Artisan Of The Human Spirit

I hate resolutions.

2011-12-29T18:37:00.000-05:00

I hate resolutions. I really do. I do not like that there is a time so shortly after my overindulgence in practically every one of my vices that I have to cease and desist simply because the calendar has reached its’ last page. I know–after testing the stretch-ability of the middle of my favorite sweaters it may be time to put down the cheesecake for a while, but to simply profess I will stop doing something for ever...for ever-ever is simply ludicrous. Nothing I ever “resolved” to do stuck. At least not because I tried on New Year’s Eve. It takes something more for me. It also has nothing to do with my calendar.

I remember many things that I humbly and most feebly tried to end with the beginning of a new year. Most of these ended shamefully by me resuming whatever habit, yet now accompanied by a heavy dose of guilt and shame. Neither are strong motivators for me personally. Most of the important things that needed to go sloughed off on their own time and through what I only feel is divine happenstance. It took a larger nudge than a ball dropping and Dick Clark for some of the other back-monkeys.

I tried to quit smoking in the past. A lot. Many times. To no avail. I took the loss of my grandfather to lung cancer. I never saw him with a cigarette. Ever. (Haven’t touched one since ’86.)

I tried to quit drugs and other self-destructive behaviors. I took a loving (but firm) intervention, a trip to “Camp Cleanupyouract” and the potential loss of all I held dear to set down that bagage. (Haven’t gone back to that either.)

I resolved to get financially stable. Lost it all.

I tried to diet. I got fatter.

I tried to get stronger. I got weaker.

I tried to succeed. I avoided the challenges necessary to get me there.

You win some, you lose some. I try to keep my batting average high.

I no longer “resolve” on New Year’s Eve, nor do I give a rat’s patoot about the obligatory professions of strength that are required to help me overcome what I should be tending to all year long. It is hard enough to mourn the loss of peanut brittle for another year without resisting everything else that brings me joy, harmful or not.

Nowadays, I simply try to find a blanketing “concept” or category (health, finances, spirituality, relationships, etc.) that will serve me to improve. I also give myself a year (ish) to complete it. I also forgive my shortcomings. I will look back at the end of the year and fish out the accomplishments to be met with a well-deserved “atta-boy”, and put the missed goals back on the laundry list.

I also realize that if a problem or issue crops up on July 17th, I do not have to wait until January to throw it on the docket for improvement.

Again, I win some, and I lose some. I just want to keep it in the black.

I guess for the upcoming year, I have a few things I would like to see change. Some renovations in my life. Hopefully, some good stuff coming down the pipe. I don’t know if I will start on them next week, or come spring. Maybe they will slip through my grasp. But still, I guess these things are about as close to a resolution I may get: (Don't hold me to them, okay - hold me to them.)

• After trying extensively to no avail, I resign myself to the fact that I am going to have to get a job that will require me to say, “Would you like fries with that?” (At least until I graduate.)

• I am also going to have to do what it takes to lower my cholesterol, stop making old man noises when I bend over, and not need a nap just because I took out the trash. Time to lose some weight and get in shape. Dimmer switches can also only do so much.

• I got a 4.0 on my first quarter of school. I am going to do it again. And again.

• I am going to try to become a husband that my wife is not only proud of, but will want to brag about. This may take the full year. (I know she's gonna want me to toss my "dad jeans.")

• I am calm, cool, and collected in the event of an emergency and the big stuff. I can be an asshole when there is a Lego missing from the project. I need to get a wrangle on that.

• I want to make more magic for people I encounter. I don’t know what that is. I just know that would be cool.

* I want to continue to help those who need someone to talk to. I want to clone and expand that as well.

• I am not sure what it is. I know I will find it. But I want this year to be the year that I can say, “Yep, that was the year my life took off.” (And whatever it is, has enough room for everyone.)

• I’ve got some home improvements I need to get done. Dollar willing.

• I want to cook more, and grow more of my own food. I love cooking for people.

• I also want to continue to grow as a father. I grow as they grow.

These may come quickly or slowly. I have been working on some for a while. It doesn’t take a new year to remind me that many of these needs tended to, nor are they forgotten down the road as my efforts wane or challenges increase somewhere around March. I hope if you yearn for health, money, love, happiness, or abundance you receive it. Maybe your desires fall on a more spiritual plane, and with that, I support you as well. I just found it best to keep on, keepin’ on year ‘round, and for me–my resolution is to make no resolutions.

If you don't mind sharing, do you have any resolutions for 2012?

Hope and Faith

2011-11-13T11:43:00.002-05:00

You would think I may come back after a break with something less cliché than this. I mean really. The reason for my hiatus from writing–the passion for it was sucked out of me by learning “how to write.”

I had decided to go back to school and get a degree. It is in mental health and addiction studies. I find both fascinating to be honest. The downside is that with any degree there are certain areas of study that accompany the subjects that pertain to your chosen endeavor. Aside from Psychology (love it), I had to take Algebra (surprisingly, enjoyed it immensely), and English Composition (my current nemesis.)

I love to write. What I have found is I love to write for me. Then I love to quietly share a bit of my thoughts with people and the only grade I may get is a “like” or a brief comment on Facebook. I find I could give a rat’s patoot what the Modern Language Association feels I “should” have done. It’s like being corrected when you sing in the shower.

But I digress... (This line would be considered unacceptable in MLA, but screw ‘em, it’s my blog.)

I guess with my recent schooling endeavor, I have also had other things going on in my life, both personal, business, and through other random things I have a tendency to get myself into. Through all these I have had high hopes of what I deeply wish would transpire. Hope...I have had and lost a substantial amount of it in my life.

I often find myself trying to write the ending to a script for a movie in which I am only an actor. I hope things will turn out the way I planned. I hope the money comes through. I hope the grades are there. I hope everyone stays healthy. I hope, I hope, I hope.

Hope is locking focus on a desired outcome and securing it in your core that it will manifest. Hope is often tossed about like throwing corn to chickens when faced with adversity. Hope is a desire to see beyond the current trials and settling on recognition that this too shall pass.

However hope alone falls short. Hope in solo is shouldering a burden alone. Hope is often diminished by a sense of overwhelm when the obstacles step over the threshold of what we can grasp or handle.

To me hope is like prayer in some ways. It must start with internal reflection, but most importantly it must be released. This is where faith comes in.

Faith is belief without seeing. Faith is a comfort in feeling deeply that there is something beyond ourselves at work. Faith is a peace that comes from a belief that things are the way they are now because that is how they should be. Faith is accepting and faith is allowing.

Faith is also the creation of a relationship with the intangible. Faith allows us to connect with the things we feel as well as the things we see. Faith is a humble request to dance with the divine...

Faith is also a lesson in patience. The things we hope for must be faithfully placed in the proper hands of the capable, and then we must try to be patient as our answers are delivered. Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes we are thrilled. We must still have faith and patience to realize somewhere down the line it will all make sense. It is what it is, and that’s okay.

Hope and faith in swirling unison. (Another MLA taboo sentence.)

I guess my return was prompted by seeing a relatively high amount of struggles recently in the lives of those I encounter. All of these in varying degree. Myself included in some ways. I guess my advice to myself and the others is to have a little hope, and have a little faith. (And not the stupid TV sitcom.)

As I have been reminded recently, I am a student of writing as well as a student of life. Both present challenges but the latter doesn’t offer a grade. I do believe we are held accountable for what we learn in “class” and how we apply it.

I do hope I get a good “grade”. I have faith I will be okay. MLA be damned.

There's never nothing going on

2011-08-27T21:32:00.000-04:00

Ever been on a break? Whether selected or imposed, I have been on a few. From events over the past year to ones recently I have found that perceptively things have been quiet–real quiet. In my life I find when I am inspired, I will take a moment to digest and reflect and then put pen to paper (or finger to plastic) and counsel myself with what I have gained. Not so much lately. It seemed like life took an intermission.

I would frequently log onto my blog page, wait for some inspiration, shake my head and say “nah”, and move on to other meaningless online diversions. It lies somewhere between boredom and having nothing worthwhile to say. Worse yet, that no one listens or no one cares.

It also became interesting–frightening at times that it seemed the messages stopped. I would find I would squint with furrowed brow trying to connect–it was like I had an old radio and was listening to the static waiting for a broken hello. Nothing.

Inspiration seemed to go “off the air”. Okay, maybe that is harsh–but at least like television in summer when all you had to watch were re-runs.

Don’t get me wrong. Just because the universe, nature, and God above don’t appear before me in a dog and pony show, I do not become ungrateful. Things just slowed down–like a long drive on cruise control.

Therein lies the lesson.

There is never nothing going on.

I find for me at times I must release the pedal and set my speed on cruise to get a reminder of the things that surround me continually. It is by slowing down that I get another chance to find the glory in the mundane.

By taking some of the same routes at different speeds–without the pressure of waiting for the “golden ah-ha’s”, I find that some of these lie within my own backyard. It is also these little awakenings that connect the big ones. The big ones simply remind us to remember the small ones.

I just returned from a bike ride at dusk with my son. We took a different route and ended up at the coffee shop where I secured a fresh pound of fresh ground. Nothing like the aroma of your favorite blend. I inhaled deeply and smiled.

The cool breeze from nature and gentle humming from my son accompanied me as we took the long way home. The long way via the counter of our favorite frozen custard shop. We passed my daughter’s friends on their bikes. Well-mannered hellos were exchanged. Dusk, crickets, and the breeze in the trees. Your neighborhood changes dramatically at various times of the day. Each more glorious than the next.

“Did you have fun buddy?” I asked as we pulled into the garage to park our bikes.

An enthusiastic, “Yeah!!” was the reply.

There’s never nothing going on. Maybe I just need to set my speed on cruise control–or maybe hop on my bike. Perhaps it’s all God’s way of saying slow down and smell the coffee.

In Hindsight

2011-08-03T10:13:00.000-04:00

I realize the effort to defend my ego is a lot bigger than the effort to simply keep quiet. I also find that in either case, I can be equally incorrect.

I have found that when in my younger years, if someone said, “Here, try this”–and it was not a yummy treat, it probably was not in my best interest.

Every challenge always pays off– Always. You just have to realize that in hindsight.

The things I thought made me feel cool then, often make me feel silly now.

I would have never gotten that perm if I could have seen my senior picture beforehand. (See previous.)

Some of your best friendships do not end–they go into hibernation.

Whatever people feel they need to take drugs for can be achieved without them.

The best title I have ever held is “Daddy.” (And that it took my wife to achieve this title–and still does.)

Upon reflection, when we say we were “born this way”– that should only pertain to the good stuff. The rest we learned.

Being a loser is someone else’s opinion that I do not have to agree with.

I can understand and be compassionate to something without agreeing with it.

Kids and golf can be the most fun you will ever have being pissed off.

God would never forsake me, I would forsake God. (God waited for my return.)

It is okay to love someone and they not love you back–just don’t do it on their property after dark.

I should have listened more to what I didn’t want to listen to.

I also should have kept my mouth shut a lot more.

Most of the worst stuff I feared I created. (Often it would never arrive.)

I see that most of the stuff that I spent most of my time trying to get; I no longer have, and no longer need.

I also see that most of what I ever needed was always there, I was too busy looking in the wrong places.

Wounds heal.

Love returns. (Not that it ever really goes away.)

You can’t be totally present always looking back in hindsight.

In the blink of an eye

2011-07-24T16:00:00.000-04:00

She was only having fun–or so she thought. That is what young people are supposed to do. The fun turned to an obsession beckoning her to feed the hunger that grew within her. Once social and now insatiable she found herself succumbing to its continual call. With promiscuity and sacrifice of morals and self-esteem she found that she now looked at the self she once knew–diminishing in size as she peered upon herself in the rear-view. She can’t be pregnant, she thought. The little plastic stick told her otherwise. She opted not to be a mother. The guilt and the grief changed her–transformed her. She would have been alone anyhow. She is now alone–and hates herself as she grieves the death of the promise she once held as well as her unborn child. It happened in the blink of an eye.

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He loved her. She loved him. They started a family. Then their family grew. He dedicated himself to the vision. Her vision shifted into a wandering eye. He was told over breakfast. Feeling like the old car left behind on the lot watching the once proud owner in a new model, he sat in shock. It was not just the idea of going from an “us” to a “me”, it was that it seemed easy for her. He wondered what he must have become to make her who she had become. He became angry. He felt guilty. He felt lonely. No one is supposed to change the script while you sit and watch the movie. It just isn’t fair. From playing in the yard with the kids to sitting in the yard waiting for their arrival for your turn for a paltry couple of hours, it all seemed like a cruel joke, and he was the punch line. It happened in the blink of an eye.

