds just to keep level. Little things would happen at work and he could feel the pressure building, like a steam pipe that needed somewhere to go.

In the moments when he was alone, he contemplated suicide, but it really wasn’t his style. He thought of the song, a dim memory of a past life where he had the joy of music, and a wry smile crept onto his face, even though it was a slightly disturbing song. His ‘never give up’ mantra had served him well, up until now. Somehow, he had reached crisis point without even realising it.

He would go for a run, just to ‘work it out’. That would make him feel better temporarily, but deep down it was just a quick fix. His internal dialogue said, ‘there must be more to life than this’, ‘I’m sick of shouldering all the responsibility’, ‘I’m drowning’, ‘Is this all there is?’, ‘Who really loves me?’, ‘I’ve got a wife FFS! And I still don’t feel loved or heard or valued’ and other equally depressive thoughts. Externally he kept whipping his staff on. The pressure to become the number one go-to search engine dominated his day and his whole life. He never felt good enough, even though he was top of his game in the company.

Dan didn’t feel validated. He didn’t feel valued at home, or even valued for the things he brought to the table at work. Internally, he was a mess. Sitting in his office, his safe-haven, where he could lock the door and take off his superman suit, his shoulders slumped, and his head bowed under the weight of his heavy thoughts. ‘At least no-one can see me like this’, he mused.

One day, out of the blue, Dan’s secretary interrupted and said his solicitor was here. It turns out his Aunt Chancy had passed away suddenly, and he had inherited $20,000. ‘well, that’s all very nice’, he thought to himself, ‘but what difference is it going to make to my life? After all, I’m hardly short of a buck or two’. Sarcasm instead of the joy of receiving. Barely any emotions of grief or loss either. ‘What is that?’, he realised to himself.

His Aunt Chancy was the only family he had left apart from his wife. His parents had passed in a car accident when he was 10, and his younger brother many years ago in a freak accident sailing. Aunt Chancy had been like a mother to him and his brother. He felt a pang of guilt as he realised it had been a while since he had seen or even talked to her. He didn’t even know she had been sick. She was a trooper, always positive, always supportive. Right now, in this moment he missed her as he realised that she was the only one he could have confided in. The only one who would have listened and really cared. Suddenly he missed her terribly.

His mind wandered to his own mortality for a moment. ‘Who will benefit when I die?’ I’ve got all this money, my wife will be comfortable, but again, ‘what’s it all for?’. He thought about what he knew of his Aunt Chancy. She had lived a simple life, but she was happy. Her husband had died years before they went to live with her. She never remarried. Her hubby had been her one true love, and she carried him with her until the day she died. She kept herself busy, volunteering at the local arts organisation, and the food kitchen. She painted and she also had a little dog called Dixie. A Maltese Shiatzu cross. Cute as fuck.

His solicitor was still talking as his mind wandered. He returned back into the room with a thud, just in time to hear that the twenty grand wasn’t all he had inherited. His Aunt Chancy had also left him Dixie, her dog, and a small black notebook. He sighed over the dog, but of course he would take it. His wife would probably love it. A proper little handbag dog. She could dress it up. Seeing as they didn’t have kids, that seems like a viable option. In fact, secretly he was quite excited about it. At least he could talk to the dog. ‘Maybe it could become the office mascot’, he thought idly.

The little black book was curiously humble and seemingly insignificant. Dan's curiosity was piqued. Strangely enough, there was just a simple quote or motivational message written on each page and that’s all, other than a simple inscription in shaky handwriting on the inside the cover that said:

‘Dan, I’ve watched you from a boy to a man. I knew the happy boy and I see the burdened man. The quality of your life is determined by your thoughts and emotions son. Make the most of it. Think well and live your best life. With love, always and beyond, Aunt Chancy. X’

The tears welled up as he read the words written to him. He could just hear the solicitor saying that the twenty thou was to look after Dixie. He choked back his tears and thanked the solicitor for his time.

He was left alone in his office with the little black book. He would pick up Dixie after work from a local dog minder nearby. He turned off all alerts, told his secretary to cancel all meetings, and fend off all calls. He locked his door and opened the book. He felt the cover, smooth and silky under his fingertips.

How could Aunt Chancy see though his mask so clearly, he thought. How long have I been like this? What happened in my life to make me this way? He thought back to his life as a child. Sure, he had the huge shock of losing his parents at such a young age, but he always had the love of Aunt Chancy. She had been there for him when he came home busted up after playing football, she was there when he broke up with his first girlfriend, she was there when he graduated with honours from his computing degrees, yes multiple, and his business degrees. She had encouraged him all the way and now she was gone.

He turned the pages one by one. Slowly he pondered the deeper meaning. He read between the lines. Each one of these pages, all 192 of them, held some deeper meaning for him.

‘If you are depressed, try making someone else happy’

‘Life is short, live it’

‘I think, therefore I am’ Descartes

‘Love is all there is. Love it all’

‘Your problems are your gifts’

‘Fail many times, but get back up’

‘Ask yourself the questions, listen to your answers’

‘Give yourself the gift of grace’…

and so on. ‘Hippy shit… Sarcasm again’, he thought. At that moment he realised how many of his thoughts had a negative bias in sarcasm or criticism. ‘No wonder I’m unhappy’, he pondered. How could Aunt Chancy see this? How did she know? He clutched the little book close to his heart and looked out the window.

Ding! A light bulb went on in his head. He sent a memo to the team. ‘Let’s start a comp. Each day for 192 days, let’s publish a quote from Aunt Chancy’s notebook with a cash prize of $100 daily for the most uplifting life experience submitted that relates to the quote, and voted for by the people. At the end of 192 days we’ll put the winning stories in a major comp for the best of the best. We will give $20000 to the person with the most votes overall.

Well, dang! Over the next few months the engine didn’t stop dinging!

His thoughts turned to home and the last quote:

‘If you are going through hell keep going’. Winston Churchill