Healthy, Wealthy, Wise and Loved

By Hartley Stevens

A Refreshing Tale of Personal Discovery
Lonely, divorced and working a passionless job Matthew Braddock feels trapped in a meaningless life. With no foreseeable relief to a flabby, middle-class existence, he coasts through a daily routine, battling the gray monkey riding his back.
Then, chance meeting with Mason Twain, a scholar of life, offers hope.
Led by Mason and his cadre of ‘world-changers,’ Matthew suffers through the pain of naiveté, ignorance and indifference to discover his core desire: To be Healthy, Wealthy, Wise and Loved.

Alisa, the self-made fitness entrepreneur:
“People think about problems most of the time. Men think about women problems, women think about men problems, poor people think about money problems, rich people think about taxes and about the heavy burden poor people put on them. Everyone thinks about work, whether it’s too much or too little. So what do people become? They become the problems they think about. They attract other people who want to talk about those problems, and they repel people who are thinking up solutions to those problems.”

Jody, the multi-millionaire wealth guru:
“Money ain’t Wealth. Money is seed. Money, combined with ideas, is the plant. Money, with ideas, and a constant gardener, become fruit. Fruit that you can eat forever is wealth.”

Mason, the teacher genesis, the people-mover:
“Matthew, the meaning of life is... To search for meaning. There is no happily-ever-after. And, if there was and you got there, you would be bored and wonder what it all means.

Herman, the professor and ultra hip brew master:
“I’ve decided to be the best father, the best dad, on the planet. In order to do this I need to teach my kids to love thinking and I need for them to have other people to converse with and share ideas. I’m sick of standardized tests and too many games, too much internet and technology. I want my kids, and by that I mean my biological ones, but also a whole generation of kids that I consider my responsibility -- to think.”

Big Pete, the love doctor:
“Apologize to yourself, to the world, to nature, to God. Then Matt with real sincerity, and get this, you just do it. You just forgive yourself. You absolve yourself. You release, learn, and move the hell on.”

Tecie, the wounded war veteran:
“Drill Sergeant Weir, a hulking six-foot, six-inch, stone chiseled demon, followed the soldier-building system, which I later understood as the basic training, break down/build up formula. For almost two months with purple-faced, sincere rage he yelled in my face:
-You don’t know who you are
-You have no creed or code
-You are spoiled by mama and society at large
-You have no heart, your soul is weak and dormant
-Nobody cares how you feel
-Until now you have led a worthless life
-You are fat, slow and pathetically out of shape
-You don’t have any money or you wouldn’t be here
-You are naïve, simple and basically dumb as a hammer
-You are dirty inside and out
-Upward mobility for you would be busting rocks for the rest of your life
-God doesn’t exist. But if he did he would be ashamed of creating you.”

A three-month odyssey takes Matthew through a physical, mental, emotional and spiritual journey during which he applies the lessons he learns. On the other side isn’t happily-ever-after but it’s damn sure close to the right track.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hartley Stevens
• Release date: Jan 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781939927859

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

What do you want?

Matthew Braddock, stirring his coffee, paid little attention to what he thought he’d heard. The gray feeling consumed him. He’d been sitting at Starbucks—his afternoon haunt—for half an hour, maybe more. The coffee was cold. There was little left, yet he continued swirling the spoon in the big white cup.

What do you want?

Matthew looked up. A white mustache and matching hair framing a sun worn face peered down at him. There were craggy lines but they didn’t add up to old; they conveyed a question of stern concern. What? he asked.

What do you want?

Matthew clenched his jaw, shook his head. No, nothing—I’m fine.

The mustache pulled out a chair and sat down. Matthew rolled his eyes and slumped. Again the husky voice breathed, What do you want?

Matthew stiffened. Am I in your chair?

No.

Matthew looked around. They were the only two customers in the small Starbucks Café. Listen, I’m fine, I don’t want anything—but thanks for asking. He looked down into his cup and resumed stirring.

The mustache leaned back, crossed his legs, and sipped from his small white cup. He set the cup down and dabbed a clean napkin under the white brush. What do you want?

Matthew pushed back from the table and shook his head with a condescending, insincere smile. He stood, threw a dollar on the table, his hands up in exasperation, all while scrutinizing the stone blue eyes above the mustache. He turned, pushed the door and walked out, shaking his head.

* * *

Mid-afternoon the next day the gray feeling returned, darker now than when it began a year ago. As he’d been doing for weeks, he pushed away from his desk, walked out of the office, jammed his keys into the ignition and drove to the Starbucks Café.

