We watched Will Smith's Pursuit of Happyness finally, a few days ago. I do love a good underdog story--especially one based on a true story, like this one. Great movie.
Andy and I have been mulling it over in our minds since we watched it. He didn't give up. Things got bad. He didn't give up. Things got worse. He still didn't give up. Things got desperate. He never gave up.
It was a good perspective piece for us. We have had a hard year. A hard couple of years. All in all, a hard decade, I suppose. But are we sleeping in a subway bathroom? No. Are we washing our laundry, our one change of clothes per person, in a sink every night? No. We have so much. So much.
Andy just jetted out the door in a very Happyness type way. He is off to a meeting with a major national marketing firm, to see if they will help us get our business off the ground. He contacted them once, simply because they are the best around and we want the best, of course. We have no money, though, and they handle national accounts for very big names, so they politely turned him down. You could almost hear the condescending little chuckle in the tone of their email. He was undeterred. He pursued. He got creative. He showed a little moxy. He got their attention. They asked to meet with him.
The appointment starts in a few minutes. He is driving to Missoula right now, probably looking for a parking space on a downtown street--near their building, but far enough from the office that they won't look out a window and see him get out of our trasher little car, with the mud flap hanging by one bolt and the rust on the fenders and the dented front corner where I was hit last year, and the crease in the bumper from...I don't remember.
They will meet a handsome, clean-shaven man in a nice suit and tie with a big smile, a friendly manner and a confident handshake. He will befriend them and they will want him to succeed, just because he is such a likable guy. He will show them our prospectus and glossy brochures, postcards and business cards.
The materials will look professional, I hope, and will not carry any hint of the fact that I designed them in our humble living room with the 1976 orange shag carpet surrounded by baskets of laundry waiting to be folded, while kids ran shrieking through the house, hitting me with paper airplanes. They will not see our construction-site house, or our messy bedroom, or the tiny kitchen with dishes begging to be washed.
The meeting has begun.
Oh Papa God, as always, everything is in your hands.