Kyle Berg

I don’t know where along the lines it happened or if it’s always been something I’ve done and not cared enough about it. Over the last couple years, I’ve noticed myself not keeping my word like I ought to. Sure, it may not be in monumental matters such as international treaties or sworn court statements, but it still bothers me. What I have done is become lax about following through on small promises such as returning emails or phone calls, performing a task, or even telling others I would write more on my blog.

An easy excuse would be to say that everyone does this. That’s not good enough because I don’t want to be like “everyone else.” It bothers me when others don’t follow through on small matters and it pleasantly surprises me when they do. One of my pet peeves is when others use the excuse “they were busy”, all the while failing to realize how ridiculous they sound given the simplicity and brevity of their proposed actions. No, they didn’t make it a priority. I want to be someone that makes another person’s day instead of the one that makes them sigh in frustration. And if I can’t follow through on something, I shouldn’t make a promise in the first place.

Keeping one’s word is a simple, yet key and often overlooked part of our daily lives. I don’t want to be a liar and am purposing to be better in this area of my life.

Last month I went to the offices of Colonial Life to follow up on a possible job lead my dad had initiated. They were interested in talking to me further about working with them on employee enrollment. The reason they gave me this opportunity was due to my Spanish abilities. Having someone who could speak directly to native Spanish speakers and guide them through the enrollment process could be quite valuable. This would fit perfectly and give me the flexibility to work on our photography business at the same time.

We had a nice talk and Michelle outlined the steps I would have to take to be a part of their team. There were four steps: 1) Complete the application for a license with the state 2) Get fingerprinted 3) Complete 40 hours of training 4) Pass the licensing exam. I had done step one and am working on the training. I should have done the fingerprinting a couple weeks ago, but had not.

So today I went down to the Sheriff’s office, took a number, and waited in line to be fingerprinted. It was a long wait as their glacial pace closely resembled that of their cousins over at the DMV–which I need to visit soon as well. But once I stepped into the office, it was actually fun to do the fingerprinting. It never occurred to me that it would be digital! I had visions of an ink pad and walking out of there with stained fingertips. Nope. The machine was state of the art and the man doing the printing knew what he was doing. First they scan your 4 fingers together on the left hand, then the thumb. They then repeat this on the right hand. After this, they scan all 10 fingers individually, rolling them from side to side to ensure a complete print. I liked watching the patterns of my fingerprint appear on the screen and it was easy to see why no two fingerprints are identical. Afterward, he printed (with a laser printer) my prints on the official FBI card and I was on my way.

They might be lacking it customer service and behind in other ways, but that was cool! Plus, now Big Brother can watch over me a bit more easily.

Meredee and I went downtown Saturday to use her new camera and she even let me take some pictures of her. This is no small feat as she generally doesn’t like her pictures. But she let me that day and we got some nice shots. She also took a few of me in a cool alley we had discovered. I tried to give it a little attitude to fit the worn, graffitied look around us. (Now that I look at it, maybe the sailboat on my shirt doesn’t fit. Oh well.) She may have only had the camera a couple days, but Mer has an eye for photography. She knows how to frame and style things well. Here is one of each of us from that day, with some retouching done for punch and style.

I’ll admit it. In some ways, I’m a simple boy from the Midwest and am occasionally reminded of my cultural or worldly ignorance. In other ways I’m better traveled or “cultured” than others. It’s all relative I guess. But even though I’ve lived in South America, learned Spanish, and tried to understand the culture, there is one domestic people group I will never understand. Hippies. I do not get them.

Prior to living in Missoula, MT, I did not know that there was such a thing as a young hippie. I’m being serious. I thought all hippies were baby boomers and living in a bygone era. They had long gray ponytails, wore peace signs, and drove Volkswagen vans. Or, they were philosophy teachers at the local community college, stirring up dissent and hatred. But when I ventured to Montana’s capital of liberalism, there they were. There was a culture of young people with long hair, tie-died shirts, body odor, “natural” food, and more bumper stickers than you could imagine. Transplant me to Eugene, Oregon, which is essentially a Missoula of four times the size, and there are more hippies! Maybe there had been a handful in Fargo while I was growing up, but it would have taken quite a surveillance effort to find them. But not here!

Meredee and I went downtown Saturday to take some pictures and enjoy the weather. We decided to head over a few blocks for my official initiation into living in Eugene–the Saturday Market. Hippies everywhere! There were more earrings, outlandish hairdos, and skinny, frail men than I could believe. There is much about this place that I have not been exposed to and may never understand.

When I walk by the downtown bus stop on any given weekday, it’s sad to see what this “freedom” has done to young kids who don’t go to school, are trying too hard to express themselves, and are set on rebellion against the traditions that have given them the luxury of living a hippie lifestyle. They’ve been lied to and have bought into it hook, line, and sinker. There are other groups of people that my heart breaks for, but I will admit it doesn’t break for the hippies. Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. Perhaps my attitude is unbiblical. If it is, I’m not sure what to do because I’m finding it extremely difficult to have compassion for people so bent on complaining, obstruction, and destroying much of what I believe in.

I could go on and debate the differences I have with the hippies, but that would take more writing than I’m up for right now. Besides, anyone who knows me would assume I have little to nothing in common with a hippie. Let’s just say I’ve learned that there are young hippies and they obviously prefer a warmer climate than that of Fargo, North Dakota.

Congratulations to Meredee on getting her first DSLR camera! She had been contemplating what to do with her annual bonus check and even offered to put it toward paying bills. But I told her it should be used for something that she wanted and would enjoy because she had been so sacrificial with other money we’d be given. When she told me she was thinking about buying a camera, I was rather surprised. I didn’t even know she had been contemplating purchasing one! She must trust my judgment, because as soon as I recommended the Nikon D90, she decided that would be her camera.

Her new toy arrived today, a day early, and she’s already taking a liking to it. As I speak she’s in the other room looking for anything to shoot–candles, pots & pans, bananas, etc.

Mer teases me that I have the coolest wife in the world. How many other women would buy a camera in such a situation? I tease her back reminding her that not many people begin learning photography with access to the two professional $1600+ lenses I have.

Not only is my wife’s purchase guy-ishly cool, it’s also something I enjoy and can use as a business backup. Also, we’ll have fun as I teach her photography and have her accompany me on some shoots. Plus, the camera shoots 720p video–something mine cannot do! I do have the best wife in the world.