The power of positive reinforcement

Today is another day.

Another day, with new potential to be realised.

New day.  New hope.  New Cat.

NOT the same ol’ same ol’.  A new day. 

Another day.

So, I asked "how am I doing" at training this morning.  My instructor said I am a good driver, that I have a personality that will be good with the kids, that they look forward to me driving with them.

Cream to the Cat.  Lapping it up big time, yo 🙂

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Lots of positive comments from my OD friends doesn’t hurt at all either.

(ok, that’s a real understatement.  It helps a lot – thank you)

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I did an unofficial pre-trip pretest again this morning, and am scheduled to have a real pretest tomorrow. 

I can do this.

I will do this.

Underline that six times. 

I will do this.

My instructor is a woman, about 6 – 8 years my senior.  We were driving along on a road I (used to) know really well.  On that road, in 1989, I got the highest score of the day, driving a big rig with double trailers behind it in the truck driving class I took then.  Lemme emphasize that – Highest score ever given on that road.

(you might guess I am pretty proud of that, and you’d be right)

There I am, driving along on Hwy 224, a road I used to drive on a lot – it’s limited to 45, and I used to do 70 on it, easy.  I wasn’t driving like that today, in fact, I had a line of trailers, I mean cars, behind me, but smooooooth?  Yeah.

So smooth, the instructor felt really comfy and asked me about my family.

I got a story to tell there, I sure do.

Orphaned at 15, cast into a hellish military school, lost my brother to the devil’s drugs (cocaine and, maybe worse).  My family’s estate ripped off, the kids cast into life-long poverty.

A true story.  My story.  No lies – don’t need to make anything up, it’s all true.

(I used to feel bad telling it, because it evokes pity and sorrow and – I dunno, but it gets to people, especially women, and I have been reluctant to "use" that story; or, I felt like I was using it, but hey, it is the story of my life, and 29 years later, I can tell it and not be so affected by it.  Next week, it’ll be 29 years since my father died, and it has been 29 years and five months since my mother died – it is not something I ever forget; but as the years go by, it reverberates less and less.  I am pretty sure it always will to some degree.  I have made an uneasy peace with it…but it as powerful a story as it ever has been, and affects people, especially women, and maybe even more powerfully now, cuz the people who ask and hear it are mothers themselves, and it is the worst thing, to leave your children alone in the world, isn’t it?)

I have reached an uneasy peace with my story…and if it buys me some slack, well, that’s something I’ve come to feel ok about.  Used to make me feel guilty…but, as I said, I have reached a kind of peace with it.  29 years does that.

Thursday morning, I get to do a ride-along, on one of the routes they need a driver to do.  Kinda like a job shadow.  Their confidence is so good!

I can do this.

Onwards.

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