Your regular? The kid with the tattoos and multiple piercings asked.

Matthew nodded and headed for his corner table. As he stirred cream—too much cream—into his coffee, he felt someone approach. He was back, the mustache. Matt held his hands up in a defensive gesture. No, listen I don’t want to be rude, but don’t bother me today.

The mustache, in a replay of the day before, pulled a chair out and sat down at Matthew’s table. Matthew decided to ignore him. After an interminable amount of time he looked at the man, shook his head, and sighed. He pushed back to stand.

The mustache patted the table with his long, knobby fingers and with a calm voice said, Matthew, I’m Mason, please stay.

You know my name? Matthew looked around the room exasperated; he interlaced his fingers and leaned forward resting his arms on the table.

The mustache mirrored his lean in and extended his hand. I’m Mason Twain, glad to meet you.

He hesitated, yet Matthew considered himself a polite man; he extended his hand. I’m Matt Braddock, but you seem to know who I am. You have me at a disadvantage.

The elder man smiled a little.

Matthew said, Why did you ask me that yesterday, in that particular way?

The man touched the side of his face and rubbed his fingers across day-old stubble. You are my assignment. I’ve been looking for you for almost a year.

Matthew looked confused and didn’t try to hide it. Assignment? he asked.

The man rubbed his hands together. My wife died ten years ago. At the end she gave me an assignment and I believe that you are that assignment.

Matthew shrugged his shoulders and squinted. What?

My wife was the best human I’ve ever known. She loved me and I lived to love her. She said that her favorite thing about me was that I always tried to be a better man, all the time, for the almost forty years that we were married. My favorite thing about her was that—she loved me. That kind of person, loving me the way she did, humbled me, made me want to be the best man I could be.

Matthew leaned back. I’m sorry for your loss. You need somebody to talk to?

Mason smiled that same little knowing smile, confident, no condescension. She said that I needed to serve, to serve someone. She said I would have to look, but when I found that someone to serve, I would know. She assigned me to serve that someone, and that someone is you.

Matthew stirred some more. Suppose I don’t want to be your assignment.

Good point. But you do.

How do you know?

Because I know what you want, and for that matter, so do you. You just don’t know how to get it. I do, and I will show you.

Why me?

You’re a good man and you want to be better. I’ve looked long and hard, and found there are a few good men, many of them your age, forty or so, who are searching for something. Thing is, many of them are falling into the ‘Mid-Life-Crisis’ baloney instead of continuing to be hungry. You are hungry, but you are dispirited.

Matthew stopped stirring. He was listening—hard. It was unsettling how accurately the mustache described him. Self-pity had been edging out persistence, a quality—no, the quality Matthew always used to describe himself. I don’t even know you.

Mason smiled, That will make it easier in the beginning, less personal. I’m going to be your coach, and the first thing we have to do is get you back in shape mentally, physically and emotionally. Your toughness will be tested. You will learn to trust me, but in the beginning all you have to do is trust yourself.

Trust myself Matt thought, you’ve got to be kidding. He had been feeling a need. He didn’t know for what, but that gray feeling was a fungus and it had been growing. I don’t know. You say you know what I want. You say that I know what I want. Well, I don’t know and I can’t imagine how you would know.

You do know. You’re just making it more complicated than it really is. Give me a shot here. If you could have anything, any object, feeling, skill, emotion or state of being, what would it be?

State of being! Matthew, frustrated, drew out the syllables. I—don’t—know.

Let me try it this way. How do you and most people finish this sentence? ‘Well, at least you have your’—blank.

Not in the mood for a quiz, Matthew sneered, Health, I guess.

Mason flashed that annoying little half smile. "See, you do know. Almost everyone wants to be healthy first. Health, real health, allows us to do everything else, to feel like doing everything else."

Matthew knew this made sense, but he wasn’t ready to buy in yet. He deflected, I am healthy.

Mason shook his head, You’re getting by, just like with everything else that brings that feeling you get.

Matthew was stunned. How did the old coot know about the gray? This sucked, but it was accurate.

Mason read the body language all over Matthew’s face. Matthew, trust your feelings—you know this is right. I’ll meet you here tomorrow after work. We’ll get started.

Matthew was already shaking his head. No, tomorrow’s no good, I can’t. I need time to think anyway.

Mason pushed his small cup into the center of the table. When is the best time to plant an oak tree?