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She held his hand through it all–the illness both acquired and self-imposed. She was the rock. Once we get through this, everything will be the way it was supposed to be. We will try again for another child. Maybe the first time was God’s way of saying, “not now.” He had trouble finding himself, but ironically his erratic behavior was a constant reminder he was always right there–a challenge to himself, and more so a challenge of her love. But she did love him. The vow I took said “for better or worse, and sickness and in health.” This was the worse, and this was the sickness. She went to the appointments. She held his hand. She nurtures him on the mend. Then one day he left her. He took his pain, and left enough behind for her. He just didn’t leave an answer to the question, “why?” It happened in the blink of an eye.

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He had it all. Good pay, promise of a future, all the perks of one who entered into the family business. That is how he met his wife. Yet another perk. He saw the world. He appeared before the masses to small levels of acclaim. He desired more. He mistook the demon of narcissism as its friendly counterpart competition. The demon invited entitlement. The demon invited apathy. The demon invited fear. And they invited addiction. Gone was the career. Gone were the perks. Gone was the business. Gone was the sense of self-worth. Some of the family also went by the way of the perks and the business. It seems a long way from the top to the bottom. However you can indeed find the trip from summit to the valley below can happen in the blink of an eye.
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In the blink of an eye.

It is these “blinks”, both the good and the bad that are like the flickering frames in a movie. These individual moments that string together to provide us with the script that becomes our life. I have found that these types of episodes are the catalysts for transformation. As the eye closes to bring an end to one image, so must it open to start a new one. The process will repeat.

The injustice appears in the form of someone or something changing or stopping the story we were so enjoying. After loss or in grieving we reflect on the way things should have been, could have been, or would have been. How dare someone or something change the channel in the middle of our favorite movie? But this is also where our recovery will begin.

As the negative story can shift in the blink of an eye, so can our healing. The previous is tangible proof that all things can change rapidly. Our insurmountable odds become manageable as fast as they eroded beneath our feet. It is through our ability to “allow” these things to occur where the transformation shifts from our loss to the blessings of what we had when we had them. We also now have space in our empty hearts and empty hands for what is yet to come. Patience is all one needs.

As when we find ourselves in the middle of a movie, and our favorite character is killed, or turns evil, or the plot twists away from our comfort levels, often we do not find that we simply curse, stand, and leave the theatre. We may curse perhaps, but we remain. We stay fixed on what is unfolding, and allow it to continue. This is not to say we endorse it or subscribe to it–but we allow it none-the less. This is because we have faith that the reasons will be revealed. We will find out in time, the lesson behind the chaos. The payoff eventually comes.

Life is a lot like this. Plot twists abound. Our favorite components are removed, replaced, or transmuted into something we do not understand. By not shouldering the burden of retribution and justice seeking, I am able to realize that often there are forces more qualified than myself at work, and justice is indeed served, and the payoff presented to the worthy. I have found also that everything, and I do mean everything, does eventually provide for me the payoff of justice, wisdom, patience, or the ability to spare others a similar pain.

As personal challenges can truly occur in the blink of an eye, so can healing. Sometimes through this interruption of our movie–allowance and patience is simply God’s way of saying, “sit down, shut up, and eat your popcorn.”

(These scenarios are to prove a point and do not reflect anyone's personal story. Well maybe one.)

It is during the "right now's"...

2011-07-10T13:16:00.000-04:00

It is during the “right now’s” that I find my greatest gifts. Upon this realization, I lament at the many, many “right now’s” I have let slip through my fingertips. These “right now’s” are moments of gratitude–moments where I realize I am blessed beyond my current deserving–fleeting moments to be cherished.

I find the benevolent, vivid, and enduring gifts available to me when I release yesterday and stop reaching for tomorrow. It is in this state of presence my breath is taken away from me. I am also grateful to realize that it is simply my receptiveness and continual desire for awareness of these “right now’s” that will change my life from having them solely punctuate my life, to harmoniously string them together like notes in one continual glorious song.

It was during a “right now” that I was able to glance to my right. My convertible top was down and the sun was shining. I watched my beautiful daughter fumble to place the Shasta daisy I picked for her behind her ear as the wind tousled her hair with a lively dance. It was “right now” I realized she was no longer my baby. It was “right now” I realized she will always be my baby. Her silhouette is still as angelic as when I held her as an infant.

It was during a “right now” I released my urgency to be anywhere in particular. I decided to stroll into one of those shops–you know the ones you always pass by and wonder what the heck they sell and how they stay in business. It was in this store that had thousands of my life’s artifacts. Not mine personally, but antique and old objects from a time I have long since left in my rear-view mirror. I saw the cup I drank out of when I was a child. The cup that held jelly in our fridge before it was housed in our cupboard. I saw the tacky clock from above our couch. I stood in my childhood kitchen again. For a moment I stood in my childhood again.

It was during a “right now” I remembered what it was like to feel grass under a blanket. It was during a “right now” I realized a picnic with a loved one takes only minutes to plan, and even less time to get somewhere suitable. Something about sitting next to your food on a blanket and trying to keep ants out of it rivals the finest dining. A mosaic of dancing sunbeams that struggle to find you through the branches is the only ambience one needs. You are never too old to wipe watermelon juice off your chin.

It was during a “right now” that I realized that there is something divine about a group of close friends breaking bread together. I find for myself that there is something simply wonderful about sharing a meal. I also enjoy noticing that my wife still laughs at my jokes. I appreciate it is often the dynamic of the group setting that lifts the veil of the mundane and adds spark and levity to the conversation. I also enjoy confirming how much we are all really alike in many ways. We still love each other despite our differences.

It was during a “right now” that I was joined by a friend on my backyard swing. It was my friend who called my attention to the cicada’s song which seems an essential part of summer. She also shared her love of the sound of lawn sprinklers. I listened. I agree. There is nothing like a swing and a friend to unfurl the sail of a “right now” moment.

It was during a “right now” that I shared the moon with my daughter. She shared a star with me. Then she shared another. I found that I am still awestruck by the glory of the canopy of the heaven that is above me. I am still awestruck by the “right now’s” available to me.

The “right now’s” I shared are simply my yesterday–a regular, yet extraordinary day. Placed in the context of an unappreciative eye and hollow heart, these moments could have slipped by unnoticed. It is my strong conviction that the quality of our life is weighted heavily by the emphasis on the attention we give to our “right now’s.”

Right now I leave you and I to go explore our own “right now’s.”

What I've come to realize...

2011-06-29T22:52:00.000-04:00

In recent times I have endured some very trying issues. Life has taught me much. I have found out a lot about myself, others, and the world I live in. These circumstances have provided me with random insights. My eyes have been opened. These are things I have come to realize. Maybe you will agree, maybe not. I realize that is okay.

• There is exhilaration in following your passion. There is also loneliness.

• I am often given opinions by people who could stand to follow their own advice.

• We must give up hope of a better yesterday.

• People yell a lot at things that do not hear them.

• Everyone is a dimmer switch away from being a “10”.

• I always seem to get exactly what I need, even if what I need is not of my own construct.

• No matter how hard I try to the contrary, someone will think I am an asshole.

• Money does not buy happiness, but it does put gas in the tank.

• I realize I am much more powerful in ways I never knew.

• I realize I am much weaker in ways I never knew.

• I don’t like when the answer to my prayers is “no”.

• Writing allows me to travel the world and live forever.

• The people who often push my buttons are the only ones who know me well enough to do so.

• I am frustrated that they can make smoke free cigarettes, but there is no cholesterol free bacon.

• I always get caught when I dance like no one is watching.

• Some people should be ashamed of the things they do in the name of God.

• Everybody is addicted to something.

• Many people live in fear that others will make them feel “different.”

• The truth is we are all so much alike.

• Beauty is only skin deep. Fat is just deep skin.

• I spend a lot of time talking myself back into liking myself again.

• When you have kids, your backseat will smell funny.

• People in the small dilapidated houses are just as happy as the people in the fancy homes.

• God doesn’t care where you sit when you talk to Him.

• Sometimes we have to love people from a distance.

• Being alone and being lonely are two different things.

• Your past circumstances have nothing to do with your present identity.

• Our net-worth has nothing to do with our self-worth.

• Captain Crunch does cut the roof of your mouth so quit saying it doesn’t.

• Naked people shouldn’t crouch.

• You can’t make a “gratitude list.” You should hope you are on gratitude’s list–it finds you.

• Wanna feel like royalty? Make your kids homemade ice cream.

• People do not do enough of the stuff that made them happy as children.

• If our enemies had puppy breath we’d all get along better.

• I hope retirement doesn’t feel like unemployment.

• True friends will allow someone to call them after not speaking for years and ask a favor.

• It is okay to cry in your car–just dry up before the red lights.

• I wish I were rich enough to be a philanthropist, so I could give it all away.

• I wish I knew a philanthropist right now.

• The greatest things I learned were not in a school.

• The closest I have felt to God was not in a church.

• The richest I have ever felt was when I had no money.

• I am thankful. I am grateful. I am blessed.

If it bleeds it leads

2011-06-17T09:32:00.000-04:00

From my days in television (on the absolute periphery of the line up) I would hear this phrase come up from time-to-time. It refers to the hierarchy of a news program line-up. This means that no matter the content scheduled for air, if even at the last minute, a story that has “blood” (or harm, or an accident, or murder) it is bumped to kick off the program as the “attention grabber.” It captures the interest of the viewing public.

The reason I have time to write is I decided to excuse myself from the morning news show to come to my “fortress of solitude.” After watching a handful of minutes that highlighted adultery of a public official, a mother who murdered her child, environmental disaster, financial disaster, overthrown governments, airstrikes from NATO, as I waited for the piece on helping out a charity that needed it, I became deflated and depleted.

Now I do not sit back and look at the world through dream catchers in a room filled with incense and wind chimes. I get the world I live in. I respect and am aware of the current situation of our planet. I do see that it can be likened to someone grabbing the loose string of yarn on a sweater and then running away as fast as they can to see it unravel exposing your naked self. We need to get out the knitting needles.

I just found myself asking: “What is so compelling?” I guess I want to know how many updates we need on the same stories. How much attention do we donate to the same drudgery and debauchery? Why do we find ways to tell the same story from a hundred viewpoints? Why do we need to interview the next door neighbor’s cat to find their viewpoint on the neighborhood crime?

I just wonder where we transitioned into baby birds with mouths agape waiting for the next regurgitated serving of drivel. I am totally fine with being informed. I am also okay with an update on a situation. I just find it hard that recently my cell phone flashed an update of how a father crushed his newborn with a cinder block. I wish we had ways to alter the flow of what gets in.

*Exhale* (Puts away soap box.)

I guess it is just another case of “feed the dog what the dog wants to eat.” We are all to blame collectively, as well as we are all praise-worthy of the efforts we make to do our part in the clean-up. I guess at times it would just be nice to wake up and hear the news anchors say, “It’s all good, everything’s cool, go back to bed for an hour!”

Side Note! - This song made famous back-in-the-proverbial-day by Anne Murray kind of says it all. It is called "A Little Good News" by Anne Murray here sung in tandem with the Indigo Girls. I encourage you to give it a listen paying attention to the lyrics. Enjoy!

Taps

2011-05-30T09:20:00.002-04:00

We have all heard the haunting song "Taps". It's the song that gives us that lump in our throats and usually creates tears in our eyes. But do you know the story behind the song?

If not, I think you will be pleased to find out about its humble beginnings. Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when the Union Army Captain Robert Elicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land.

During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay in the middle of the battlefield. Without knowing if he was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention.

Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment. When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead.

The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier. It was his son. The boy had been studying music in the south when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the Confederate army.

The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted. The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. The request was tunred down since the soldier was Confederate. But out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him one musician. The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform. The wish was granted. The haunting melody we now know as "Taps", used at military funerals, was born.

Day is done

Gone the sun

From the lakes

From the hills

From the sky.

All is well,

Safely rest.

God is nigh.

Fading light

Dims the sight

And a star

Gems the sky,

Gleaming bright

From afar,

Drawing nigh,

Falls the night.

Thanks and praise,

For our days,

Neath the sun,

Neath the stars,

Neath the sky.

As we go,

This we know.

God is nigh.

I too have felt the chills while listening to "Taps" but I have never seen all the words to the song until now. I didn't even know there was more than one verse. I also never knew the story behind the song and I didn't know if you had either, so I thought I'd pass it along.

* This was in our church bulletin this past Sunday. (Prepared by Pastor Dr. Art Haimerl) I hope you enjoyed it as much as I.

HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY!

Versus

2011-05-22T19:10:00.000-04:00

A bit of fortune had found me as I arrived at my destination early. I was testing the boundaries of quantum physics at attempting to be at many places at one time. I sir or madam, am a sports parent.

After performing a perfect drop at a baseball game, then dashing to get my other to a soccer game to then meet up someplace else a few moments later, I unfolded my weathered nylon chair and assumed my position at the sidelines of the soccer field.

