Unopened Gifts: A Journey to Gratitude

Jeary

PREFACE

THE FIRST TIME I completed the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon, I felt like I had conquered the world. The grueling 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike and 26.2-mile run will test the limits of the most accomplished athlete. Yet not only had I finished it, I had beaten my goal time. So why was I secretly miserable?

We all desire the gifts of health, wealth, and happiness, but too many of us have a hard time recognizing what they look like in everyday life. Each day presents us with opportunities to experience all three, but we often walk right by them. We are like a child too distracted by the guests at his party to open his presents.

Sometimes we open one pile of gifts and leave others untouched. A man builds a multimillion dollar company but ignores his children. A woman nurtures her relationships but allows her health and fitness to suffer. I had pushed myself to my physical limits with the same level of intensity I had used to build a well-known exercise company, yet I found myself wondering, Is this all there is? I had taught my body and my business to perform at their peak while neglecting my soul.

In my experience, many healthy-looking, talented people live lives of quiet desperation for gifts they already have. This unarticulated longing pulls at them all day long, sapping their energy and passion until they are like engines running on fumes. This silent suffering affects their performance at work, their marriages, their families, and their friendships. In time, it begins to affect their bodies as well.

Fortunately, I learned how to recognize my gifts before it was too late. I learned to take the same endurance and discipline that propelled my success in business and athletic endeavors and apply it to my relationships and my personal growth. As an international speaker and global wellness ambassador, I have gone on to help individuals and companies all over the world become their best so they can give their best.

I wrote this book to cut to the heart of the inner aches that I believe torment so many of us on a daily basis. Just as physical pain is the body’s system of warning us when something is wrong, emotional and spiritual pain must also be confronted rather than ignored. It is my hope that you will see yourself or perhaps someone you love in the story that follows, and that, like the characters you’ll meet, you find the courage to open your gifts.

The easiest person to deceive is oneself.

—EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON

KYLE TURNED AWAY from the patch of freshly packed earth and wondered why no tears would come. Everyone else had left. There was no one to be strong for anymore. Wouldn’t it be appropriate, healthy even, to cry a little?

He paused and looked over his shoulder. It was a beautiful fall day and the setting sun was just disappearing behind the row of trees that bordered the cemetery. Well, he’d better get going, tears or not. He would be expected at the house soon.

As Kyle pulled onto the highway, he began to reminisce almost involuntarily.

The nurse says we need to try to move your legs more, Dad.

She does, does she? Well, let’s see her come in here and make me.

Never wanted to make anything easy. Oh, how he longed to forget those last few months! He counted the highway exits almost mechanically as his mind reached back even further.

Dad, that’s enough. The doctor says you have to be careful…

"Dad, it’s just a short walk. We’ll go together, c’mon…"

Just try it, Dad. Katie made it; it’s from the new cookbook…

He felt emotion welling up in his chest, but it was not grief. Not yet. He felt angry. Why didn’t Dad listen? Why didn’t he just do what he was told when there was still time? It’s not like they were asking him to run a marathon … he just needed to walk around the block once in a while. Kyle pulled up to the house and slammed the car door a little too hard as he braced himself to go inside.

Sorry, man. It was his cousin, whom he hadn’t spoken to in years. Kyle accepted the embraces mechanically as he made his rounds in the living room. Most people there were relatives, none of whom he had kept up with beyond childhood holidays. Dad had been retired for years and not many friends from work had shown up.

How’s business, dear? his aunt asked him, sniffling. She’s already downed a few, he thought. So had nearly everyone in his extended family, judging from how loud the sobs were getting. The breakfast bar in the kitchen was covered with half-empty bottles and glasses. Kyle rubbed the back of his neck and willfully resisted the thirst that troubled his own mouth. He had decided the day his father died to shed everything that reminded him of the old man, including alcohol.

It’s going fine, Kyle answered, leaning down to embrace her.

What is it you sell again, dear?

Bicycles, Auntie, he answered with forced patience. He had answered that question several times already.

Ah! The little ones must love you then! she said, squeezing his arm.

Actually, they’re for adults. Competitors. The guy who came fourth in the Tour de France this year, the Spaniard? He was riding one of our bikes … Kyle cut himself off. What was the point?

Your daddy was such a good man, such a good man, she offered, starting to weep.

Yes, Auntie, yes, Kyle offered, feeling the familiar rage rising in his chest. He briefly imagined what would happen if he stood up right now and told everyone what his dad was really like. But he said nothing and patted his aunt’s arm as affectionately as he could.

Everybody loved him, do you know that? she sobbed, wiping her eyes with a tissue and taking another swig from her cup.

Yes, of course, Auntie. Yeah, everyone loved him. Kyle felt the urge to shove her aside and storm out of the room. He really wanted to go to the office: he had a crucial presentation in the morning and he had just about had his fill of the family. He surveyed the room to see if there was anyone else he would need to greet before he could reasonably excuse himself for some air.

