We hadn’t spent five minutes in the living room when my dad piped up with a question.
When you hung these pictures on the wall, were you standing up?
Our host— a family friend — acknowledged that she had.
Well, they’re hung too high, my father replied. But don’t worry. I’ll get them fixed.
A few minutes later, my father headed to the restroom to relieve himself. When he re-emerged, he had a quizzical look on his face. He wanted to know how long the toilet handle had been loose.
Our host admitted the handle had been that way for some time. But she insisted it wasn’t a big deal.
Nonsense, my father replied. I’m happy to fix it. In fact, I’ll feel better if I do that.
I stared at my father in disbelief. Here we were enjoying free shelter in the company of a friendly face. And instead of expressing gratitude, my father was exerting control.
But my father didn’t see it that way. He noticed that some problems around the house needed fixing. And in his eyes, gratitude came through the salve.
Every river tells a story.
So goes an old axiom.
Few other features in the natural world are as elaborately complex as river. Mountain ranges rise up to the sky in thick lines. Oceans stretch uniformly to the horizon – and beyond.
But rivers bend and wind through canyons, prairies, and forests. They dart and meander through rugged terrain with a determined ferocity.
The water in those rivers seeks the simplest route downhill to the sea. The path of least resistance.
Those twists and turns are obligatory in achieving this objective.
Much like rivers, we are taught to seek the easiest route forward. To eschew complexity and to keep from flowing uphill.
This is the mandate our family friend was living under when she left her pictures hanging too high and her toilet handle too loose.
But my father saw right through it all. He knew that the path of least resistance was futile. Things had to get fixed, as unpleasant as that work might seem. And he was going to be the one to fix them.
My father’s resoluteness left an impact on me then. An impact that still resonates now.
Late in my elementary school years, I was asked to read The Odyssey.
The book was thick and bulky. As I brought it to class and back home, it turned my backpack into a rock.
And by the time I’d read about 100 pages, I’d had enough. The story had just begun, but I was in full protest mode.
Why did this work have to be so drawn out, I asked my mother. Couldn’t Odysseus have just made an easy, simple trip home from Troy?
My mother responded that the travails were what made the book stand the test of time. We don’t remember the stories of the warriors who had an easy trip across the Aegean Sea. We remember Odysseus because he went to hell and back on his journey.
That description resonated with me. No longer was the easy path the default path.
I realized I’d eventually be defined by the complexity I navigated, by the problems I solved. I recognized we all would be defined by these characteristics
So, I started embracing the problem solver’s mindset. I started tackling the challenges in my midst head on, instead of trying to avoid them.
This didn’t seem like a big deal at first. But over time, I started to realize how much of a seismic shift it was.
I’d become more engaged in school — fully committed to answering the questions my teachers posed to the class. I felt less helpless when my daily routine got knocked off kilter. And I started — for the first time — to truly consider what I wanted to do with the rest of my life.
Which would become an odyssey in itself.
In our age of modernity, there remains a fascination with Leonardo DaVinci.
The Renaissance figure left this earth more than 500 years ago. But his impact still resonates.
DaVinci was a polymath — a person of a wide range of expertise and interests. And he had a keen desire to express himself in many of these areas.
Much like his contemporaries, DaVinci painted frescos. But when he wasn’t holding a paintbrush, he was seeking answers to the mysteries of the day in botany, biology, physics, and engineering.
DaVinci mocked up contraptions for flying, for mobile warfare, for harnessing the energy of the sun, and for adding numbers together. The airplane, tank, solar panel, and calculator wouldn’t arrive for several more centuries. But all of them owe partial credit to DaVinci’s problem solving expertise.
I’m nowhere near the genius that Leonardo DaVinci was. But when I look at my life’s journey, I still see some parallels.
For my tale has been anything but simple. I’ve moved around the country and across the state of Texas. I’ve shifted careers and nearly gone broke. I’ve fallen headlong into new hobbies and ping-ponged between social circles.
These developments have not been without their fair share of challenges. Meeting the moment meant solving each problem in my midst, one by one, with an unrelenting air of zeal.
I needed to fashion myself as a polymath — much as DaVinci did. And I needed to harness the right mixture curiosity and grit to get difficult things done.
I’ve done that, and I’ve been rewarded for it.
But that’s only part of the story.
The movie Pulp Fiction is full of indelible characters. But the one that stands out to me is The Wolf.
The Wolf is not a costumed vigilante or a brutish thug. He’s Winston Wolf — a middle-aged man in a sharp tuxedo.
The Wolf arrives when two of the film’s main characters find themselves in an unconventional and messy situation. He helps the men get out of a jam by breaking the big dilemma into a series of smaller ones — and then making those dilemmas disappear.
This is The Wolf’s superpower. He’s a professional problem solver. A man who thinks quickly on his feet and takes control of a situation.
These days, I see a lot of The Wolf in myself. I not only have the motivation to solve any problem in my path, but I also have the touch needed to take control of the situation.
I’ve learned the principles of all this from my father, Odysseus, and Leonardo DaVinci. But I’ve learned the application from Winston Wolf.
I hope I can carry the torch they lit with honor. In fact, I hope we all can.
For problem solving needn’t be a special skill for special people. It’s available to all of us.
But no one can force us to take up the mantle. The inspiration must come from within.
Let us find that spark and act upon it.