My daughter trotted off to meet her teammates off to the side as the other team was still engaged in their own game currently on the field. I was not aware that the typical protocol of conduct was to stand back and wait your turn to unfold your foldable chair along the sideline until the prior team has departed or at least until the game was concluded. I mean I was ealry for crying out loud. That should allow for something. I sat oblivious in the sunshine.

I did not know who was playing. I knew no one nor the team names, rankings, or favorites. I simply watched. Both teams were impressive for the young men were of approximate middle school age and played like champs. Since I was not attached to either team, I enjoyed every moment. I also noticed that my heart rate was stable as I simply enjoyed what I was in the presence of. I couldn’t label any play as “good or bad” as I was rooting for no one in particular. To me it was “X” versus “Y”.

I then pondered how I may be able to learn from this. I like my lessons obscure. I wondered how life may be a bit more tolerable if we were not so attached to a “side”, or an opinion, or an identity. I wondered, “Could I live without the 'versus' in my life?” I also wondered how I may be able to spend more time simply observing–living without attachment to the “score” that I may gain greater serenity and perhaps lowered stress and blood pressure–a tall order indeed.

I recalled then a glorious day from my past. I asked my then eighty three year-old grandmother to go play golf. My grandfather had passed away and she lived alone alongside a small town golf course. He was a one-time club champion that had a love-affair with the sport–she, a petite woman of small stature a competent golfer as well.

I remembered as his cancer was taking the final shreds of his memory; he was peering out his living room picture window that overlooked the town golf course. He stated longingly, “I wish I could get back out and play a round of...” He forgot what it was called. Cancer turned out the lights on the last of his favorite memories. The game was called “golf” dear sir.

My grandmother and I met on a sunny morning in the cart that belonged to my grandfather. My octogenarian grandmother, I called her Grandmama, slowly asserted her way to the tee. She methodically went through the motions like a champ preparing her shot. With smooth yet feeble grace she raised the club until it rested back on her shoulder. She yanked it down using her shoulder as a lever until the club connected with the ball propelling it a straight and smooth hundred yards or so. I tried to impress her and shanked it about two hundred yards into the woods off to the right. I took a drop by hers.

I offered that we tear up the score card and just chat. I learned she was an artist. I heard of her young life. We shared precious company. I listened as she spoke of Granddaddy. I miss him. I heard things that I may not have heard as well if I were so worried about the score–about how I would turn out at the end of the game. I miss her also. She passed as the nasty of nasties got her too. She left me with the gift of a memory I won’t soon forget.

As my stroll down memory lane was disturbed by the screams, taunts, and bellers from the parents flanking me yelling at or for one of the players in front of me, I became thankful for another moment I could live without the score card. I was reminded of the importance of the practice of being the observer.

By allowing and observing I find I am lesser of a victim of random circumstances as I once thought I was. People do not pull out in front of me in traffic to beat me to where I am going. I am not living without some things that I desire because others “beat” me to it. They were more adept, and it was simply not my turn yet. I am not always in the Super Bowl with me versus them. It is okay to watch without labels and opinions.

I love the thrill of a good competition as much as the next guy. I truly do. But I realize that I must try to remain aware of when there is no match, game, or competition. I must remain aware when it is okay to simply tear up the score card and try to enjoy the sport. I must try to seek out times to relax in a place where I can root for all the players playing. I will try to treat more people like my son’s baseball coach and look for the ways I can express “great job”, “nice play”, “good catch”, even when the out puts someone on the bench.

So if you see a guy sitting on the sidelines smiling, nodding in approval, or cheering on your efforts, and you have no clue at all who that could be, maybe it will be me. I could care less about your score. Just know that in the heart of competition though, it may not occur in the fall at the sideline of a Michigan and Ohio State Game. When it comes to that, it is Buckeyes all the way!

Perfectly Imperfect

2011-05-13T16:42:00.000-04:00

Trying to be perfect is exhausting. Searching for perfection is exhausting. It is like swimming against an infinite current with no shore in sight. What leads people to feel the need to become “perfect”? Is it to feel better than? Is it to feel separate from? Is it to feel righteously enlightened to have or know that which others do not? I’m done swimming.

I have found through my defects and challenges that I find places for expansion. For growth. Perfect would be boring. I have a feeling it would be lonely. In my own reflection I assume that the desire for improvement would wane and then I would ripen on the vine eventually falling to the ground to rot and be forgotten.

In searching for perfection I must look beyond where I am. In casting my gaze outward, looking for that which is not here I miss the beauty that lies within the “almost-but-not-quiteness” that connects me to the present. It is the realization of a need to become aware of my shortcomings that keeps me mindful of my bond to others and that I share their space instead of a belief that I hover above them.

I have found that spirituality is not an evolutionary process of becoming more “divine” in my nature. To me it is a realization of what I am and that there is more to be unveiled. This perpetual revealing is where I find my desire for cultivation lies. It is a profound respect for my flaws and defects that become the catalyst for growth through an unending quest for understanding–an understanding that there is beauty in the flawed. There is character in the splintered. There is grace in the disheveled.

The Japanese concept of Wabi-sabi poetically represents this. It acknowledges that nothing lasts, nothing is finished, and nothing is perfect. It is through this somewhat melancholy realization that a spiritual journey begins. As the perfect is elusive, the goal of improvement is engaged. The spiritual is finding the beauty in the unfinished points of interest along the way. The lessons lie in the souvenirs we obtain through life experiences–the skinned knees often relinquishing more value than the slam-dunks.

If beauty, love or spiritual connection were perfect, there would be one uniform standard. Some would have it, others would not. But as we see in beauty, love, and spirit, we can connect on a variety of levels that can only be denoted of significant value by those experiencing it. Those on the sidelines of these experiences must gain a wisdom that imperfection can at times be simply relevant to our own narrow scope of perspective, and that we may need to expand that perspective to draw closer to our own divine center.

I no longer want to be perfect. It would make me lazy. Then would I still be perfect? It makes my head hurt. I do know that I do seek a spiritual improvement on being led to a greater appreciation for the imperfection that makes life abundant with possibility, expansion, and connection. I also enjoy finding that I am not alone. We all have our nicks, dings, and dents. It is this weathering and antiquing of my soul that I feel gives me character. My trips and stumbles, falls and recoveries are simply stamps in my life’s passport. I have stories to tell.

I am Wabi-sabi. I am perfectly imperfect.

Love is a Verb

2011-05-03T22:38:00.001-04:00

Verb – A word that describes an action, occurence, or state-of-being.

I am a listener. Always have been. In my professional life I spent many, many years perched alongside many who would pour out their souls in the confident embrace that only a hairdresser could provide. I have heard everything from bang trims, to back pain–from menstrual cramps to murder.

I also found that my services were sometimes a by-product of the time spent with me. People crave connection. People want to be heard, they want an audience, and they want to feel valued if even only for a brief moment. I found that people sought and desired compassion. They want love.

Many people would sit in front of me seeking advice or thumbing through books looking for new “bait” to put upon the proverbial hook. They sought a magnetism that would attract the attention and affection of others. They would also seek to elevate how they perceived themselves.

This lonely quest for love is perpetuated by feelings of powerlessness. We are fooled to believe that this emotion, ethereal and elusive is beyond our grasp. I found that I was saddened by noticing the proliferation of those feeling separate–a state of bottomless wanting hoping that the void would become occupied with tangible evidence that one is “worthy” to have this “butterfly” land upon the shoulders of the deserving.

I too spent many hours feeling defeated, deprived, and depleted in my search for this state, this “rainbow” that was colorful and brilliant, yet no matter how fast I closed in on it, the faster it seemed to move away. This love not only in an affectionate sense from a mate, but from friends, family, and others–myself.
I felt that if others did not want me, I may be fractured. Maybe unable to contain the nourishing nectar love was able to provide to only the secure. How long would I have to wait? What must I do? Is there a manual? Is there criteria? Does love do a background check?

I would “numb” myself and saw others do the same, wallowing in a pool of shame watching my self-worth drop like stocks in a recession. I no longer took stock in myself. I grasped at love like a child trying to catch bubbles blown in a gust of wind. In my attempt to clutch them, they burst. It burst. I burst.

I turned to contempt. To loathing. To judgment. It was your fault as much as it was mine. I used to be good enough, or so I thought. If I suck, then you suck too!

I wanted the feeling of the warm and fuzzy, the connected and cozy, and it required an ingredient I could not get which another had to provide. I thought if I had that ingredient I could feel a certain way. Then and only then would all be well. I felt I had the lock but someone else had the key.

Then it dawned on me–Love is not an emotion as much as it is a verb. A shift in my perception, created a shift in my reality!

The seeds of love are steeped in action that I can activate upon my very choosing. When thinking of loving someone, I thought, “HOW do I love someone?”

Click to see video

I show compassion to them. I find humor, and brilliance in who they are. I am accepting of them for their uniqueness. I offer them forgiveness, a lot of forgiveness. I desire to have them at my side. I try to connect with them on an intellectual level to better understand their world so I can seamlessly merge it with my own. I want to grow from them. I am myself with them. I do not try to control them unless I am attempting to try to elevate them. These are all actions.

I found that by engaging in the activities of love, I was planting that which I could harvest later. The more nurturing and pure the intention behind the gestures, the greater the harvest!

I also found to receive love; we must be “lovable.” Creating love through my loving actions created a source of love others gravitated towards. I no longer felt that I had to change the bait on the hook trying to "snare" someone or something with a continually changing facade. Love became gravitational and sought me out. I found myself abundantly surrounded by that which I always try to demand from others.

In practicing these loving gestures, I also found that I never had to manipulate my strategies. Since all people, even including the ones in a given relationship send, receive, and interpret love as an emotion differently, I found the actions were similar which created the desired emotional states personally tailored to the experience.

In showing acceptance, appreciation, tolerance, absence of judgment, support, nurturing, affection, and accommodation, I find most experience their desired interpretation of love. This was so much simpler than trying to go through a huge set of keys trying to see which one opened the vault.

The beauty of all this came to me when I realized I could start with myself. I could express these actions to myself! I could become my own catalyst of love and start to develop it in myself and my space. I found that it was almost like being able to print money but the value of the minted material I found was much more valuable and brilliant.

I now find an absence of the destructive thoughts and behaviors that once burdened me. These thoughts based upon a low self-worth due to the absence of something I felt I was not worthy of, or was tired of having pass me by. I no longer feel separate, ashamed, hollow, or lesser-than.

I encourage people to consider HOW they love, and HOW they like to be loved, and then do those things. I guarantee you; the emotions that once shifted in our lives like the weather seem to provide much more sunshine, and the storms become that much more bearable.

Take action! Something will occur! And we will receive the state-of being!

Suffering is Optional

2011-04-22T11:11:00.001-04:00

Some of the worst things I ever experienced never really happened. I was real good, a “master” mind you, of being able to take a grain of pain and create a mountain of suffering. It was familiar, like a comfy blanket I could wrap myself in–one that confirmed my reality. I could lie swaddled in my circumstances knowing my role of “victim” was secure.

I have realized the universe will usually prove me right. This is a great paradigm I awakened to but only after realizing that it works in two ways. For many years I would exclaim, “My life sucks!” It would prove me right. “I am going nowhere!” It would prove me right. “The world is full of evil people.” It would prove me right. “I am never going to get out of this (insert challenging circumstance)!” It would prove me right.

It is our focus that often binds us to our perceived insurmountable obstacles. Our self-victimization that we are being caught in the crosshairs of a malicious God or universe–that our purpose must be one of suffering.

I lament at the awareness now that I spent so many years in a self-conjured prison with my hands gripping the bars white-knuckled and screaming to be set free. In my unrelenting grip trying to rattle the binds of my own Bastille, I never let go of the bars to realize I held the “key” in my own pocket. My focus affixed on the jailor “out-there” distracting my gaze–incapacitating me to simply reach “inside” for the key I already held. My focus kept me blind.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

Pain is the circumstances life bestows upon us to strengthen us, challenge us, bind us, and perhaps reconnect us to our faith. It nudges our rudder to keep our lives fresh and vibrant–although often not of our liking or choosing, inevitable none-the-less. The most righteous, rehearsed, learned, and cautious will succumb to the inevitable brush with pain. Yes it hurts, but for how long will we allow it to remain?

Suffering however is where we continue to remind ourselves that we still should be hurting. We writhe in the familiar only because we bring it along like a carry-on bag in our life’s voyage. This can occur with people who have encountered great obstacles: addiction, divorce, loss, disease. For some reason the obstacle becomes the "identity." We drop our anchor in yesterday retarding our ability to sail again. There is a difference between fear and respect. Fear paralyzes one into inactivity. Respect empowers one into seeking new paths. Respect your painful experiences, don’t fear them.

