I’m not sure where I heard or read this, but …

The best times. The worst times. They all pass, eventually. Perhaps it was deeply set in my subconscious when I was wrestling with the Mikasa MTX60HD 4-cycle rammer for an hour (also known as a tamper), compacting backfill at a residence in Haliburton. Imagine a motorized leg, set on a metal square plate, hopping up and down on loose soil. Weighing as much as my 140 pound muscularly lean frame, I struggled. Even with all of my weight against the tamper, or as a “jumping jack” by my boss, it barely moved. As it pounded in place, lowering itself down several inches lower than the area I needed to move to, the effort to move it increased. Sweat dripped down my nose, and sand sprayed at my face from the pounded dirt as the machine exerted 3,064 pounds per feet of power at 55.8 feet a minute. Pulling it back and finding higher ground, I managed to find my groove and manuver the tamper forward. Like driving a car without power steering, momentum is everything to forward progress. After 20 minutes, I was dripping with sweat and covered in dirt. It’s among the most difficult things I’ve ever done. I was ready to quit, but my mother didn’t raise a quitter. (Pssst … don’t tell my boss I thought of quitting.)

Let’s step back a bit.

I had just been asked to go to this site after working a few hours sorting through material and organizing what was going to the landfill and what would be repurposed at a lakefront cottage in Highlands East, which was nearing completion. After a time, busy with my task, I didn’t realize the storm the night before had knocked out hydro to the residence, leaving me and my colleagues with less immediate work to do since the laundry list of actions required electricity.

Before long, I was asked to go to another job site in Haliburton where backfill was needed to be added to the an addition build where an ICF foundation was completed.

Shown the tamper, which came up to my chest, I’d be operating, I was very much incredulous about my ability to handle the motorized tool. I said, “I’ll give it a try.” However, in my mind, I thought this will be interesting.

I think my doubts were written across my face because my colleague Ivan gave some encouragement after his instruction. He told me to lean into the machine and make sure the throttle is on full power. Use the momentum, he added. I did what I could, but any delay on my part to move the machine left me with a struggle. Eventually, I succeeded. Will this be one of those experiences that teaches me I am capable of more than I can imagine? Perhaps.

Since leaving journalism three years ago, I’ve learned to learn again and embraced discomfort.

It gives berth to the fertile ground for growth.

Once I was found. My purpose was fulfilled from writing about the people that make the Highlands a great place to live. There’s a comfort level with two decades of experience in any career, whether it’s knowing the right people to ask or it’s going through the intuitive actions to complete a story, a page layout. Everything was second-nature and I was the mentor and teacher to others. Now I am the student. I need the teachers.

So, here I am. Fully embracing what I don’t know and what I can do if I give my self the chance to succeed.When they say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks sometimes old dogs need to reach down deep and find the strength. I always have a choice to pick the pain of discipline or the pain of regret.

When regret comes from inaction I will choose action with the potential of success every time.

In the end

After about three hours, I managed to figure out how to use the momentum of the bouncing motor to my advantage and believe I did a decent job, compacting the backfill as part of an objective to equalize the pressure on both sides of the ICF foundation wall.