He saw Katie hugging and kissing everyone. That was Katie. That was why the whole family had been delighted when he finally settled down with her. Such a sweet girl. She had only been a junior in college, but she had dropped out for him. Again the thirst hit Kyle and again he resisted.

It was going to be a long day.

And it was. The relatives seemed to leave intolerably slowly, each prolonging his or her good-bye in the doorway with yet another expression of sorrow. But finally the liquor and food ran out, the caterers began to pack up their dishes, and the stragglers made their way to the door. Cabs were called for a few.

Are you okay, honey? Katie asked him when the door had closed behind the caterers and the last guest.

I’m fine, he assured her as he sat down on the couch and picked up a magazine.

Are you sure? she asked, kneeling down to grab the last of the paper napkins from the coffee table and carpet. She paused near his seat.

Really, I am. You know Dad and I didn’t get along. And honestly, he was a real pain in the rear those last few months. Kyle offered an indifferent chuckle, and looked back at his magazine. Katie remained for a moment on her knees, dirty napkins in hand, staring at the back of her husband’s magazine.

Kyle sensed her eyes on him and put down his magazine. Rather than meet her gaze, he looked over her shoulder and caught sight of Kevin’s tricycle in the yard, mud splattered over the yellow paint. He stared at it briefly, and for a moment he found himself in front of his childhood home, 11 years old again.

Wow …

Kyle tried to hide his joy at little Zach Warner’s reaction. The second grader ran his finger over the electric yellow lightning bolts along the frame that now stood out against the original blue.

You happy with it? Kyle had asked, trying to sound older and tougher than he was.

Yeah! It’s awesome.

What’d I tell ya? Kyle asked, patting Zach on the head. I told you I’d make it look just as good as the one I did for Tommy.

Yeah, he can’t say nothing to me now! I’m gonna get my mom and she’ll bring the money, okay?

Sounds good, Kyle said. This was the twenty-third bike he had painted, and Zach had ridden over eight blocks for his services.

Kids in the neighborhood had recently discovered BMX, and the modified bikes that first appeared on the West Coast in the mid-1970s were everywhere now. Kyle had wanted one as soon as he saw them but knew it was out of the question. There was never extra money to pay for something like that after the rent, groceries, and whiskey had been paid for.

He had gotten his idea for custom painting from looking at the decal stickers the younger boys liked putting on their bikes. Without fail they were peeling after being left in the rain or brushed with sneakers one too many times. Kyle had gone to the hardware store and talked to the owner to learn which kinds of paint worked best for a job like that. He had shown the boys in the neighborhood his sketches, and slowly, patiently he persuaded the richest kid on the block to hit his grandma up for the money.

Kyle chuckled softly to himself, back in the present.

What are you laughing about? Katie smiled.

Just that bike painting thing I did when I was a kid. I told you about that, right? he asked.

Your first business, Katie said softly.

I guess it was. You know, I didn’t know I wasn’t an artist, he laughed. I didn’t know people took classes for years to do that kind of thing. If I’d known that, I never would have tried.

"I guess sometimes it’s what you don’t know that lets you achieve the impossible," Katie said thoughtfully.

She’s right, Kyle thought, but said nothing. Buying that bike was impossible, but he’d made the money to buy the bike he wanted and then some. He and Mom had worked carefully to keep the project a secret from his dad. Dad seemed to consider anything interesting or ambitious to be a waste of time. There was no rhyme or reason to his objections sometimes. He’d thrown a fit when Mom had volunteered at a church fundraiser to help the starving kids in Ethiopia. It was as if he wanted to go to work knowing that they were all sitting home, staring at the wall doing nothing.

What the hell is this? Dad had remarked, coming home earlier than usual, before Kyle had been able to stash the paints in their usual hiding place in the shed.

Nothing… he had stammered back. Mom said it was okay…

He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Mom would catch it when Dad went inside … he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach.

What the hell is all this for? he repeated. Kyle said nothing.

His father paused and stared at Kyle, daring him to make eye contact.

Kyle looked up at him and willed himself not to flinch or look away.

His father drew himself up to his full height, drew in his enormous belly and took three large steps closer to Kyle, so his was just inches from his son’s face. Kyle remained stock still.

I asked you a question, Dad said through his teeth, seething with rage.

They’re for my business, Kyle answered steadily.

Your what? Dad burst into peals of laughter so loud they were surely heard a block away. A business? Are you serious? That’s too good, little boy. Too good. You waste your mother’s money on that?

Kyle shrugged his shoulders.

Humph… Dad grunted, giving Kyle a painful shove in the chest, which he absorbed, putting his left foot back instinctively to avoid falling. So you got yourself a little art business, huh? Dad continued. Kyle said nothing; there was no point in clarifying what he was doing with the paint. Well, you ain’t gonna make no money that way. You’ll never make money like that on your own. You’ll be lucky if you get a job working in somebody’s factory like me. Lucky. Your ‘business’! Ha! Dad laughed again, as he turned to go, causing Kyle to automatically relax. On his way