Hersch Wilson - Firefighter Zen: A Field Guide to Thriving in Tough Times

Contents

Copyright 2020 by Hersch Wilson

All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, or other without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

The material in this book is intended for education. It is not meant to take the place of diagnosis and treatment by a qualified medical practitioner or therapist. No expressed or implied guarantee of the effects of the use of the recommendations can be given or liability taken.

Text design by Tona Pearce Myers

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Wilson, Hersch, author.

Title: Firefighter zen : a field guide to thriving in tough times / Hersch Wilson.

Description: Novato, California : New World Library, [2020] | Summary: Drawing on decades of experience, a volunteer firefighter discusses the mental habits that allow firefighters to maintain their sanity in the face of danger and tragedy. Finding analogies with Zen practice, the author shows readers how to apply these same habits to the inevitable difficulties of daily life.-- Provided by publisher.

Identifiers: LCCN 2020004772 (print) | LCCN 2020004773 (ebook) | ISBN9781608686889 (paperback ; alk. paper) | ISBN 9781608686896 (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Wilson, Hersch. | Fire fighters--Psychology. | Fires--Psychological aspects. | Conduct of life.

Classification: LCC TH9118.W557 A3 2020 (print) | LCC TH9118.W557 (ebook) | DDC 363.3701/9--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020004772

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020004773

First printing, May 2020

ISBN 978-1-60868-688-9

Ebook ISBN 978-1-60868-689-6

Printed in Canada on 100% postconsumer-waste recycled paper

10987654321

This book is dedicated first to my wife and firefighter partner, Laurie. Next, a shout-out to my daughters, Brynne and Sully. They have spent their lifetimes listening to pagers ring out and having conversations, dinners, and movies suspended by 911 calls.

Finally, a toast to the old guys in the department and the work theyve done for decades to keep their community safe.

I t was a big fire in a small neighborhood.

Paul yelled from the cab of the engine, Theyve repaged the county for more help. This fire has got everyone spooked!

Woody and I were dragging hose and wetting a line parallel with the road on the southern flank of the fire. This would hopefully help stop the spread of the fire. One of our wildfire engines roared past us going up the road, lights flashing off the smoke.

I tied a bandanna over my face to help with the smoke. Paul yelled to us again, We dont have enough crews to protect houses! Were supposed to let them burn and focus on knocking down the wildfire!

Well, I hope everybody got out, Woody grunted, throwing the line over his shoulder.

Ya, I panted.

We walked up another hundred yards until we came to a driveway. The fire had already blown past this house. The house seemed untouched but was surrounded by blackened, smoking ground. We dragged our line past it.

Hey, Woody pointed toward the house. Look.

I looked. Flames were licking up the east side of the garage.

We can knock that down, he said.

I waved at Paul to get his attention. We both pointed at the garage wall. Paul shrugged. Technically, we were disobeying orders, but spiritually we knew a couple of minutes and some water would save this house.

Grabbing a spare line off the engine, we connected it and dragged it to the garage. It only took a few blasts, but we knocked down the fire. It would later flare up again and a mop-up crew would deal with it, but that house was saved.

Paul yelled at us, They need us! Just drop the line and lets go!

We walked back to the engine, uncoupled the line that stretched across the driveway, and climbed back into the cab.

I then noticed we were three of the oldest guys on the department. I was sixty-five, Woody was sixty-eight, and Paul seventy. We had just saved a house!

Woody read my mind. And they say were too old! Ha!

High fives all around. The radio ended our celebration. It was our chief, Tom.

Engine Two, they need you up higher on the flank. Adam is asking for firefighters.

We flew up the hill, lights and sirens on.

Now, dear reader, if you are thinking the fundamental question why as in, Why is a sixty-five-year-old guy out fighting wildfires? its a fair question, and one my wife, friends, and occasionally my therapist ask me.

Let me explain. A friend recently texted me that it takes a lot of courage to get older. I think what she means is that everything is harder. Its hard to wake up from a dream in which youre eighteen and then open your eyes and realize that youre old. Its harder to do simple tasks that youve been doing for a lifetime. Hands stop working. The cold bothers. Its nigh on hysterically funny to watch me try to get into bunker gear at 2 AM. Its not a two-minute drill anymore; its leaning against a wall, sitting down, and pulling on pants. Of course, looming in the now-more-closer-than-ever future is frailty and the Big D.

I find being in my midsixties to have a bittersweet quality. I am excruciatingly aware of time passing. My memories illuminate my consciousness more than my dreams of the future.

Yet this is the time, this is the age, that Dylan Thomas wrote about: Rage, rage against the dying of the light. If it takes courage to grow older, this is the time to summon that courage. This is the time to be fearless, outspoken, to dance unabashedly at college reunions.

This is the time!

Right?

My mother, who is only seventeen years older than I, recently broke her hip, had surgery, and ended up in a rehabilitation center. Everyone there is kind to her; they are compassionate but insistent. There is a schedule, and you have to stick to it. Breakfast at 7:30 AM. Physical therapy at 9 AM, and so on and so on. If not for the Schedule, there would be institutional chaos, my mother has explained to me with more than a touch of sarcasm. Independence is gone. The ability to get up in the middle of the night and have ice cream is gone. She doesnt want to be a burden to the family, but she is terrified of being warehoused someplace where this becomes her life.

That hip fracture, that bout of pneumonia, those first hints of dementia, and the loss of independence are out there in the future. I get it. I dont dwell on it, but it sure makes me appreciate the now, it makes me defiantly want to dance at that college reunion in front of mortified college kids.

And it definitely keeps me on the fire department. In my own way, I want to be useful for as long as I can stretch it out, on as many late-night fires or middle-of-the-day wildfires as I can.