I find that many enjoy pushing the “play” button on these little movies that run in our mind. We continually rewind, hit play, and re-experience the event over and over. At the end we say, “See, THAT is why I feel this way!” The brain cannot differentiate between the current and the movie, so you will indeed get the same biological responses repeatedly: nervousness, anxiety, heart palpitations, tears, anger, and the entire cornucopia of physical symptoms that accompanied the original event. Play a lot of movies, get a lot of responses. Pain is the original event. Suffering is the rewinding and replaying. Pain we cannot control. Suffering we can. Put down the remote!

Nowadays I dedicate myself to trying to remain aware of my CHOICE of FOCUS. I have found the simple key has been in my pocket all along. I decided to stop screaming through the bars, screaming in my pillow, screaming in the mirror and simply decide to rearrange what I focused on in my recovery from any challenging situation.

If I decide to say, “I know I will bounce back from this!” The universe will prove me right. “There is a way out!” It will prove me right. “I am strong enough to handle this!” It will prove me right. “I am not alone in my trials and tribulations!” It will prove me right. “There are powers greater than myself at work in all of this!” Proof will indeed manifest.

Like many men, for many years I had to have my keys in my pocket, remote in hand, and know where I was going. Now I enjoy the journey knowing in advance I will eventually arrive where I should. I realize too that there are certain things I no longer need my remote for. And if you need a key, extend your hands through the bars and you can have one of mine.

Park Placards

2011-04-11T10:25:00.002-04:00

I was embarrassed. Or was it my ego knocking at the door? Both maybe. Either way I felt uncomfortable. It had been a while. It was unsettling and yet familiar.

The evening sun was lowering over the baseball diamond where my son and a collection of other young hopefuls were enjoying the first practice of the season. They scrambled about after the ball similar to the action you see when you throw a handful of corn to chickens. To many of them it was yet another step toward their image appearing on a box of Wheaties, to others–a great way to spend time with friends and family.

A handful of the parents sat on the aluminum bleachers. Introductions were extended as were idle pleasantries.

“That my son, the one with the blue shirt, grey shorts.”

“Great! Mine is the one with the yellow shirt and baseball pants.”

A smile of acknowledgment and then a reflective pause.

The conversations ensued around me.

“So, what do you do?”

The responses of the other parents contained a collection of letters I have not heard since my last bowl of alphabet soup.

“I am an XYZ from OSU with a PHD and an MBR and MNY from BYU...”

“That’s fantastic! I am an alum of OU with an MBA and a DNA from PU as well as a JKL from MNOP.”

Intelligent laughter bonded the two.

I put in my iPod headphones.

In my mind it went-

“So what do you do Tony?”

“I invented space travel, post-it notes, human reproduction, milk shakes, and a cure for cancer!”

“Really!!?” They respond astounded by my brilliance.

“No. I am an unemployed ex-hairdresser who can make a killer peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”

The laughter further crushing, making me even doubt my sandwich making prowess.

I left as they discussed their achievements. They were not bragging, just bonding and sharing. I walked the circumference of the park. I enjoyed the reflection, the balmy wind, and the sunset. I felt a bit small at the moment. Here I was in mid-life with nothing going on, no business card, feeling as worthless as a breast augmentation coupon to a nun.

I wrestle with where I am at times. I believe I have noble intentions. I do want to make a difference, but am I? Should I just say “screw it” and take the first job that offers a check, forget my dreams of helping others and be able to at least feel like a contributor? It’s coming way to slow for me.

I am well aware that often rewards are found only a few paces beyond where the mediocre give up. I need to practice what I preach. I have always said that my greatest fear is not my inability to practice what I preach, but my inability to become aware when I am not doing so.

I continued my walk around the park. I encountered laughter, sports, children, and nature. I reveled in the brilliant orange glow of the progressing sunset. I noticed my surroundings. The park benches called to me.

Each bench had its own placard at its base– a small metal plaque with the name or names of those who were to be honored or remembered upon initial glance and reflection. I wondered, “Will I ever be worthy of a park bench plaque? What does it take? Will I be easily forgotten? Do I matter?”

I continued and saw each bench and many trees had a placard with yet another name or two. They must have been special people. I guess I realized that I did not need to know them or their achievements to appreciate their time before me. “Good for you,” I thought.

I reflected upon the “alphabet soup” I listened to earlier. “Good for them,” I thought. They should be proud, and so should I. I refuse to compare who I am, where I am going, and the depth of the contribution I share on this planet by comparing myself to others of dissimilar paths.

I am a healer, coach, mentor, father, husband, and swell guy.

Earlier that day as I was having brunch with my folks, I received a random text. It was from a young lady I had spoken with about a year ago pertaining to certain challenges she faced that were harming her mentally, physically, and causing her family distress. She thanked me stating I “saved her life” in the first few months of her battle.

Later that afternoon, I reached out to a friend who had a recent stumble in his own battles. He thanked me for making contact and for the words of encouragement. Hopefully I made a difference.

I took my son to fly his first kite later that day watching his eyes light up as he held the power of flight in his hands.

I saved lives, encouraged lives, and enriched lives in one afternoon.

I don’t know what “alphabet soup” would encompass that. I do not know how I could put that on a business card. I doubt I will be issued a W-2 this year for my accomplishments. I don’t care as I do not need letters, papers, or a business card to feel like I “matter.” I will figure out how to make this financially viable someday. I feel I am still on the right path.

As I respectfully thanked everyone for coming to my pity party, I also thanked Ardith, Byron, and Paul for sharing their benches and shade with me as I sorted out the "stuff." Although I may not get my own park bench placard someday, the couple of texts I got, and the “I love you Dads” I got that day are all the recognition I need.

What have you for me?

2011-03-31T10:52:00.000-04:00

I look to myself. I look into the once full well of answers, the once full well of inspiration, the once full well of confidence long since dry. The well filled endlessly by an egoic source–a source of incorrect assumptions, of false information, a source like a false prophet dragging me towards the sun–not to receive the light but to eventual incineration.

I have found a new sense of navigation. An intrinsic compass that beams its beacon, however only one paver at a time. This diminished light not to blind me but to keep me focused. The light shines on the only true reality which is right Now. The fear of a blurred future now gives way to an immediate gratitude and acceptance that right here, right now is in divine design. I will remain patient, diligent, at peace.

It is in this peace I find a purpose. To heal others–one must first heal the conflict in oneself. It is through this diatribe within that we encounter our inner villain, our adversary, ourself. We then burst through the chrysalis to the genesis of a fortified purpose. One that is unwavering. We become one and all.

I look inside and ask myself – what have you for me?

Emerging, peering outward while reflecting inward I gaze in wonder at the world. What has it become? What have I become? Why this once familiar blue marble has become alien, the transition occurring as I stand upon her regal face. I realize the sun shines behind the clouds in the most torrential of storms, but I wonder how wet we will become. Will we drown before the sun’s rays reach our faces once again?

Are we the infestation or are we to be the eradication of the detriment and the degradation? I look in her face and I see pain. I also see hope. I see a plea. I see the plea of a mother distraught over watching her children walking in the deep waters desiring to drown succumbing to a less than noble demise. I see a mother who knows the wisdom and potential is there with a reckless disregard for the long term.

How can one make a difference? I know that I can, but will it be in time? Should I turn a blind eye in effort only to expand my prayer for you feeling powerless? Something tells me no. Something tells me to persevere. Something tells me that I have work to do. Something tells me there are others. Others whose efforts combined will be an elevated catalyst to the change needed to save the life of one which will save the lives of all. I am waiting on the answer.

Mother Earth–what have you for me?

You are in the space between. The silence holds Your presence. I often battle this. I reach to touch Your face yet my hand passes through the ethereal mist. I once longed for physical contact, a simple hug to no avail. I wanted to cry at Your feet, to be consoled that everything would be okay. Like a fragile child I wept at being forsaken. I was looking in the wrong spaces. I see my voice did not fall on deaf ears without compassion.

I find my search a test. In a universe so vast, how can one find alignment? Where are You? In stilling my quest I found the alignment everywhere; pervasive and pure. When I quieted my cries demanding manifestation I was then able to see what I always longed for was in front of me, behind me, and in me. I smile. Like bathing in a shower of divine protection, I gain security, I gain insight. I gain so that I am able to shed–shed the burden of the load that I was not able to see over blocking my vision.

I pray for capability to do what is necessary and to stay true to the course presented to me now. I pray for longer arms. I want my arms to expand their reach to those who need pulled out of harm’s way and into the light of their own journey. I can’t do this alone. I find security in the evidence I now receive knowing that I am not. We have work to do. I crack my knuckles, flex my muscles, and furrow my determined brow awaiting the next assignment. I hope I make You proud.

God – what have You for me?

I'm Sor...

2011-03-09T10:44:00.000-05:00

I don’t know how, but I just ended up there. You know, the times when you just feel agitated in your own skin. No reason. Actually no reason whatsoever. None. But I was there. I guess I had decided that I was not in the mood to have a good time.

The drive through heavy traffic and a solid downpour did not help. Neither did the cool temperatures which bordered on wanting to freeze the rain on the road, or just keep you nervous enough to think it was. I was brooding over the fact that the Japanese steakhouse we love had no reservations. None. At least that was what I was told. My family wanted to take me out for my birthday dinner. We did not plan well enough to make reservations, so we could either drive the thirty plus minute drive to stand in a lobby and wait on a Saturday night at one of the busiest social hubs in our city or make another selection. Did I mention it was Saturday night?

We had our kids with us, I don’t drink, so the wait to me seemed excruciating in my current disposition. Votes were cast to make the trek and take a chance to get seated and I lost; sorely I may add. My wife “helped” me drive the whole way. Thankfully she was there to point out my lack in driving skills. I darkened.

Deeply I know I was being “drug” along (aside from it was my birthday being celebrated) because we all enjoy the restaurant. My kids like seeing the “show”, and we always enjoy our meal. I guess I wanted to be right more than I wanted to be happy. Right about what? Who knows. I wasn’t.

I spite parked. You know where you park further away than necessary, and walk in the torrential rain to get wet enough to have bitching leverage. It seemed like it was a mile. I dropped the family off at the door prior. I walked alone. Idiot.

We had a great meal, a great time, and cheesecake for dessert. Nope, I couldn’t admit it. I was prodded through smiles and taunts to admit it, as they knew I knew I was being irrational. I couldn’t. Not yet.

Eventually as I evened out, blood sugar raised and a good night’s sleep, I apologized for my juvenile behavior. It was met with a simple nod, and life resumed as another day progressed. I am better at apologies than I used to be–mainly because I make them now.

I used to balk at the apology as I spent many of the initial minutes or hours hoping to find another person to harbor the guilt. I didn’t want it to be me. It was you, it was the traffic, it was the world, it was the price of bread, but anything to hang the blame of behavior upon as I did not want to have to say I’m sss... Damn. (The word is “sorry.”)

I used to hope apologies were the ultimate reconciliation. That they would absolve behavior; wipe it away to be forgotten. I found I was trying to control how others digested the events or my behavior. It is not up to me how people receive the apology, only that they hear it.

Like blowing on a dry Dandelion tuft of seeds, we are compelled to release the seeds of apology hoping they will take root in the sometimes obstinate ground of forgiveness. We can only control the gesture of the release with integrity of our intent intact. How or when the apology takes root is not for us to decide. Our sincerity seems to be the nourishing waters that will leverage a hearty harvest of the seeds of apology we release.

As I am able to make amends and apologize for my past deeds I realize it is reconciliation for an account that may need closed. The balance must be brought to zero before I can walk on. I find that waiting to reconcile my behaviors only adds interest to my human debt. In times past, I thought that time heals all wounds; all is forgotten. Not necessarily. However, even tardy amends can dissolve the scar tissue.

I have made amends to those in my past I thought I could just ignore or avoid and it would be water under the bridge–water under my bridge anyway. In some of those amends I got the scathing response I feared. However, I found the pain of the undesired response was lesser than the not knowing or projecting my fears upon the unknown and the harboring of a spiritual debt unpaid.

I can make amends now as I have come to terms with the fact that I cannot control how someone receives my words. I can only control my sincerity in releasing them. Withheld amends are a burden that gains weight. I offer them now to those whom I have wronged, harmed, or owe them to not because I want off the hook as much as it is simply “right”.

As long as my heart remains in the right place, my odds of recovering from life’s little hiccups are greater. I just need to make sure to keep my head in the right place or the view never changes.

Back to School

2011-03-02T13:29:00.000-05:00

June 1983. I don’t remember the exact day, but that was the time I was no longer going to be in class. I graduated high school. Full up on smarts. I was an eighteen year old know-it-all ready to tackle the world. I thought with the fancy hat and tassel accompanied with the little scroll saying I was “done”, I really was no longer confined to having my cranium force fed with what I considered useless information. I was now liberated to exercise free-will and apply what I had learned to practical use. I was done learning and ready to start doing.

