By Matthew Vanderford
Lately I’ve been bored. Not bored in the sense that one might imagine, because there’s always something to do, always something to create, always something new to see. But perhaps that’s why I’ve been bored. Bored of trying to come up with unique ways to speak about insurance and weave those thoughts, images and ideas into bite-size tangible pieces for anyone to read. And not just read, but perhaps even find something of use. Something that may help someone else who may be facing challenges. Challenges we all face as we find ourselves in this existence, hurling 1,000 mph through space floating on a rock. Amazing really. Isn’t it? Floating on a rock. Somewhere deep in space without a clue of what may be actually coming down this cosmic pike.
See, this is me. Matthew. Public Adjuster. Ex-husband. Father. Son. Brother. Neighbor. Someone just like you floating on this rock, entered into this world through painful cries while exiting the birth canal. Cries of a mother whose life holds still on the precipice of disaster, hoping, pushing, urging new life to come forth in joy. The joy of this new being, long hoped for. Or not. I’m continually learning that one should never assume anything. Not at all. Not in the slightest.
And that’s why I love what I do. I love to help people who assume they’re out of luck, or don’t have a chance against The Machine because they’ve seen what The Machine has done to others — leaving neighbors and friends helpless and homeless on the streets after a good disaster like Matthew, Hermine, Irma, Michael and Sally. Disasters that shift lives forever. Leaving folks forever changed in some way. Because you’re never really the same after something like that. Neighborhoods change. Forests and beach sides change. Animals change. To think that we don’t change is something to be examined. In the wake of any aftermath, we have the opportunity to take stock and examine ourselves. Perhaps see with a new lens something that wasn’t so easily noticed. Perhaps even taking the blinders off to see for the first time.
That’s what Michael did for me. Completely shredded everything, leaving nothing but hope to rebuild on. Because when all is lost, hope is all you have. Because hope comes from within – just like joy. And it’s hard to find sometimes. Believe me. I know. It’s hard to find hope when you’re taking a walk to jump off a bridge. Or staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, thinking, “If this doesn’t work, I’ll be a vegetable in the hands of those I wanted to escape.”
And that’s what being a Public Adjuster is all about. Helping others see there is light at the end of the tunnel. There is a way out. A way around. Hope. Hope to challenge The Machine and demonstrate why they need to be taken care of. Indemnified. Made whole. Like it never even happened. Hope to continue dreaming. And living.
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