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A Journey Through Inadequacy

by Paul Otke, Ph.D

163 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-1682; ISBN 1-4120-1304-6; US$18.00, C$20.20, EUR14.50, £10.50

If you feel inadequate you are not alone. A personal journey from childhood to the twilight years; witness a transformation from inadequacy to fulfillment.

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about the book      about the author      excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book As a psychologist I become aware of the marked influence feelings of insecurity play in molding human behavior. This was certainly the case in my life which began with an uncommonly touching childhood. Eventually I was comforted by the realization that my feelings were not unique - that we all to varying degrees are influenced by such emotions. Our formative years set the stage for future development. Consequently my story begins with the historical past. As I proceed from childhood through my teens, adulthood, various careers and retirement, times when I felt inadequate are described. Factors that contributed to such feelings are recalled. Contrariwise, offsetting positive experiences that balanced the scales are related allowing me to cope, progress and achieve contentment. The story concludes with what I have learned from my travels through life.

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About the Author Dr. Paul Otke is a lighthearted psychologist mellowed by experience as a military officer, academic administrator, businessman, husband and father. In this autobiographical account, he openly describes personal feelings and insights relating to struggles with feelings of inadequacy from early childhood to retirement. Troubling experiences are moderated by humorous insightful anecdotes which make for easy reading. In his many careers, Dr. Otke has enriched the lives of thousands of people and his triumph over feelings of inadequacy will touch your soul.

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Excerpt

Leaving a Secure Environment

As a teenager, I fondly dreamt of leaving the farm. Looking back with less emotional involvement, it is safe to say my wish to leave was prompted by a variety of factors unknown to me at the time. Undoubtedly, a desire to escape many of the unpleasant memories associated with my childhood was a major inducement. I could never escape the fact that, due to my heritage, I was different, an enigma, and an oddity. This was reinforced by curiosity driven adult questions about my past family connections. They asked if attempts had been made by them to contact me. More tactless questions related to how I felt about being adopted. I hated such intrusions and I hated the people for asking and felt I had no way of striking back. Leaving was an option.

But it was more than that. I remember while looking for cows on horseback, romanticizing about life in the city. A totally unreal fantasy based on bits and pieces of information selectively gleaned from comments made by some of my siblings. These became realities for me. I dreamt about walking down city streets past stores radiating excitement that far exceeded life on the farm as I saw it. Compared to the town nearby, this was certainly true. This distortion, naively arrived at, undoubtedly far surpassed the boredom of farm life I was experiencing and set the stage for my departure.

My parents' advancing years and deteriorating health prevented their continuing on the farm. My father expressed the hope that with maturity and his assistance, I could develop into a farmer - something I only wished to escape! An older brother, having recently married, was ready and willing to take over the farm and could do so without additional preparation. This set the stage for my parents' retirement in Winnipeg and the launching of a new way of life for me. I had no idea what was facing me. Glamorized misconceptions filled my head. I had never been to a city. My closest exposure to urban living was contacts with the nearby town, infrequently visited. The decision had been made and plans were put into place to accommodate this.

The sale of the farm to my older brother merely generated three thousand dollars in 1944 funds - hardly enough for my parents to retire in an expensive city. An older single sister, a nurse, had carefully stashed away money for a rainy day. This she put to good use buying a small, relatively new house in a good community. She made this available to my parents, at no cost, so they could enjoy their retirement years. Such generosity not only enriched my parents' retirement, but also had a great impact on my future since it brought me to the city. The income generated from the sale of the farm and old age pensions, reluctantly accepted, were my parents' only source of revenue. This was supplemented by produce from my brother's farm. Nevertheless, they lived comfortably within their resources. Life in the city for my parents, in many ways, was a return to what they had previously experienced on arrival from Europe prior to financial setbacks necessitating relocation to the farm. They renewed membership in their original church where some old friends still worshipped. Numerous visits by their children during festive and other occasions enriched their lives. Summers were spent on the farm with their children and grandchildren, where they made useful contributions. These added meaning to their lives. Indeed, retirement proved to be a fulfilling experience for them.

The old order changeth, yielding place to new.
And God fulfills Himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.
Lord Tennyson

My parents' retirement and relocation greatly changed my life. The plan was for them to remain on the farm until crops were harvested in late September or early October. School, however, started the first week of September. Consequently, arrangements were made for me to proceed to the city ahead of my parents. This generated mixed feelings of excitement and apprehension. The fantasies were being put to the test and I wasn't at all sure I was up to it.

I had often observed train arrivals in our village stopping for stray passengers and water for the engine. Beyond that, I had never gone down the tracks with the train into unknown territory. My pilgrimage began at the nearest town. My brother, home from university, briefed me on the fine points of train travel and gave me a sleeping pill so I could sleep sitting upright on the wicker seats. The whistle blew, I waved to my brother and left with fear and trembling. A short time later we passed through our village and the tears hit me full force. So many memories flashed through my mind - life on the farm - the schoolhouse - the church my father built - the people I knew - the familiarity of it all. The full impact of what I was leaving behind struck me with no compensating awareness of what was lying in store for me. I sat up all night anxiety stricken about what would happen when I arrived in the city.

My parents had good friends who had agreed to care for me until my parents' arrival. I wore some distinctive clothing, which identified me on arrival, and fortunately, we connected. Then the big world opened up. Street and traffic lights, buses, streetcars, a ride over a big bridge with smoking trains underneath. Exciting but overwhelming. We arrived at 696 College Ave, an address that I remember when over the years I have forgotten the addresses of our many homes. On arrival, I was introduced to running water and an indoor toilet which I was scared to flush. This replaced our familiar outdoor John. I was tucked into bed and all went well until I heard a train in the distance. Overcome with homesickness, the tears flowed! This is a vivid memory that has remained with me over fifty years. No one can describe the overwhelming feeling of homesickness! It is something that must be experienced to be meaningful. Once tasted, a sensitivity develops toward others in similar situations, which stays with you for life.

Recapturing the feelings experienced in an earlier stage of life is very difficult, especially if these were very moving episodes. Adjusting to city life was such an event. Around every corner there was the unknown. What I thought would be exciting in essence became a threat - a new experience requiring skills I simply didn't possess. I didn't know how to use a phone, ride a bus, pay the fare, ask and use a transfer or know where to get off the bus. I had never been on a streetcar, rode an elevator or escalator, just to mention a few impediments.

The people I was staying with were unaware of the depth of my unfamiliarity. I have often thought about the appropriateness of the old saying which they should have adopted - assume ignorance and proceed from there. They assumed I possessed the knowledge and understanding of a typical city seventeen year old - an incorrect assumption. Feeling very insecure and trying to preserve my faltering image, I tried to bluff it through, often with embarrassing results. Thinking about this, I was reminded of Orphan Annie and her dog Sandy walking down the streets of New York and Annie saying to her dog "No where can you be so alone as in a big city."

The moving finger writes; and having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a word of it.
Omar Khayyam

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Catalogue Information

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