I went to college after that. True to my words I was “done learning.” My heinous GPA reflected that statement. I lasted three quarters. The knowledge gained mainly in reference to the “under-age” friendly bouncers who would let me in the bars. After twenty one, that type of information is rendered obsolete.

I had always associated that learning came from an academic institution. Students sat in neat little rows, teachers paced in front of the crowd fingers smudged with chalk. The information transfer based usually upon meeting some sort of criteria governed by a board somewhere.

I realize now that I am often being schooled.

I have mentioned many times my philosophy that “in life, not every classroom has a desk, nor every church a steeple.” I have found that life experience presents us with educational opportunities in random format and context. Our teachers often have no chalkboard, degree, or spend time in the teacher’s lounge. The most important and enduring lessons arrive like a sucker-punch via delivery of a formidable instructor.

My wife and I recently were discussing a person in her life she has challenges with. Nothing monumental, but that is often where our resolve and composure is most tested. I proposed to help her get by the animosity she can often feel in encountering the aggravating behaviors, that she considers this person her “teacher.” With raised brow she still speaks of this person as she would “Old lady so-and-so” who abrasively taught her math in elementary school. None the less, the lessons continue.

I then reflected upon my experience. I realized the faculty of the “University of Me” was vast as well. I didn’t know I was in class, but I have many diplomas. I have had many mentors, teachers, sensei’s, gurus, and coaches.

I realize all experiences past and present are presented to teach me something. Whether or not the “subject” is relative to me or another, I try to be connected to what I am supposed to gather. This is the practical side of learning I expected so many years ago. Be careful of what you ask for.

I must have failed everything I studied in my first twelve years, because I have had many remedial lessons ever since that day in 1983.

I have had to relearn math. This painful lesson taught to me by the economy, taxes, inflation, accounting, and a budget. The funny thing is that most of the skills I needed I learned early in elementary. Recently I heard my oldest telling my youngest as he tried some awkward subtracting that he cannot subtract one number from another and go below zero. A great lesson in credit and budget. Wish I had her in sixth period.

I have learned a lot about social studies. Just watch CNN. I interact with my neighbors. I watch my kids interact on the playground. I see the social climate change. I have a feeling this lesson is going to have a tough midterm.

I have revisited Home EC and have fared well. I found self reliance and the key to Home EC has a lot to what we do in service of others before ourselves. Through practical lessons I have learned to cook, clean, do laundry, and I can sew a button. Most of these lessons imposed through the desire to eradicate hunger, dirt, sloth, and inconvenience–not only for myself, but those I love.

Shop – Stuff breaks, we must fix it. I have yet to make an ashtray or birdhouse though.

Physics – You drop something it could break. Gravity. You push something up hill. More effort. Eat too much. Mass.

Phys Ed – It is good to run around and get some exercise for a while each day. Showering nowadays is less awkward in my own shower. Phys Ed improved.

Health – These lessons you learn not by a book, but by experience. I hope you all get to pass on having to sit through the lessons on cancer, diabetes, childhood illnesses, cholesterol, dementia, Alzheimer’s, and addiction. Those classes sucked.

Psychology – Some people are nuts. Some are not. Some are “quirky.” To other people you are nuts.

Government – I wish it was still only a 45 minute class every other day where the answers were in the back of the book.

Foreign language – It used to be where I was from there were two languages: English and redneck. The melting pot has obviously gotten “meltier.” And that is okay.

I guess I am thankful not so much for the lessons, but my teachers have been vast and colorful. I find those I once considered adversaries have taught me the most. I have learned patience, acceptance, compassion, humility, respect, and that if I mess up, and if I don’t agree with you, it is not your fault.

I have learned that age has nothing to do with wisdom. My kids have taught me among the most about myself. They have mirrored back to me my flaws so I can fix them in time to become the father I wish I had as well as to remember and respect the qualities in my father(s) I so dearly love. They took me back to innocence and accountability.

My wife has shown me balance, respect, humility, and that the desire to “always be right” is an unflattering trait. I realize that others can hold the key to our completion. Sometimes those we may find occasional opposition with are often our strongest allies when the real battles appear.

I like school now. I find every day I get to spend some time in the lab, the class, the shop, lunch, health, and phys ed. The syllabus always changes. So do the teachers and I love them one and all. I am also thankful for those who get to sit beside me in class every day. Some I know, some I have to get to know. The lessons are so much more practical now too. The beautiful thing is that there are no school bus rides and a lot less wedgies going on.

Does God do parking?

2011-02-23T09:56:00.000-05:00

“Please, please, please!”

“Damn. They were pulling in.”

“C’mon God. Give me a spot please. Just this once. C’mon!!”

“Hey maybe...crap.”

“Oh?!... OH!... Heck yeah! Score! Bing, bing, bing!! Thank You God!! A spot, and close to the front!”

I parked my car in front of the large bookstore located at the mall and proceed to the door. Prayers answered and a strong sense of smug accomplishment; happy as a kid who got the G.I. Joe with the Kung Fu Grip he asked for on Christmas in 1974.

Then I thought: “Did God reaaaallly grant me a parking space?”

This created a new topic to ponder as I strolled around the bookstore. I go to bookstores not always with the intent on acquiring a tome to my liking, but I like the silence. I like the smell. I like being surrounded by the stories of others presented for me to slip into. I just like bookstores.

I wondered as I flipped through the random pages about my recent “answered prayer.” I had issue with myself. Did I really spend more time and energy praying strong and out loud for a parking space? Do I consider God and all that’s holy nothing more than a simple cosmic vending machine to where I drop in a hollow prayer to immediately get my material good? Did my parking space simply get pushed to the end of the column of other vended goodies and by my selection fall to the little glass door for my retrieval?

I looked then to the other similar times of where I went into my little “fanny pack of prayers” pulling them out like the coupon lady at the grocery.

“Please God, let the donuts be fresh!”

“Please God, let there be some ink in the printer!”

“Please God, let us have ketchup!”

In retrospect and through introspect I find that sometimes we see prayers like coins. The pennies we toss about not even worrying if we lose a few in the couch cushions. The small prayers devalued; often unaware they all stimulate the same spiritual economy. The larger coins, the bills even, we save for the big ticket items. Overcoming illness, praying for relief from external burden and pain, oppression of others, dissolution of disasters–these are the prayers we value. I find for me that I must respect the source within me that sets the prayer in motion, and to whom I consider the recipient. It is not up to me to devalue the worth of a penny and I should spend all change wisely.

Then I thought, perhaps these “little requests” are not even prayers. Often I find whether answered in my favor or not, the answer is part of a greater whole–one step in a journey. These little moments of truth allowing us to feel cheated or grateful are part of a bigger lesson. Maybe denial of said request is teaching me patience. Maybe fulfillment showing me I am being heard even when I feel insignificant. I am always grateful when I am given tangible evidence my prayers are being heard. I think my gratitude sends my messages clearer in the future; my lack thereof maybe slowing delivery.

Today I was watching the news as I do in the morning. The major network news show had a touching story. An octogenarian woman had made it a practice for years to order a pizza every day from the same Domino’s; a large pepperoni, cooked light, with two sodas. She lived alone and somewhat in recluse. I do not know if she liked pizza that much or the company. Maybe both.

Every day at 10:00 AM when the pizza restaurant opened, the phone would ring regularly with her request. One Monday it did not–nor did it the two days prior. Upon arriving at work that Monday the manager of the pizza store mentioned to the regular delivery driver of this anomaly. The driver immediately became concerned. She exclaimed she was going to leave work to go check in on her regular customer. At the protest of the manager, the driver mentioned she would “get clocked out”, but would not be hindered in her human obligation to check on the elderly woman.

She arrived at the house. No answer as she pounded on the doors and windows calling her name. She checked with the neighbors. No one had seen nor heard from her. They never did. The driver called 911 for an ambulance and sent it to her address in grave concern. She returned briefly to work to check in and returned again a while later to the scene where officers and EMT professionals were pulling her from her home on a gurney. Alive!

The lady had fallen and lay injured on her floor for days. The lady asked who had called in her favor which saved her life. Emergency professionals told her the Dominos people. Her odd diet and brief daily interactions saved her life. Her prayers obviously heard. The Dominos delivery person was seemingly driven by divine opportunity or perhaps a vehicle in answering the prayers of another.

I love these stories of the tangible symphony of the transfer, receipt, and delivery of divine happenstance. I wonder if my little requests of selfish nature are clouding the airways. I wonder if they are of any importance or if my little shallow prayers are still working out these spiritual muscles. Maybe I can simply try to become aware of my intention behind them, who they serve, and for the greater good of whom. Is there a sliding value scale of the prayers God handles? I also realize sometimes the answer is “no.” Sometimes it is “not now.” It is still good for me.

I don’t know exactly if God does parking. I like to think he may have someone else handle that for him. I don’t know. I do however think he likes pizza.

The bes' day ebber!

2011-02-13T19:36:00.001-05:00

Best days; I have had a few. I have been blessed to have done many things, gone many places, and met some really cool people. Those ingredients definitely can contribute to the recipe of some spectacular days.

I remember the day got accepted to the American Team to travel the country. I remember my TV debut. I remember driving off the lot in my first sports car. I remember seeing my work in print for the first time. Those were some really great days! I no longer have nor do those things.

I remember my graduation day from High School. I remember my graduation from beauty school. I remember days when I completed a long task and got recognized, certified, or the “atta-boys” I thought were so important. They were...then.

I also remember the first day my father told me he loved me. I was 21. There were more following. I remember when my wife agreed to marry me. We took a limo around town celebrating the fact that “this guy” got “that girl”. I remember hearing “I’m pregnant”; the kind you want to hear. I remember when she arrived. I remember when my son arrived. We became a whole family. I remember hearing news like, “She’s okay, the test came back negative”, or “the financing went through, we can keep our house”. Indeed these were “the best of days.” Gifts mind you. But we have many more.

Yesterday, a Saturday, my day started as most of mine do, not sleeping in and taking care of the family needs. That’s okay. I am an early riser. My son had basketball practice and my daughter was venturing out with a friend feeding her own interests.

My son plays well...for a kid who is short and slight. He is not well rehearsed in the game, but makes up for it in heart (what some may call hyper). I often read to allow me to focus on drowning out three hundred drumming basketballs being awkwardly bounced. I glance up whenever my son has the ball or it is his turn. When they play a scrimmage, the book closes. My son glances to the bleachers flashes me a smile. I return it with a “thumbs up!” He smiles bigger and returns to the game. He shoots, misses, and gets a thumbs up! Again smiling, he returns his focus to the game–both of us proud of the other.

Some of the other parents berate and yell game strategies and their disappointments at these fledgling athletes. Their children look around for reassurance in a public setting to find little or none there unless a score is made. I don’t get it–they’re seven years old.

The game ended. My son made a basket. I shared how proud I was of how he played. He didn’t win though. It didn’t matter. He was jazzed and we had bonding time ahead! He was panting as a pro athlete would, proud of his participation and accomplishment, satisfied of his performance of the day. His day could end there and he would be happy.

“You hungry son?”

“Yep, but Dad I want the place that has the pancakes and Hi-C!”

“That’s what I was thinking pal!”

“This is the bes’ day ebber!!” he shouted. Loudly.

The game’s loss forgotten as his focus was on syrup and Hi-C, and oh yeah, they make their donuts fresh, from scratch! We always get one to go!

Tired as I was from a food coma and an early rise to endure a bit of percussive thunder, I wanted a little sofa-surfing “dad-time” but was reminded of something. The new Lego set my son got the night before awaiting my plastic toy architectural prowess.

We set the dining room table with the protective mat, place the mini bricks of aggravation into their respective piles and proceeded.

“Wow Dad! You are Awesome!!!” (Well the directions helped a bit, but I will take the ribbon!)

After an hour or so, a bowl full of Skittles and a Capri sun, our mission was accomplished. The sugar fueled venture concluded in a few battle scenes taking place in our dining room until energy was spent. My son crashed on his bean bag chair in his room, newly constructed toy in hand, smile on his face in front of SpongeBob. His room destroyed–evidence of a level 4 bes’ day ebber!

An evening at a friends’ house, videogames, and pizza conclude the day’s itinerary. I asked him in the car on the way home, “Did you have a good time son?” He replied again in sleepy satisfaction, “The bes’ day ebber!”

Today. Early rise again. Coffee as the family lie in slumber. Giada DeLaurentis showing her cooking prowess on the streets of Capri. Time for church. The twenty minute drive accompanied by some beautiful music perfect for a sunny crisp morning. Great sermon. I went alone. Family slept in and went later. More good Dad time.

