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Just a Boy & His Subaru

On a Journey to Find Themselves

For every, “best way,” there are at least a dozen, “right ways.”

My mother was always weird about certain things when I was growing up. My father was too, but his was a very angry angle while mother’s was more of a neurotic angle.

As a child, I naturally rebelled against the obvious routine my parents had set in motion for me.

Now would be a good time to point out that these things are normal, everyday things that people do, it’s just that my parents were particular.

For example, every morning before leaving the house, all of the beds were made. Many of my other peers talk about having to do this too, but not one person I’ve met has had to tuck sheets and fold back a perfect crease; not one person I’ve met has come home to a pile of blankets and sheets in the middle of the floor because their bed wasn’t made correctly.

My parents were very subtle about the delivery of their messages.

Anyway, that’s just a taste of the intrinsic thoroughness my parents’ military background brought to the table. Like every night before bed, the dishes were to be done and the kitchen was put back to it’s original, pre-chaos state. No one went to bed until it was done.

Before family vacation or extended trips, the house was cleaned from top to bottom, left to right, you get the idea. “GI parties,” my mother would call them. They happened every Saturday as part of the weekend routine, as well.

The same went for the arrival of guests; everything was to be spotless and perfect.

What these routines taught me, and what I’m eventually going to get to, is that there will always be a, “best way” to do something. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other, “right” ways, just that there will always be a, “best way.”

What makes a, “best way?” Respect.

And a little bit of pride, but mostly respect.

As an adult, I find that I’m still practicing the routines my parents enforced in the household. I’ve never really strayed from them. The number of times someone has tried to call me out on them or get me to abandon them is innumerable; I’ll have these routines until the day I die.

Why?

Because they make since.

They’re the best way to do things because they factor in respect. Not just respect for the household or your significant other, but respect for yourself.

Waking up to a clean kitchen is magical.

Knowing that my bed is made and waiting for me at home is sometimes the one thing that carries me through the day.

Preparing for the final leg of my trip home after vacation, remembering that my house is clean and everything is in its place, gives me an inner peace.

Lately I’ve been finding that I’m mildly annoyed when people don’t see certain things the way that I do, therefore their reaction is not at all similar to mine. The most relatable example I can think of is getting poor service at a restaurant when you’re a server; you know what’s going right and what’s going wrong, and you would’ve likely handled things differently.

I’m constantly reminding myself that everyone has their own way of doing things and that I can’t judge too harshly. But when a different way of doing things doesn’t result in the most efficient product, I begin to question why people make things so much more difficult on themselves.

This post is reference to many different things occurring in my life right now, but a neutral example follows my thought process:

My Subaru (the same car that started this blog with me) went into the shop two weeks ago to have both inner CV boots replaced. As will happen when inner CV boots tear, axle grease had been sprayed all over my engine, creating a burning smell that simultaneously produced white smoke. While I assumed there would be some excess grease that would need to burn off, two weeks seemed to be more than enough time, in my book, to have cleaned it up quite a bit.

Just the other day, after two weeks of ‘waiting it out,’ I called them to have it checked out.

The irritation began almost instantaneously. Not only did they schedule me for an 8:30a appointment with a gentleman who wasn’t even going to be in for the day, they had my car for over six hours. The verdict? The inner CV boots were functioning fine, there was justĀ a lot of axle grease from when the first boots tore.

So now I’m heated. My time has been wasted. Why did I drive away after paying that much money, and you hadn’t even bothered to simply wipe away the excess grease? Do you mean to tell me the amount of grease on the axle didn’t appear to be of concern or display urgency to be cleaned until I brought it back again? Most importantly, why don’t you respect yourselves enough to do it right the first time? It seems, to me, to be simple customer service.

I could go on for days. (You know, I need to start thinking podcast-style; my ideas sometimes flow quicker than my fingers.)

At the end of the day, you have to do the best job you can do at..well..life. Your pride, dignity, self respect, they’re all on the line in every action you do.

It’s easy to see an upcoming corner and cut it, but from experience it almost never goes well. You’re better off in life stepping all the way into the shoe and walking; your happiness and overall satisfaction depend upon it.

Be good and do good things.

My blog, no matter how small and self-directed, makes me proud. When I’ve completed a new post, I feel a great deal of accomplishment and respect for myself. Lately life has been throwing some solid curveballs. In the process, I’ve been neglecting me-time. I expect my writing to pick back as the winter months approach, there’s just something about being cuddled up and letting my fingers light the fire.

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