The Eagle and the Dragon

by Chris Duffin

  Simultaneously, my experiences convinced me that I never wanted to work as an engineer. I realized that I wasn’t interested in sitting at a computer for hours on end, drawing parts, jigs, and fixtures. I wanted to be a leader.

  I didn’t think I had the right personality to be a leader, though. I thought leaders were supposed to be outspoken and extroverted, delivering motivational speeches and inspiring people with force of personality. By this time, I had taken custody of the first of my three sisters and had started a paintball business in my spare time. With these two factors in mind, along with the fact that I enjoyed what I was doing, I made the decision not to take the final nine credits that would have secured my second engineering degree.

  Instead, I began to nurture an ambition to get a master’s degree in management or business.

  A Vehicle Suitable for the City of Sunshine

  Klamath Falls is known as the City of Sunshine. The town receives more days of sunshine than any other town in Oregon. When I reached a stage where I was working full time at a large window manufacturer, and I owned my own house, I decided that I wanted to purchase a vehicle that reflected my growing self-confidence. I had always made do with cheap, five-hundred-dollar cars, which served a purpose, but frequently broke down. I browsed the classified ads and I decided that I wanted a Jeep. I was living in the sunniest city in Oregon, I had the money to buy a vehicle I genuinely wanted, so I settled on a badass Jeep.

  I picked up a 1976 Jeep CJ-7 for a reasonable price. I loved it. It had big tires, and with all the sunshine, I kept the top off all year. It was a perfect vehicle to take out paintballing, with my paintballing gear in a trailer attached to the back, or to bounce around the dirt roads outside of town.

  One day, I was backing into my driveway and the front axle broke clean in half. The center of the axle was on the ground and the tires were cocked out to the side. A rush of adrenaline passed through me as I realized how lucky I was that the axle hadn’t broken when I was driving along the highway. Nonetheless, the experience gave me my first taste of modifying vehicles, a world I would revisit many times over the years. I paid a visit to a Jeep builder in town, who happened to have an axle he was taking out of his own Jeep. It was a much bigger, stronger axle than the one that had broken on me, so I purchased it. He explained to me how to lift the vehicle and install the new axle, which I did successfully, fitting some thirty-five-inch tires for good measure. It was the beginning of my interest in customizing and fabricating vehicles.

  A Paintball Business on the Side

  As though I didn’t have enough to focus on, I had also started my own paintball business. As mentioned in the previous chapter, I played paintball regularly in high school. During my first few years in college, I stayed in touch with my old paintball buddies and we traveled to compete in tournaments. We rented and bought all our paintball equipment from the same guy, and I decided to reach out to him and ask him whether he was interested in selling his business.

  Turned out, he was.

  I bought thirty rental guns, all the equipment I needed to run a paintball rental business, and the licenses I needed to purchase supplies on a wholesale basis. A friend of mine owned a couple of storefronts in Klamath Falls, and he agreed to set up all my products in one of his stores so his staff could sell it. Over the weekends, I took groups of people out and created team-building paintball games, an offering that became popular with local companies. It was a mixture of work and play and I enjoyed it a lot.

  Taking Custody of My Eldest Sister

  Soon after I moved out of the Brick House, I heard from my oldest sister, Melissa. Our mom had undergone a mental breakdown. My mom was at work waiting tables, and she lost control of herself. She began pacing in circles in the middle of the dining room, muttering to herself. No one could snap her out of it, so someone called mental health services to come and get her. Although she did recover from that episode, she disappeared soon after. When I spoke to her in later years, she explained that she couldn’t handle living with Pat, who was still spending his days sitting around the house, drinking. The frustration and violence finally tipped her over the edge. She took off to Montana and none of us saw her for several years.

  All three of my sisters were living at home with Pat. Unfortunately, by this time in his life, Pat was on a downward spiral from which he would never recover. When he met my mom, he was a heroin addict and a burglar. For a while, their partnership kept him relatively clean. As their relationship deteriorated, however, along with his health, his condition declined.

  Living with Pat was a terrible environment for my sisters. The house was filthy and should have been condemned, and Pat was in no condition to provide parenting. One winter, he accused Melissa of stealing his favorite cereal bowl and kicked her out into the snow. She bounced around for a week or so and gravitated toward a drug house in Portland, about four hours north of La Pine on the other side of the Cascade Range of mountains. When she called me, she knew that she needed to get out, but she didn’t know where to go. Meanwhile, my other sisters also moved away. My middle sister, Janis, had gotten herself into a little bit of trouble and found herself in the care of the state. My youngest sister, Amy, was living with the parents of one of her close friends.

  When Melissa called me, I told her to come to Klamath Falls and live with me. I was able to contact our mom and complete the paperwork that allowed me to take custody of Melissa. I was twenty-one years old at the time.

  In my senior year, I purchased a house that Melissa and I shared, with no other roommates. Although my alcohol consumption was down from its peak, I was still drinking a lot. In my mind, I felt it was justified because I was working so hard. I used to tell Melissa that I had earned the right to party because I was creating the environment in which she lived. Undoubtedly, I could have set a better example, but that was the best I could do at the time.