I studied my studies, went out for one of the best Vanilla Chai Teas in the city and returned home to spend time with family. Some couch time with the wife. She told me how much she liked our home. She also liked my recent paint job I did in the living room. I smiled. It is nice to be appreciated. I shared my Chai with her. I have her liking tea now. The dog got a bath. We went shopping for the kids’ valentines. We talked in the car. I went for groceries for school lunches as my wife returned to the kids. They were happy and doing kid stuff. I took out the trash and noticed the sun setting. The temperature here was actually pleasant for the first time in a while. The sunset beckoned. I donned my iPod headphones, put on some inspiring music and took a lap.

A wave of strong gratitude came over me to remind me once again that I am blessed, I am loved, I am lucky, and I am most thankful to have been given the grace to realize this. The years I missed these moments because I was too busy being “cool”. Too busy “making it”. Too blind.

There were no certificates today. There were no crowds or cameras. No awards or honors.

It was the bes’ day ebber!

Drive Thru Greetings

2011-02-07T10:40:00.001-05:00

This one has been marinating for a while. I typically will become inspired to write, collect my thoughts or views, and while the passion is stirring, I will put finger to keyboard. Not in this case. I decided to put my observational skills to work.

I have really made it a new life practice to become an observer. You may not know I am watching, but I am. It’s a really fun show out there. Something is always going on–something we can learn from or be entertained by. I think that type of vantage point presents itself in my writing. In observing I can steep myself into the flow of what is going on around me, but as if on a raft in a river, I am not in control of the flow, but I can dip my toe in the water as I watch what unfurls around me awaiting what may lie ahead around the next bend.

I first was struck by my newest quandary as I went through a local drive thru. Initially I thought the type of business (a fast food joint-I was getting a breakfast sandwich) would be significant evidence and support to my topic, but that is where I decided to let this one simmer, or marinate if you will.

The greeting was mechanical and rehearsed offering me a selection of something in which I had no interest. It was not human and thus forgivable to me. The human that finally spoke behind the metal screen confirmed my order, mentioned my fee, and then asked me “to move for...”. They always cut off the ending, but I knew the drill.

The robotic routine of the "money taker" already had him in mid-dialogue as he was taking the order of the car behind me while reaching for my precious five dollar bill. He then grunted my amount,took my money, and dropped my change in my hand. His furrowed brow held his eyes that barely met mine. They were not warm. They were tired and alone. A man, a cash register, a headset, trapped in a small box. He missed an opportunity to make contact beyond his confines. “Thanks, you have a great day”, I mentioned as I smiled and proceeded.

My food was waiting on me and “efficiently” pressed into my hand that was just emerging from my window. I guess this is commendable behavior when service should take no longer than 30 seconds. I was given a “Thanks” through unsmiling lips. I replied, “Tha...”, the sliding glass door slid shut. Next!

Hmmm. Okay I will put customer service aside. In businesses that often have annual turnover in their staffing well over one hundred percent, I guess I didn’t expect a hug upon arrival and departure, but it left me wondering is this the norm. Is this where a lot of human contact and interaction is being reduced to? Well, kinda.

I do indeed have people I encounter at certain establishments, as well as friends’ homes in which I feel like I am a celebrity. Like I am loved, or at least appreciated. I will even take tolerated at times. I think we all have those people that make us want to regularly return to where they are. Why? Because when they say “Good morning”, they mean it. When they say “thank you”, you know they feel gratitude. When they ask “how are you”, you know they really care and want to know. The words are genuine and organic.

In my observational pause prior to writing this, I noticed how many instances I encountered “Drive Thru Greetings” from many different people and places. Greetings that left me thinking I would prefer silence to a hollow and rehearsed sub-acknowledgement of my existence. “Did I really need to turn down the stereo for that!?”

I remember one time when dining with my family; we were enjoying time out at a fancy restaurant. Our waitress arrived apparently hurried and exasperated. She made miniscule eye contact and exhaled her “may I take your order?” We ordered. She never looked up other than to nod at the next person to prompt them into ordering. At the end my father asked with a smile, “Do you like your job here?” She replied, “Yeah...sure.” He said, “Well why don’t you let your face in on it?” A smile does help.

I wonder how often we miss an opportunity to make someone’s day by recognizing them. How often do we miss an opportunity to validate someone’s presence by a smile? How genuine are the greetings and closures we bestow upon those we encounter? Don’t we deserve more than grunts, nods, and a nanosecond of pulling our eyes away from a phone or text to engage someone?

I have found through my recent observation, I can change someone’s state with a smile. I create smiles by humbly allowing people to proceed in front of me in line. I can make kids’ giggle with a goofy face. I am on continual alert for opportunities to make someone’s day. All of these people will light up, even if a little bit, and from that, I in turn gain joy. The joy replenishes my ability to continue my efforts. Interestingly too, the more sad, melancholy, or alone I feel, I have found through this practice, the negative emotion leaves me that much sooner. Weird. (But I like it!)

If I ask you “How are you”, I really care. If I say “Good morning”, I want you to have one. If I say, “have a great day”, indeed I hope that is what happens to you. If I say “travel safe”, I truly want your journey unobstructed. And they say that “Thank you” can be one of the most precious prayers you offer to God thanking him for a gift divine. If it is good enough for God, it is good enough for me, so if you hear me say “thank you”..., well you know where I am going. The intention behind our brief greeting is like saying a brief prayer for that person. Hollow greeting, hollow prayers.

When you encounter people, try speaking your greetings from a place of genuineness, and listen to the responses with your heart. Sometimes it only takes 10 seconds to make someone’s day and to make them feel recognized.

And to all of you now, “Have a great day, travel safe, and most of all, Thank you!”

Old Habits Die Hard

2011-01-31T09:43:00.000-05:00

The Monday morning started as many do. Although the beginning of the week, I find I place no more ill-will on Monday as I do any other day of the week. The day of the week, whether Monday or Friday, should not cause me to gripe any more than any other. It is still a collection of a series of hours containing stuff that needs done to be able to eventually enjoy the relaxation that an evening with the family brings. The routine is typically the same during every other day of the week, so why emphasize Monday as being more trying? If I consider how many more days until the weekend, I am no longer living in the moment, and that can be difficult any day of the week. Ok, I still struggle.

I awaken earlier than I need to. Usually around 5:45 to 6:00 AM so I get an hour to myself. I call it my “hour of power.” Catchy huh? Okay so I am not a marketing genius. I call it my “hour of power” not because I work out. If you saw me currently, my midsection looks like a candy bar left on the dashboard in hot summer sun. I gotta work on that too!

Anyway, I arise, get my coffee ready, heat up a wonderful heating bean bag thing for my back, and adjourn to my office, my “fortress of solitude.” I turn on some soothing music, and then I take about 45 minutes to meditate. Time to myself. Ahhhh!

I then have about 15 minutes left for the news, traffic, weather, or whatever before I rally the kids. I am calm, relaxed, have time for coffee before they arise. A great way to start the day! The way I have time for this is that I make it a priority. Simple enough.

The troops rallied, snuggle time, pet the dog, more coffee, life is good.

About 45 minutes go by and kids are dressed, car is started to warm up, lunches packed, dog has been out, backpacks being packed, same routine, same timing, check!

What I have found though is something odd. Forty five minutes ago, life was good, blissful, appreciative, and grateful. Now I am scurrying around making sure that things are going “according to my plan”, “my routine”. (Mind you – it is the same plan, the same family, the same routine, the same house, same dog, that I deal with every day for years – like overnight they all lost their minds or memory. Well...maybe.)

“Dad, are you driving us today?”

*Grumble* “Yes, I guess so.” (Reminder–I have already started to warm the car.)

“Honey, will you mail this for me when you drop off the kids. It needs to be mailed this morning.”

*Gripe* “Does it have to be done at 8:00 AM?”

(Two examples are enough.)

Now I have done a lot to work on my ego in the last few years. A lot...Alot! I have become very mindful of what I do, what I put in my body as well as my brain. I try to live in service of others. I work on patching my “leaks”. I mean emotionally and spiritually the proverbial “orange barrels” have been up for some time. Did I say I have done a lot of work? I did? Okay...good.

Well I still need some.

I find my ego is still lurking. Like an angry hostage tied to a chair with duct tape over its mouth, wiggling and shaking the chair to get attention, it still hasn’t given up hope for freedom. Peel the duct tape and it will spit, curse, and scream. Back goes the tape.

As I have said many times before, “it is the storms that show us where our leaks are.” These times at least keep me mindful of the importance of continual spiritual grounding, self-examination, gratitude, and awareness.

I drove the kids and noticed the other children walking in the cold exhaling small bursts of steam. I picked up two other kids in the neighborhood–proud that I could offer a warm transport for them to get their education. The happy childlike banter filled the car. The sun was bright, the energy good.

I mailed the letter for my wife. The drive short, but refreshing. I have some great CD’s in my truck. A few more “me” minutes. The drive was pleasant. I may not have done it if not asked to run the brief errand benefitting us all.

I find my ego still likes to bitch; to makes its presence known. I also find that thankfully the “conscious” me likes to play “hero” more than adversary. The rewards are much greater. Much greater!

My wife mentioned to me recently after requesting (and yes, me complaining) for me to get her some creamer for her coffee at the store one morning (and me complying), “You take such good care of me!” I try. I fail at times, but I try. I just need to try to contain the griping, the "emotional flatulence" we should gain the ability to stifle more regularly.

Nowadays I find my ego is like the neighbor dog that is contained behind a secure fence. When noticed, he will bark, and bark, and bark, trying to establish his dominance, yet with little threat but great nuisance. I just need to be mindful of keeping the gate latched!

Gotta get me some of that!

2011-01-23T12:11:00.000-05:00

“Good things come to those who wait” was something I was always told. Usually as a kid. Usually when I was debating on tearing into the Christmas gifts prematurely. Perhaps it was when I was peeking through the blinds waiting on the mailman, or a friend to drop by.

Patience is a virtue my behind! I remember admiring a sign my father used to have hanging in his business early on, it was a photocopy obviously passed on to him and hung with pride like that of today’s inspirational plaques that executives hang on their office walls.

It depicted two cartoon vultures that were perched on a branch looking down upon an apparent thirsty man who was crawling through the desert approaching an obvious cruel dehydrated demise. One says to the other, “Patience my ass, I’m gonna kill something!”

I used to perceive patience as weakness; a belief of those who were unable to make things happen. The movers and the shakers, you know those with the cool motivational plaques hanging in their offices did not just simply sit by “patiently” waiting on their rewards. They went out and “killed something!”

I remember I used to profess that if someone were passing out one million dollar bills, and there were a line ahead of me, I would get out of line. Sad.

As I reflect, I see that I had desired to control linear time. Like God wasn’t doing a good enough job for me. I wanted time to speed up to accommodate my receiving the stuff I wanted. I wanted the promotion quicker. I wanted fame quicker. I wanted the muscles quicker. I wanted the weight loss quicker. I wanted the check to come in the mail quicker. I wanted to grow up quicker. I wanted it all now. That was the incorrect practice of “the power of now.”

Now that makes me wonder. If I want time to speed up, then am I okay when the time I wish would speed up would also rapidly zip by when I am actually enjoying myself? Do I want my kids to grow up, move on, and move out sooner? Do I want to get old and succumb to my mortality sooner? Do I want the party over sooner?

I find it a pretty bold request to command to be in control of time and to have it work within the parameters of my desires. Am I willing to share this power? What if I am the guy in line in front of the time keeper at a McDonald’s drive through, and he wishes me to not be there? Do I vanish? Do I get my food quicker? These are the heavy mysteries people. Will I be wished out of the way?

I find rather than trying to control time and trying to control how others manage theirs, it is easier to make a stronger attempt at finding my own source of patience. I find once we find our source of patience, it is a humble beginning of surrender. Surrender in the fact that we find we are not alone, we do not control the universe, yet if we slow down, we can enjoy what unfolds around us.

When I am impatient, I find I am steeped in self-importance that propels me at light speed into the future. I focus on what I should be doing, where I should be going, what should be happening to me, and I miss where I am. Often in the stillness and slowness I am most often blessed with gratitude and the revealing why the patience is a gift. A gift because I can realize I can have both benefits.

In being patient I get the blessings of presence. Whether it is a few quiet moments in the sun, even if it is waiting in line at a drive through or in daily traffic, or if it is a moment of solitude as a wait behind the coupon lady at the grocery, these moments are mine. I can’t do anything about it. Oh yes, I can bitch, but I find I am still standing there in the same spot, just bitching. By choice. Still waiting.

I also eventually get what I am impatiently waiting for. I find that being impatient does not make the metaphorical universal UPS truck deliver my wishes any faster. My impatience only dictates how I feel as I close the gap between now and the delivery of my awaited circumstances. What I want to happen quicker does indeed happen, as it should and will on life’s terms, I just find through impatience I simply make the journey there more frustrating by choice.

