Falling into the Moment

By Bruce Hornak

Always moving forward, he learned many trades and lived in many places, making friends and finding love along the way, but as he got older, he returned to his roots to rediscover his family ties.

From playing drums in some sketchy corners of Mexico, through hopping freights across vast deserts, to seeing the world from 10,000 feet in his own plane, he repeatedly tempted fate with the confidence that he was never in danger. Time and again, he found himself in situations that could have ended in disaster, but they didn't—as if he had been saved. But for what?

He always believed his future had yet to be written. Where will he go next?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bruce Hornak
• Release date: May 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985818918

Book preview

Introduction

A

large percentage of the boomer population that came out of the ’50s and ’60s wanted to find a higher level of awareness after college before accepting family and career as their lifestyle choice. Several factors played a significant role in this goal. First, many men opposed the Viet Nam War but were conflicted about the meaning of patriotism and needed to understand the politics of their decision not to serve. Drugs served to break the social conditioning of obedience to the state and parental expectations. When used for the right reasons, drugs also provided a glimpse of what it was like to experience life in the moment.

Some Americans claimed to have achieved higher levels of awareness, without drugs, by following Eastern philosophical traditions. These traditions included eliminating the notions of profit and loss, learning non-attachment, learning to give without expecting a return and rejecting a work ethic whose motto was no pain, no gain. In addition, meditation taught the benefits of connected breathing and stopping the internal dialogue, the habit of regretting past experiences or suffering anxiety over the future.

I experienced all of these categories and worse when I had a nervous breakdown while drafting my thesis on The Relevance of Philosophy. This forced me to lower my expectations about what I could expect from life until I fully recovered. The recovery phase taught me the difference between living for being and living for doing. This book is about the challenges I have experienced and still experience balancing these two lifestyles.

My recovery period was shorter than I expected. Without a penny to my name, within a year, I moved to Oregon, started a construction company, and remodeled my first retail store in Ashland. With the proceeds, I bought a lot of woodworking tools and secured a place to live with a small shop. But it was not enough. I had veered off the path to achieving a higher level of awareness, devoting too much time to living for doing.

Around this time, I met someone who was a successful television news anchor who, like me, also pined for a higher level of awareness. Together, we decided to put our careers on hold and hop a freight to Mexico, searching for an Indigenous Indian shaman. This book goes into that adventure, what came after, and why I chose to return.

My last adventure that was devoted to living for being was in 1980. The 30 years since have been dedicated to living for doing. At age 72 and retired, I am on the verge of making a significant lifestyle change by taking a leap of faith to go back to living for being.

I always felt I had a future from my early 20s until my father passed away when I was 66. I didn’t know what my future would bring, but I could feel it was always there. Then, when my father passed away, that emotional feeling about my future disappeared. At first, I just figured I needed to regain my footing and find a new direction in my life. His care had all my attention for ten years, and suddenly that responsibility and focus were gone. It has been six years since my father passed away, and the feeling about my future has never returned, leaving me with a sense of mortality instead. 

This feeling of mortality could be because my father left me with enough money I no longer needed to worry about survival. I suspect many people who retire and no longer face job performance anxiety go through the same experience if they know their assets are adequate to last to the end of their lives. It’s as if our drive to succeed is what keeps us alive.

I decided to write this book because I wanted to articulate how my sense of the future had made me feel invincible, always wondering what my twists of fate were leading up to. An example of how this affects my decisions is when I think about riding my motorcycle. Instead of just getting on my bike and riding into the sunset, I calculate my risk percentage, which I would never have done before. But the second I swing my leg over the seat, my ambivalence disappears, and I can’t wait to pull out of the driveway. So which emotion is more accurate as it pertains to my fate?

If I take that leap of faith and live another 20 years, I will write another memoir to tell you what form that leap took and if it brought me closer to the moment.

Dedication

T

his book is dedicated to the many friends I grew to call family in Ashland, Oregon. In particular, I want to acknowledge John and Karen Darling. John for being one of the best adventure companions, who was there at the right time in my life, willing to drop everything to pursue the search for higher levels of awareness.

Karen for being emotionally supportive of John’s spiritual quests and helping fund some of our last projects. Her willingness to hold down the fort and be there for him whenever he would return is unusual and admirable.

Table of Contents

Introduction

Dedication

Part 1 Growing up

Chapter 1 The Way I Saw It

Part 2 South of the Border

Chapter 2 The Train

Chapter 3 Mazatlán

Chapter 4 Mexico City

Part 3 College

Chapter 5 Getting an Education & Avoiding the Draft

Part 4 Different Roads to Faith

Chapter 6 Breakdown

Chapter 7 Taking a Leap

Chapter 8 Privilege

Chapter 9 Out-of-Body Experience

Part 5 Oregon

Chapter 10 The Applegate

Chapter 11 Ashland

Chapter 12 The Craftsmen’s Guild

Part 6 Searching for Don Juan

Chapter 13 Leaving Ashland

Chapter 14 The Summit and Beyond

Chapter 15 Puerto Vallarta

Part 7 Back to the States

Chapter 16 Over the Border and Into Arizona

Chapter 17 On to Denver

Chapter 18 Back to the Desert

Chapter 19 Outside of Phoenix

Chapter 20 What Are the Odds?