  Melissa made a lot of progress in those years. She worked toward her General Educational Development (GED) tests, learned how to drive, and secured a job. Sitting in the passenger seat while she drove made me fear for my own safety, so I gave her a vehicle and let her figure it out on her own. Nonetheless, she passed her test and got her license.

  Me and my sisters. Melissa and Janis were living independently by this time, while Amy was still under my care.

  Consciously Recreating My Environment

  My two-year break from training had allowed my collarbone to heal enough that I was able to train without incurring significant pain, which I did several days per week. I was working full time, running my paintball business, and taking care of Melissa. Despite these responsibilities, I continued to party hard. I was so well known as a party animal that the parties were following me around. Sometimes I would arrive home from work, ready to chill, only to find that a group of people had shown up at my house with a keg and a party was in full swing.

  My drinking was still out of control. I would go on a bender over the weekends, hiding my alcohol consumption while I hosted events on Saturdays, and stayed mostly clean during the week. Even so, the effects lingered. It took two, sometimes three, days at the gym before my sweat stopped smelling of alcohol. By Thursday and Friday, I began to feel better, but then I repeated the cycle. This pattern was aggravated by the stress of my job, and the pressure I felt from the assistant plant manager to take even more steps forward. The more stressed I felt, the more I drank. Eventually, I realized that I could no longer function in the environment. I knew I had to find a way out.

  As I was wrestling with my demons, my middle sister, Janis, contacted me. She was recently released from the juvenile detention facility in which she had been living, and was unwilling to move back in with Pat. She asked whether she could move in with me. Although I was already spending most of what I earned, leaving me with few spare funds, her request functioned as a catalyst. I decided that, if I was going to handle my drinking, I needed to leave Klamath Falls. I had cr
eated an environment in which I was constantly surrounded by triggers. It was time to leave that environment and move elsewhere.

  Although I wasn’t sure how I would make the mortgage payments, I told Melissa that the house was hers. By this point, she had been living with me for a few years and had turned eighteen, so she was in a position to contribute to the mortgage payments. I gave my employer notice that I intended to leave and set about making plans to find a job in Portland. I was in a leadership role at work and it was my company’s practice not to retain people in leadership positions after receiving notice, so they let me go the day I gave them my notice. I jumped into my Jeep and drove to Portland.

  Lesson: The Paradox of Novelty

  There are both positive and negative aspects of walking into a new environment. One of the positives is that a new place can translate into a new start. If you wish to separate yourself from experiences that no longer reflect who you are, a change of location can be an excellent opportunity to do that. Putting yourself into a fresh setting, with a blank slate, makes it much easier to recreate yourself.

  That’s where I was when I left La Pine for Klamath Falls. I needed to put distance between myself and the existence I knew so that I could begin to build the foundations of the rest of my life. That was much easier to do without the insecurities and the sense of isolation that had dogged me when I was in La Pine.

  On the other hand, moving to a new place can be scary and unpredictable. As much as it offers an opportunity for reinvention, it can also lead you into unexpected risks and consequences. The more unfamiliar a situation, the more freedom it offers you to redefine yourself. At the same time, that lack of familiarity strips away the anchors that keep you safe, which can lead you to make poor choices.

  Let’s acknowledge, too, that we can’t simply run away from everything that disturbs us. There’s a distinction between purposely placing yourself in a new environment, with the intention of enacting change, and running away from painful situations or emotions. While I certainly did a lot of the former while I was at college, I did some of the latter, too. For example, I didn’t know how to relate to my family. I avoided spending time with them, even when I was back in La Pine or Sun River. This seemed to have consequences for everyone else in my family, too. For reasons I still don’t fully understand, my presence appeared to stabilize the volatile personalities of those I was closest to. As soon as I left, the situation at home began to decline rapidly. Within a couple of years, the family unit that I had thought was the most secure part of my life had completely fallen apart.

  Another element of my life that came with me to Klamath Falls was my family history of alcoholism and depression. Indeed, they expressed themselves strongly while I was at college, forcing me to find ways of coming to terms with them. I made negative choices, and I knew at the time they were negative. For example, a big part of me understood that drinking alcohol wasn’t going to work out well for me. I was in a new space, however, and I convinced myself that a few drinks here and there wouldn’t pose a problem.

  If you choose to put yourself in a new situation, embrace the positive opportunities it offers you. Think through what you want to accomplish before you make the move, so you understand your motivations and have a strong chance to manage your behavior. Nonetheless, be aware of the risks that come with uprooting yourself. Recognize when you are moving somewhere new because you want to accomplish something valuable, and when you are looking to escape your problems. The second approach, unfortunately, rarely succeeds.

