“Despite all my rage, I’m still just a rat in a cage” – Billy Corgan COMPROMISE settle a dispute by mutual concession.”in the end we compromised and deferred the issue” accept standards that are lower than is desirable.”we were not prepared to compromise on safety”weaken (a reputation or principle) by accepting standards that are lower than is desirable.”commercial pressures could compromise safety” bring into disrepute or danger by indiscreet, foolish, or reckless behavior.”situations in which his troops could be compromised”, to cause to become vulnerable or function less effectively.”yo-yo dieting can compromise your immune system” Dear reader, I am about to shit all over the term “compromise”. Let’s be clear – I am a believer in cooperation. Just look at the word and take it apart: Co – operation. That’s a beautiful thing. To “accept standards that are lower than desirable”, to “cause to become vulnerable or function less effectively” is not. Yes, this is a book about naked ladies, but really – it’s a book about compromise. I’ve gone to painful lengths to pursue my calling. There are countless times I’ve taken pause and inventory about what’s going on in my life. The ultimate question is always: Is love, or fear, fueling this? It took me many years to understand how to ask the question, let alone, be aware of it’s existence. I’ve been dogged in my pursuit of my purpose. I am well aware that some people praise me, some condemn me for it. My life is anything but black and white. Here is a quick synopsis of the unhealthy compromises I’ve made that have led me to a place of no compromise: “The Grey Ghost”: when I turned 16, my Dad gave me his primer grey 1974 Ford Gran Torino. It was not pretty and I did not care. It ran well and it served me well. (Cars have never been anything other than a tool for me. If it gets the job done effectively, I’m happy. I realize that in most other areas of society, a car is a status symbol. Nowhere was that more true than in the neighborhood Mireesa lived in, the Cliffside Neighborhood – the most affluent part of town, home to upper middle class and all levels of upper class society, including all of the ideas they have about themselves, their property, and what it says about them. During our highschool days, I would spent lots of time at Mireesa’s house. The Grey Ghost would be parked on the curb of her parent’s home, neighbor to multi million dollar homes. One day I was informed that the neighbors had complained about my car and that it was decreasing their property value. I was asked to not bring it up there anymore. In other words – my worst fears had become realized – I was told that the best I could do was not good enough. My socioeconomic status, something that was dictated by my father’s handicap – was now an impediment to the thing we all want – to love, and be loved. If I was going to come visit Mireesa, I would have to ride my bicycle. The Cliffisde neighborhood was a few miles away, and sat perched atop the bench area of the valley, along with only one way to get there: a hill so long, and so steep, it was almost unthinkable to ride my bike there. Rather than protest the idea, I bowed my head and said “yes”. It was outside the realm of my imagination to take a stand for myself and / or find love in a different time, place, and person that understood and accepted me. I would arrive at her house hot, sweaty, exhausted- and in short – in no condition to be lovey-dovey-snuggly, which was the whole point of spending time together. ***** insert pic of Grey Ghost, scan print from photo album ***** Doctor Jensen: Around age 16, while sitting in my thinking spot (the same one I described in my story about the little voice, the vision, and my engagement to Mireesa), I became very clear about one part of my life: I am here to leave a very large ripple for good in the world. I thought about the ways I could possibly accomplish it. At that point in my life, I had a couple of teachers (music and seminary) who had made a massive difference in my life. I contemplated the arithmetic of their careers – these guys had a couple of hundred students per year, and over the course of a career, they could influence thousands! Perhaps I could do likewise. (side note: it’s fascinating to think about how much things have changed. Let’s say a teacher had meaningful access to 200 students per year. Over the course of a 30 year career, that’s 6,000 students who could possibly be influenced. At the time of the writing of this book, I have over 20,000 people who follow me on various social media channels, and untold numbers who heave heard my voice via podcasting and radio broadcasts – something that was literally unthinkable to me back then – and – I’m still in the early phase of my growth curve). I felt completely in alignment and enthused with my plan to impact the world by being an educator. One day, her parents sat her down and said, “We really like Paul. He’s a nice guy. We also know you won’t be happy unless you are married to someone who is more ambitious (ie, makes more money than a teacher would. Ambition = money in their world). If you keep dating, you’ll fall more in love and get married, and some day you’ll be miserable, we think you should break up.” It’s interesting to note that her parents were in marriage therapy almost constantly. Her dad had a very well paying job in sales management – but what he really wanted was to be a …