Yes taking charge of certain elements is helpful. Of course preparation can speed progress. Absolutely we can do things to bring our desires to us quicker. Yet I find that impatience most often infiltrates us on the trivial level. I also find there are more trivial occurrences happening between the times our lives are punctuated by the big stuff.

Patience. I still need work, but I realize that I am the one who needs the work and that is okay. I just need it most when there is a line of cars between me and my Sausage McMuffin.

Now this is a tale of a fateful trip...

2011-01-10T09:51:00.000-05:00

I always said Gilligan’s Island would be a great place to be if I could get used to the taste of coconut. Isolated, lush and green, a lagoon; what more could I ask for? Of course I would have to choose a few friends, and I do not think I would choose a couple with a trunk full of money. In today’s world they would simply have a wallet full of credit cards, and I do not know too many “Lovey’s.”

The reason for my aspirations usually comes after a time of tragedy. Mass shootings, politically charged rhetoric that inspires exclusion or separatist thought, ecological disaster, you know the icky, big stuff. I would profess, and still do, that it would be nice to be able to escape it all, to simply go to a beautiful place where these thorns could not grow in my garden.

I would accept the restricted diet of fish and limited produce for the peace of a hammock between to palms, a hut, and many hours of unmolested reflection at the water’s edge. Maybe the diet would solve my expanding waistline as well, and the hunting/gathering would become sufficient exercise.

But then I think: “There would not be much social stimulation (I like people), and I do not need many material things, but how many toys can you make out of bamboo and palm fronds? I mean I would need an outlet to plug in my iPod for charging.” Also, there could still be hurricanes, another oil leak could reach my shores, and I cannot escape the bias of my own thoughts. No man is an island, plus I would not want to eventually have a volley ball as my best friend.

As we often seek a remedy or escape from that which harms us, frightens us, or tears us asunder, I find that I am often looking for the “caped crusader” to come to the rescue. “Who is going to make this right?” “Where is the cosmic Maytag Repair Man?” “Who is going to stop the insanity?”

“Anyone...anyone??!” (We then hear the crickets...)

I then find that I hold a majority of the potential for change. I myself can drop the proverbial “pebble in the pond”, and stare as the ripples retract concentrically outward reaching far shores.

My world is simply a reflection of myself and how I see it.

When I say, “The world sucks”...it often proves me correct.

When I say, “People today are crazy”...they often act in such a manner.

When I say, “Life is rough”...I meet quite a bit of adversity.

However, when I tell myself, “The world has beauty and promise, contains an abundance of compassionate, intelligent, and beautiful people who are willing to take on the same challenges as I, so none of us are alone”, I find my burdens lighten.

Same world, same people, same life–different perspective. My choice.

I have three simple tools in my tool kit. They like a hammer, screwdriver, and duct tape can fix most any a household dilemma.

First–awareness of the things I tell myself. When I am carrying out my own dialogue, I must become aware of things I tell myself. Am I critical or hopeful? Do I want to be my own coach or adversary? Am I using destructive dialogue coming out of a bullhorn reminding myself of my past failures, or am I using a motivating tone reminding me to get up, brush off the dirt, and attempt the important things again until I get it? This is a choice. Where I stand in the world and how I reflect upon my position in it is a choice.

Second–the questions I ask myself. “Why are you such a loser?” is not the best way to try to motivate yourself to overcome your shortcomings. When I ask myself questions like this, amazingly I have many, many answers. Most of them are rooted in past behavior. Behavior I no longer can do anything about. Why? Because it is PAST behavior! When I ask, “How can I make today better than yesterday?” Or, “How can I be a better person, husband, wife, employee, citizen, etc.”, interestingly enough, I get answers here too. These answers usually come in the context of things I can do in the present and will affect my future. The opportunities presented to me in this life appear often in direct proportion to the questions I ask myself.

Finally–the window I peer out into the world is one I place before myself. What we focus on is what we see. If I constantly focus on death, pain, belligerence, debauchery, suffering, madness, loss, and hatred, guess what I see? If focus on people making a difference, compassion, growth, ingenuity, progress, and miracles, yes–miracles; I will see them too. Same planet–different worlds.

The greatest thing about these global changes that affect the masses is that we already have them, it can change the world for ourselves and others, and the shift occurs the moment we dedicate ourselves to the changes we wish to see. They can work as personally or universally as the intentions we use to activate them. We cannot change the world until we start upon the changes within ourselves.

Yes, it can be challenging at times. If you want a good workout on these principles, turn on the news. There are many people who are willing to spiritually spar and test our resolve. It is empowering to know that my armor thickens with my recall of these ideals. However if this is a bit hard, the S.S. Minnow always is an option.

Keep On Keepin On

2011-01-02T16:01:00.000-05:00

I can tell it is the New Year. Aside from the ritual of taking down holiday decorations and a small anxious desire for school to go back into session, there’s one major tell-tale sign: the proliferation of personal improvement ads.

Like budding trees in the springtime, the beginning of the year provides a plethora of reminders that it is time to take a personal inventory and whittle away at that we own that is less than desirable. If I take this pill, I can be in a better mood, detoxify my system, or shed those unwanted pounds.

If I call this guy, I can improve my finances, own real estate, or learn the secrets of getting a perfect physique in 90 days.

I can quit smoking, drinking, drugging, arguing with my kids, teach my baby to read, and go back to school.

I am emphatically encouraged to emerge from the chrysalis of last year’s drudgery into the beautiful butterfly I am destined to become...this month.

Eagerly I listen. I critically examine my attributes and lack thereof assessing what I need to keep, and what I need to improve upon. It is January 2nd. I am already a day late. Am I a loser already?

In this onslaught of suggestions of how my life can improve, lies the paradox of an equal amount of articles of why resolutions fail. Too much, too lofty, too quick. We are captivated and enchanted by a couple months of lights and mistletoe, fun and frivolity, and then like at 2:00 am in a pub, the lights come on, we are told to stop, and go home.

Of course it will be hard even with the noblest of intentions to make major life changes this time of year. We go from a season of indulgence, self satisfaction, giving, abundance, and festivity to immediately tear down decorations, a cold season of grey skies (here in the Midwest), holiday credit card bills, and then are expected to proclaim, then live up to, stopping things we have done habitually mainly because they make us feel good.

No sir, I don’t like it. It is hard enough for me to write the correct date on my checks in the New Year let alone stop eating what I enjoy, get more rest and exercise, upgrade to “better behavior 2.0”, reboot, and act as if it is easy, or at least enjoyable. It is like driving along the freeway at sixty miles and hour and noticing your exit then slamming your car into reverse trying to make it safely to your next destination. Not good for cars or humans.

I do not believe the New Year is like an Etch-a-Sketch. It is not a simple shake of the calendar and then we start over. If it were that simple, why wait for 364 days to pass before using that wonderful do-over? Why let a full year pass before deciding we could use a new blank sheet? Do we also need to shake it to make then entire past disappear? Sometimes we simply need a little White Out to mask a few mistakes to make the text read better.

Perhaps before considering resolutions we should examine what went well in the previous year? Let’s do more of THAT stuff! Perhaps make habits out of serendipity. If we spent more time focusing on some of what we do right and not so much that our jeans don’t fit like they used to, we would embellish the skills that would allow us the skill sets to achieve many more of the things we desire.

I like to look at life as if it had a “batting average”. As in baseball, it takes a number of times at bat to assess where our stats lie. Perfection is not so much praised as consistency of getting the hits. Of course we will swing and miss. It makes the home runs that much more fun to celebrate. It is the possibility of a strike out that hones our competitive spirit.

Personally I reflect this time of year “categorically.” I try to look at global attributes that I would like to examine in more forensic depth in the upcoming year. This examination requires time, research and rhythm. There is no way I can incorporate lasting changes into my life without practice and patience. It took a lot of the negative habits I may wish to eradicate a long time to erode their way into a habitual pattern. I must therefore offer the same amount of dedication and tenacity in replacing them. I am still busy making excuses in January!

I have in the past used categories such as “expanding my knowledge”, “improving my spiritual awareness”, “stabilizing my health”, “developing greater patience”, and I will often revisit those yearly but with just different amount of emphasis.

This year I am dedicating a larger amount of the pie to “balance.” I have a tendency to obsess or attach to one thing in my life often times at the detriment of another. As a farmer will plant many seeds, all needing different amounts of attention, water, nourishment, and care, he still plants with the intent to harvest all to better feed him and others. His attention and routines are stable and reliable and fluctuate to the ongoing needs of his crops.

I have many seeds planted now. I cannot let one suffer as I tend to another. I must have balance to have bounty. As the farmer weathers the seasons, the droughts, the rains, and adjusts his routines to the needs of his seedlings, so must I. It is another year, but it is also another day. In my goal to improve my life’s balance, I will simply keep on keepin’ on. By spring I should have some good plants growing.

Passing with a D

2010-12-18T19:32:00.000-05:00

I have to ask, “Am I really applying myself?” I mean reeeeeally applying myself.

Man I used to hate it when I heard this as a response to why something I was doing fell short of external expectations. Especially in school I heard this. In retrospect I was blessed I guess. School really wasn’t that hard. I don’t recall wedgies, or bullies an issue either. More so I found myself a victim of apathy and disinterest. Being class clown wasn’t necessarily a respected remedy according to the administrators.

I was resourceful though. I also valued the resource of good friends, common sense, a handful of manners, and respect for elders. I was able to get by. Some called it the”path of least resistance”; I considered it wiser to stay out of the woods and use a trail previously ventured. At least I knew where it was leading. There was comfort in that. Although many dreams for me were not going to be found on the paths carved by others, I chose the security of doing what was expected of me, what was familiar, what was pleasing.

Asking for what I wanted was often frowned upon as I may or may not have always been “traditional.” Yes I know the “squeaky wheel may get the grease”, but the squeaky may get taken to garage and replaced.

I found “applying” myself was when I was able to please others by manifesting tangible results and progression through the suitable application of my lessons. This ability was a reflection of not only the teacher’s skill, but in my ability to absorb the material thoroughly. Take the lemons, make the lemonade, pour them a glass, what for the approval. Go for the “yum!”

It is hard to feel like I am applying myself nowadays when I go against the grain. When I am not fitting into the social mold of what is expected of me based upon comparison to my peers. However when I see some of my peers, I do not always see a soaring spirit, fulfillment, and one who is creating a compelling future. I do not feel that every day has to be like a birthday party at a park in summertime, but I feel that following one’s own instinctual navigation is admirable.

I want to find solace in the application of my efforts–in a personal avenue I find inspiring, and compelling –worthy of praise. Worthy of admiration. Worthy of notice. Worthy of forgiveness.

I no longer want to feel that I am going through life passing with a D.

I want to feel okay with the fact that I am terrified at times. I want to revel in the fact that I broke free of the “me too” mold. I want to be judged by how far I bounced, rather than how far I fell. I want to be proud that my lack of need to be praised is worthy of it. I want to be a role model by trying not to be one.

I am no longer willing to exclusively base my life’s grade card on being able to get by, or even being comfortable. I think to get closer to an “A” there requires some feelings of exhilaration, exhaustion, ecstasy, and absolute surprise. Surprise in what we experience, what we create, what we endure, what we contribute.

With that I think we must endure grating pain. We must hurt others at times, yet have the stones to look them in the face and say “I am sorry”–the distance between the realizations that we have hurt them, to the point where we get to make it right is a cutting wound in itself.

I think a passing grade is feeling we did not only do “enough”, but more than enough–till it hurt sometimes. The trek from a passing “D” to closer to the summit of an “A” is defined by our contributions, and the examples we leave behind in our quest for ourselves. I realize I would rather be a loser because of how much I gave than a winner because of how much I took. Our grades are not always based on the academic.

Passing with a “D” is when the schedule never changes, the relationships ripen, and angry acceptance of the mundane becomes comfortable. Enough is okay, someday is acceptable, and okay is acceptable, and someday is enough. To me, it is one stumble from failure. However in life, there is no summer school. I see where God often places tutors in front of me. I see where my teachers appear frequently, yet in my comfort, I may be “napping on my desk” when I should most be paying attention. Not applying but absorbing. Do the extra credit.

As I have said before: “In life, not every classroom has a desk, nor every church a steeple.”

In my personal shift from ambition to meaning, I find it easier to get the passing grade, and a higher one at that. The grade is simply a result of steeping myself in the visceral experience of living with an alignment of a higher calling. When I find that I am heeding the call, the application is something that to me is as necessary as the breaths I take. Application becomes effortless and necessary with vigor. Progress toward the goals becomes a by-product of a passionate navigator.