  From the Eagle to the Dragon

  When I was nineteen years old, I decided to get my first tattoo. It’s a large work, starting at my ankle, working up, and covering both my stomach and a significant portion of my back. The tattoo depicts two eagles, one on the front of my body and one on the back, each with a chain around its ankle. The eagles are attempting to take flight, but they can’t, because they’re both shackled to my ankle. I came up with this design because it symbolizes my belief that we can accomplish whatever we desire in life, and the only thing holding us back is ourselves.

  Every day, the eagles on my body remind me to realize my full potential. If I could distill the narrative of my childhood and adolescence into a single theme, I’d say it’s a story about overcoming extraordinary odds. I was born into unusual and challenging circumstances, and for many of my early years, I had little or no control over my life. Even in college, where I was beginning to lay the groundwork for the life I live today, I felt as though a lot of the things I experienced were happening to me. I wasn’t the architect.

  Up to this point in my life, my reinvention wasn’t wholly purposeful. I was beginning to understand my strengths and realize what I’m capable of, but I wasn’t exerting conscious effort. I was still largely going with the flow. I didn’t have a plan to help me decide who, where, and how I wanted to be. In the first half of my life, I encountered and overcame obstacles when they hit me, learning all the time about who I was and what I could do. In the second half of my life—and this book—the focus shifts toward conscious, deliberate reinvention.

  Part Two

  Part Two: The Dragon

  Chapter Seven

  9. Building

  2000–2008 (Age Twenty-Three to Thirty-One), Portland, Oregon

  My Jeep served me well for my mile-long commute in Klamath Falls, where there was sunshine almost every day of the year. For long-distance travel, it was less useful. It was more than twenty years old and, since I lifted the wheels, it had a tendency to veer across the road. The engine—a giant V8—was heavy on the fuel consumption. I left my other vehicle—a Chevy Blazer that would have been a far more practical choice of transportation—with my sister Melissa.

  With my Jeep, I drove the four hundred miles from Klamath Falls to Portland to start fresh.

  Four hundred miles may seem like a minor trip. The journey, however, required three tanks of gas. As I drove over the mountains, wind whistled through the one-inch gaps in the doors and the hardtop. The Jeep didn’t have a defrosting mechanism, so I kept a rag beside me to wipe the windows down and maintain visibility.

  When I pulled into downtown Portland, I was met by Greg, my friend from high school. Greg was finishing his degree at Portland State and living in an apartment downtown. I parked my Jeep in his parking garage and crashed at his place for two weeks.

  We didn’t have a lot of money between us, but we got by. Every morning, we ate bacon and eggs for breakfast. Then, he left for school while I sat at the computer and started hammering out resumés and scheduling interviews. As an engineer with management experience in a hot market, I was in high demand. Within a couple of weeks, I had multiple interviews lined up, and my pick of jobs. I quickly picked one as a production manager for a manufacturer of high-tech circuit boards, and I took out a lease on a duplex.

  Those first two weeks, however, involved a lot of soul searching. I had walked away from a secure, well-paying job to come to Portland with no guarantees and few resources. I had the following month’s mortgage payment sitting in my bank account, but beyond that I had hardly any financial resources to call on. Crashing on Greg’s couch, with no permanent place to live, I began questioning my choices. I wasn’t sure how I would take care of myself, let alone my sister Melissa in Klamath Falls.

  Despite these doubts, deep down I felt good about my decision. I knew that back in Klamath Falls, I would never have found it within myself to dial back my drinking. The pull of the environment was too strong. In new circumstances, however, I succeeded in reducing my alcohol consumption to one to three drinks per week, where it has stayed ever since. I moved from the far south of the state to the far north, from a small country town to the largest city in Oregon. It was a huge change.

  As I sat in the new space and walked around the city blocks, I felt as though I had undergone another major shift, this time more deliberately. I had separated myself from family and college and
placed myself in an entirely new environment, and I had choice. I could choose where to work. I could decide what influences I would bring into my life. I could select which friends I wanted to stay in touch with. The new environment felt like a catalyst. Within a month of moving to Portland, I had joined a gym, secured a new job, signed a lease, and submitted an application to study for an MBA.

  When I had a foothold in Portland, I was able to take custody of Janis, who came to live with me in my duplex. For the first two years in the city, my life was defined by the grind. I worked, I trained seven days a week, I studied for my MBA. I also did what I could to take care of Janis, although I placed a heavy emphasis on helping her to become self-reliant. She got her GED and started working.

  Moving to Portland precipitated a total shift in my life. Even before I left Klamath Falls, I was a highly driven person and I spent a lot of time working and learning. When I moved to Portland, however, I took those qualities to another level. Relocating gave me a clean break and allowed me to pour almost my entire focus into productive activities.

  Theme: Building for the Future

  This chapter is about mastering new skills and using them to construct a successful life. When we decide to build something, we need to take responsibility for the fruits of our labor, even when some elements of the process lie outside our direct control. This may involve hard work and difficult decisions. Building something great, however, is not merely an additive process. We also need to pare away those things that aren’t serving us, perhaps activities that are fun and enjoyable, but which don’t move us closer to our true objectives.