Part 8 The Red Dust

Chapter 21 The Tepee

Chapter 22 Getting Serious

Chapter 23 Starting Over

Chapter 24 Rebirthing

Part 9 My Flying Experience

Chapter 25 Taking Off

Chapter 26 Flying with My Father

Chapter 27 Flying Solo

Chapter 28 Flying in Clouds

Chapter 29 Table Rock

Part 10 Back to California

Chapter 30 Old English Milling

Chapter 31 Tiger by the Tail

Chapter 32 Jackie

Chapter 33 The Digital Age

Chapter 34 HKH Group

Part 11 End of an Era

Chapter 35 My Parents

Part 12 What’s Next?

Chapter 36 Life after Dad

Part 1

Growing up

* Chapter 1 *

The Way I Saw It

I

had an unremarkable upbringing; I was the youngest of three, but not by much: only a couple of years separated us.

My self-esteem was under constant assault from my family and the education system. I was awkward physically and mentally. I was left-handed in a family of right-handers. I was dyslexic in a family of academic achievers. My dad was so clueless about who I was, the first baseball mitt he bought me was for a right-hander. I was not particularly good at sports; I was frequently the last guy chosen to be a part of a team. I was not photogenic because I did not know how to smile; I had little practice. When I tried, the best I could do was grimace. Unlike the rest of my family, my teeth were not uniform and straight, and until I got braces, I had an overbite. My mother used to say about our family photos, I was always mugged as if it was the photographer’s fault. I did not just have curly hair; it was frizzy as well. My dyslexia meant I did not do well in school, not as well as my siblings. When we would get our report cards in elementary school, my parents would reward us with money in exchange for good grades. I always ended up with almost nothing.

My mother was ambitious, wanting to make the most of her abilities, so she went back to school after the war. As soon as my brother and sister enrolled in kindergarten, she enrolled at a junior college, the same college I would attend 12 years later. While she was in school, various babysitters watched me, but when she was home studying, I was stuck at home with nothing to do and no one to play with. The world was changing, and my family was moving on without me. On the weekends, after breakfast, everyone would sit around and read the newspaper; my siblings had learned to read. I had not started school, so I was the odd one out. I learned early on I would have to find my own way outside my family.

Like many parents, mine began using approval as a cudgel. If you lived up to their expectations, they gave you approval; if not, they did not. Until we were about five or six years old, my brother Eric and I were close. He was not just my brother; he was my only friend for a while. But we both watched how our parents and the school system awarded academic achievement, and he saw that our relationship had to become zero-sum. He needed my parents’ approval more than whatever I had left to offer. What was worse, my mom thought he was not tough enough, so she enrolled him at a boxing gym, but before he started, my dad went to see the gym and pulled him out, fearing it was too violent for his age. But the damage had been done. My brother realized my mother disapproved of the way he was because she did not think he was macho enough. Soon, he started to use me to show her his strength and became her ally in her attempts to correct my behavior. He needed to prove to my mother he was not like me. He was smarter, more charming, tougher, and overnight, my best friend became a competitor in a rigged game.

The stakes increased when I enrolled in school, and my dyslexia showed its effects. I became the black sheep of the family. Even from an early age, I could see that my parents’ attempts at behavior modification were blatant and transparent. My response could only be indifferent since I could do nothing about it. My mother tried to raise the stakes not just by withholding approval but also by using intimidation and negativity. The more negative she became, the more I would pretend I did not care and continue to do whatever set her off. My siblings thought it easier to play the game and comply because they could. They could succeed in school and gain my parents’ approval; I had to learn to live with the consequences of underachieving, despite my parents hiring tutors to improve my schoolwork.

Junior high school was a blessing and a curse. Being able to enroll in courses dyslexia could not affect was transformative. My favorite class was Junior Orchestra, where I learned to play the drums. I excelled, and my parents finally cooperated by letting me buy a drum set and set it up in the living room so I could play along with records. Within a year, I was good enough to start playing with a popular band at school. We called ourselves The High Fives. My parents also had a piano in the living room, so the band would practice at our house. We soon played at bar mitzvahs and cocktail parties, which paid us good money. All the band members but me were Jewish, meaning they received a lot of money when they had their bar mitzvahs. When we turned 16, they all got cars so we could drive ourselves to our gigs. Finally, in music, I had found an activity that my parents praised me for, and they did not seem to mind the noise I made in the living room. My mother would say she enjoyed my drumming and the quality of the sound the band was able to produce, but it was more likely that they saw me doing something constructive and wanted to support it.

The other junior high school class I excelled in was Metal Shop. I had an affinity for welding, so my dad got me a gas welder. About half a dozen of my classmates had begun building mini-bikes, competing to see who could make a functional bike first. Some of my friends had a six-month lead, and they had gotten their bikes to the point they were riding them to school. But one after another, they all got ticketed by the police. I got a lot of components for my mini-bike for almost nothing. I never rode my bike to school, but I would sneak it out of the driveway almost every day after school and go for a ride.

On one occasion, about four or five of us who had made functional mini-bikes agreed to meet at midnight and ride together. Our mini-bikes were loud, as some did not have mufflers. To avoid identification, we all wore balaclavas. We were all the bad boys in school. Riding around in the middle of the night in a pack of like-minded angry juveniles was exhilarating. The noise we produced was like flipping the bird to every neighborhood we went through. I understood precisely why some bikers joined motorcycle gangs as I got older. If my parents had allowed me to buy a motorcycle, I might have done the same. But all my friends who bought bikes instead of cars eventually had accidents. Some were severely injured and had to give up riding. When I got my driver’s license, I