What?

When is the best time to plant an oak tree?

I don’t know.

Twenty years ago.

What?

"When is the next best time to plant an oak tree?"

Matthew shook his head in exasperation. I don’t know.

Mason said, Today!

CHAPTER 2

Broken segments of thought shot through his mind much like the lighting now cracking the night sky. Crazy old man, coffee shop, he knows what I want, says I know what I want, crazy old man. I’m not going.

Stifling traffic suffocated him. He caught his reflection, his own eyes in the rearview mirror. I’ve got to get home. Home? What home? A lonely one bedroom apartment on the second floor surrounded by college students? That’s no way for a grown man to live.

As he walked up the stairs he felt the faint glow of the yellow-brown mosquito light next to his door. Moments before he needed to be at this door, some sanctuary; now it only invited the gray.

Same, same, same. The door, he pushed with his toe. Same. He dropped his bag and walked to the refrigerator. A jar of mustard, a broken twelve-pack, yesterday’s Chinese.

He looked at the chair, holding the TV remote in one hand, and a can from the twelve-pack. Same.

Crazy old man, coffee shop, he knows what I want, says I know what I want, crazy old man. I’m not going. I just won’t show up.

He thought about that uncomfortable conversation while he lay in bed. I don’t want to go. But I’ve got to take a shot at a better life. He decided to sleep, but all he could do was replay that conversation.

An hour later he threw back the covers in frustration, went to the closet and pulled down his dusty gym bag. Standing in the dim light of the closet he rummaged around and found the musty workout clothes and stuffed them into his bag.

* * *

At work the next afternoon the gray monkey climbed his bent back. Matthew shook himself. He washed his hands again. It was the third time in the last hour he had visited the bathroom.

The end of the workday and he was in his truck. He drove past his former sanctuary, the Starbucks Café. A mile down the road he banged the steering wheel and turned the truck around.

When he walked into his Starbucks, he saw Mason sitting at that same corner table. He wasn’t alone. Mason stood, smiled, and shook Matthew’s hand. Matthew made contact then looked at the other person who was extending a hand. She looked strong, not in a look at me way, but in a way that conveyed confidence and joy. She had a big smile framed by thick auburn hair. Her arms were taut, yet feminine. Mason said, Matthew, meet Alisa.

Matthew nodded, Alisa.

Alisa is going to be your coach. She’s going to help you get back in shape physically.

Matthew felt both out of control and intimidated. I thought the old man was going to coach me. Look at her. What the … look at her!

Sensing this, she smiled, warming up the moment. Nice to meet you, Matthew.

Okay, I—you can just call me Matt.

Mason stood and wiped off his side of the table with a napkin. I’ll meet you back here in three weeks.

Mason … what … three weeks?

Mason tossed the napkin in a nearby trash can. "Don’t make it more complicated than it is. Listen to Alisa, do what she says. Getting going will be tough, but you are tough, and she is going to make you tougher; she’s going to make you proud of yourself, proud of your health." With that Mason nodded and walked out the door.

Matthew watched Mason leave then slowly turned to see smiling hazel eyes. Alisa reached for a stack of ‘tall’ paper coffee cups with the prominent Starbucks label sitting on a nearby table. She unstacked them, eight in a line. She grabbed a pitcher of water and filled all eight cups with the water. First lesson is water. Water, is the single most important part of being healthy. This is the minimum amount that you should drink every day. How much do you drink now?

Matthew looked at the cups. It seemed like a lot of water. What the hell is going on here? Am I a four-year-old? But look at those eyes … I don’t know, probably not that much unless you count what’s in the coffee, tea and soda I drink.

Alisa nodded a knowing smile. That’s normal, and we do love coffee, don’t we? Peaches are half water, melons more so. That said, on average, you still need to follow that long ago elementary advice. Drink eight, eights a day. Eight eight-ounce cups each day.

Matthew was curious. Why is water so important, why do you mention it first?

She pushed one of the cups over in front of Matthew. "Good question.

"Water is one of, if not the most essential element of good health. Water:

- is necessary for the digestion and absorption of food,

- helps maintain proper muscle tone,

- supplies oxygen and nutrients to the cells,

- rids the body of wastes,

- serves as a natural air conditioning system,

- suppresses appetite, and

- helps the body metabolize fat,"

Matthew shrugged, And I don’t drink enough. So …?

"All of those processes slow down, struggle. Dehydration stresses your body