My teachers are different now. Class is held in new rooms. I pay attention. I value my lessons. I just do not know if what I am doing follows the standard criteria to be worthy of a 4.0, an “A”, or a smiley face on the upper right hand of the paper. However I do know that I consider a smile on my face and the faces of those I serve and surround myself with will be worthy of a diploma somewhere down the line.

Make plans not outcomes

2010-12-09T09:56:00.000-05:00

“Cracker Barrel wisdom” is what I call it from time to time. I do not mean this disparagingly at all. If you have ever been to the afore-mentioned restaurant, it is a large but cozy, “country-kitchen” style with a “General Store” greeting you upon entry. The store harbors many sweets and treats as well as a variety of novelty treasures appearing to have come from days of old.

I like the old placards and signs of a wooden nature with old-school wisdom and humorous quotes. Some offer scripture and simple proclamations such as “T.G.I.F” or “Gone Fishin’”. Nice. Perhaps you may be a collector of little fridge magnets with some of this wisdom. One I have seen comes to mind. It states–“We make plans, God laughs.” Well that’s encouraging.

I guess I have a hard time picturing God actually laughing at my attempt to add structure to my day or my life. I liken it to my kids coming to me and informing me of their plans after school, what they want to do and with whom, and then share their excitement as the go on to tell me of a party they desire to attend the upcoming weekend, or maybe even share their future careers goals. I then bow my arms, placing fists upon hips, toss my head back, and let out an “Oh, that’s what YOU think” type of deep guttural belly laugh. Okay, maybe that was a bit extreme to make a point. I do not think that if I plan a picnic, God will make it rain to teach me a lesson either.

I think God wants us to make plans. I think we are encouraged to look ahead. I also think we should not stand idle hoping that a treasure map with a big “X” will appear telling us that we are to take five paces in this direction and then twenty paces to the next. It is part of the adventure contained in the potential of a misstep where we gain wisdom. I think we gain strength through our scars and calluses.

A father-figure style of direction is more of how I see it. Like a father, we are allowed the power of choice but are held accountable for our actions. Whether praise or reprimand, we align with the divine direction that is presented to us. If we turn our backs on this direction, we will burn our fingers on the stove, run with the scissors, and eat too many chocolates. We suffer. We get grounded. We must trust our navigator that we will indeed reach the shore with proper planning. However, we must also remember we cannot control the weather, but we can adjust our sails!

Our ability to be flexible enough to adjust our compass points mid-journey is what allows us to arrive safely. It is our faith in taking these detours or perhaps carving a new path is where I believe deep alignment with God lies. I think we are encouraged to venture out, but not be afraid to hand over the wheel from time to time. It is our ego that allows us to end up in the bad neighborhoods.

I feel encouraged and inspired when I make plans, not outcomes.

Rather than being paralyzed by fear awaiting my next shove down life’s path, I embark without fear, yet respectful of what may lie ahead. I realize that I may be challenged, I may be rewarded. By not focusing on what I feel “should” happen at the end of my journey, I can still stay present in the moment allowing me to feel the presence of the grace that will take me to exactly where I should arrive.

I do make plans. It is like packing a backpack with all the clothing and items you expect you “may” need–food and water, a compass, tent, and extra clothes. I plan on using some of these things, however that could change. I am okay with that. However if something does crop up unexpectedly along my journey, I hope God puts a Cracker Barrel nearby so I can get breakfast, some candy sticks, and sit in a rocking chair.

You don't have to like anybody...

2010-11-30T09:43:00.001-05:00

My kids teach me a lot–especially when class is being held by my pre-teen daughter. She and her posse change friends more than they change their clothes. Interestingly enough, within their social structure, ones inclusion and status is attached to whether or not they are currently “liked” by their peers. I guess it is a darn good thing we humans do not have a “like” button attached to us. It seems this liking can sway others to alter their opinions as well.

I find this fluctuation amusing. I have to keep a little notebook to be able to keep up with who is in the group’s favor at any given moment. I feel for the person who, because of a simple opinion or utterance, can fall from grace like the stock market on a downward plunge. Being not included, feeling alone, and ostracized simply for maintaining personal integrity or choosing to express oneself is a deep and profound censorship. Yes, we like to be surrounded with those of like mind, but where is the spice? It falls between controversy and complement, we must find a balance.

When we choose to shun another because of our opinion of them, or because they are too far from our standards, what becomes the benchmark? It is how they look? Is it what they drive? Is it what they wear? Are they bigger or smaller than us? Are they a different color, race, religion, or species? Who determines the parameters? Who speaks for the group? It confuses me as it seems that the group dynamic can dictate this. Our moods can dictate this. What kind of emotional seismograph would one need to properly navigate this minefield?

I have realized, “We do not have to like anybody, but we should make a strong attempt to love everybody.” (I will let that marinate for a moment.)

I admit there are people who I do not find social favor with. I also agree there are many whom I would rather not have in my presence for a variety of reasons. I am still trying to get over the lady who chastised me for being in line with too many items at the grocery. I mean, yes I did have a full cart, but the lady who worked there opened a line and offered, no one else was waiting, I checked to make sure. How was I to know the lady was going to walk up and have only three items? I mean she did not need to make a scene. I guess I could have not told her to “switch to decaf and just get over herself “either. Loud angry exhales from people behind me still get to me from time to time. “Love you angry lady!” (But I don’t like you right now.)

I see that “liking” someone is a more shallow and temporary emotion. Shallow, not necessarily from the standpoint of one’s character (sometimes), but that it does not always carry much depth per se. It can be affected by fleeting moments in time. Parents will be able to identify with this I assume. “I love you, but I don’t like you right now!” (*Child pouts and exits, muttering something about someone getting hit by a bus.)

A lot of this is behavior related.

There are many people in my life whose behavior can dictate whether or not I want to steep myself in their presence at any given moment. This again depends on my mood. It does not always corrupt my ongoing opinion of them.

There is something more here though; part two of the above mentioned sentiment. We should make a strong attempt to “love” everyone.

Love is an action word as well as an emotional and spiritual one.

We can “not like” someone, yet still consider them a human being. We can honor their rights, needs, freedoms, and deserving of said love. This can include sharing everything from the simple gesture of a smile, to offering company, food, shelter, and fellowship.

I hope I do not have to pull out the “WW’s.”

WWJD? (What would Jesus do?), or WWBD? (What would Buddha do?), WWYMTYTD? (What would your mom tell you to do?), WWYWTHITTWT? (What would you want to happen if the tables were turned?) WW...you get the point.

Yes, it may be true that we can indeed love someone from a distance, but I think that love’s true intention is to try to close the gap.

We will all be confronted with this dichotomy. It is nice to know we have choices–choices that go beyond our definition of one’s status by how they look, or what type of music they like, or what they do for fun. Try to take the high road. All the cool kids are doing it–(Unless of course you are still in junior high.)

“Merry 4th of Eastaborial Thanksbirthmastines Day!”

2010-11-23T10:20:00.003-05:00

I love holidays. Now I do anyhow. As we approach the annual celebration of Thanksgiving, I enjoy not only seeing the preparation for the upcoming fellowship and communion of those I cherish, but also sit with Ibuprophen coursing through my veins from the stiffness acquired from putting up my Christmas lights yesterday. (Yes I did! I mean, heck it was a nice day yester..., never mind.)

I find myself inspired here as I was browsing my favorite social networking site where I get a lot of ideas for this and many writings, and I ran across a post of a friend expressing their extreme dislike (button needed) for “government declared holidays” and that it causes extreme gastrointestinal distress to them to simply paraphrase.

Now to note up front - I really like this person, they are very kind, warm, spiritual, and full of love. This being known, I do indeed understand their context and mindset stimulating their statement. I stand here not in judgment, but observation.
("They" being used for annonymity.)

I thought to myself, “Who couldn’t enjoy holidays?” I also thought, “Aren’t most holidays started, stimulated, created, or supported by some governing body?” Maybe.

I do understand the stress that they can cause. There are those without family to surround themselves with. There are those without finances to provide the festive atmosphere we associate with the chosen celebration.

Perhaps cultural diversity and differences can cause one to feel separate or left out. I know of others who have lost loved ones around the time and the thought of being happy when they are missing their beloved is difficult at best.

I empathize with my friend as I know in the past; I too have expressed my disgust at “Hallmark Holidays.” You know the ones that seem to crop up simply to stimulate the necessity for a card or purchased gesture or gift? “Happy 2nd cousins’ twice removed on your sisters’ side day!”

I then thought further...

I really do not care now what the government has to do with the instigation of anything I celebrate when it involves surrounding myself with my loved ones. However, I humbly recognize and acknowledge major components of the celebration itself like: the birth of a savior, a major religious happening, freedom achieved, war ceased, enlightenment or recognition, or an end to persecution. I guess I simply like being surrounded by my friends and family for no particular reason, and to have the government close a few businesses to allow a few friends to make it to the table, I guess I am thankful for that.

All that aside, I have always been amazed that it takes a “holiday” for the masses to take time for reflection, charity, brotherhood, and giving. Also to become inspired to serve the community, give to strangers, feed the hungry, and to take a personal inventory of what they are thankful for. If this is truly “in us” and not simple “posturing” to fit in to the molded and temporary mindset of a seasonal celebration, where is it on the dates not punctuated on our calendars? Hmmm...

I do believe it is in us. I think we simply need a collective consciousness of a seasonal celebration from time to time to tap us on the shoulder to remind us to remember the important stuff–the stuff that makes life worth living.

I propose a holiday like “Merry 4th of Eastaborial Thanksbirthmastines Day!” It has all the components of the things we like to celebrate as a holiday, but also as human beings.

It has the elements of many of the widely celebrated holidays* to where we hit all the high points: religion and freedom thereof, independence, thankfulness, love, celebrating those who work for our common good, and those who fought for our rights. There could be fireworks, cards with hearts, lots of food, spirituality, and also birthday hats! Yes, it would be an undertaking, and that is the beauty of it!

Since there would be no way we could possibly fit all this in to one day, and since it would involve all of those surrounding us, I am sure it would spill into the days coming. Perhaps never ending...

We could have an ongoing reminder to love, celebrate the lives of one another, revel in our freedoms and independence and thank those who made it possible. We could share our faith with one another and also love and respect those with views other than our own. We could remember to be thankful for every gift we have and reflect on the source of our abundance, no matter the quantity!

I guess I simply wish we could retain these principles on the other hundreds of days in the year!

“Happy August 17th! Here is a card!”

“Thanks man! Crap, I didn’t get you anything.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Awww!”

I do love the holidays. Yes my lights are up and I do intend to enjoy the fellowship of my loved ones at a table exquisitely prepared by the lovely ladies in my life. I am blessed!

In aligning with my friends’ sentiment that I do not like or need any government to dictate what I do when, and what I celebrate, and show thankfulness for, I get that. I am however, glad that some in and out of my family get a little respite from their normal routine. Sometimes it takes that to slow us down to wave what we should be thankful for in front of us if only for a day.

I hope your gravy is lump-free, your reflections meaningful, and fellowship warming. May your good will bleed into the days beyond the stated date of celebration. I wish you all Merry 4th of Eastaborial Thanksbirthmastines Day!

(*My statement of “widely celebrated holidays” does indeed recognize Hanukkah, Ramadan, Kwanzaa, etc, and many other holidays celebrated by all cultures. I simply got tired of re-editing the stupid title to make a point. The exclusions were neither intentional nor insensitive, and please feel free to add delete or disregard the title or this post entirely. Happy Hanukkah, Ramadan, Kwanzaa, and any other holiday (or none) you enjoy!)

Related Posts: It's beginning to look alot like Christmas by Ladaisi

Am I jobless?

2010-11-12T09:20:00.002-05:00

Ironically over Labor Day weekend of this year my business closed, the doors locked, and the security of a regular income faded. I became “jobless.”

In the past couple of months, as many do in my situation, I have cursed, reflected, researched, regrouped, cursed some more, and re-embarked on my next path to not only seek financial stability, but I have started to answer the question: “What the hell am I gonna do now?” I have a few ideas. The plans are in the works.

Aside from that, one of the struggles I have found, has not been of a financial nature. Yes, I miss being able to take a casual lap through the mall and pick up a new toy here or there for myself or my kids. Nowadays I must forensically evaluate where every dime is going. Honestly I find even though this lesson in life is tough, it is a valuable one. I know I will obtain work, I know eventually I will refill the bucket, and I know stuff will be okay. This lesson in frugality will serve me well and I pray to God I do not forget it.

I do find though that attaching an idea of “worthlessness” can accompany one who does not have a “nine-to-five ritual” to participate in. Although fleeting, I do battle with flushing out of my mind the perception of not having “value” or “worth” due to my current unemployed status.

My self-worth has nothing to do with my net-worth!

Okay, I do not currently have a boss, a weekly paycheck, a set schedule, a cubicle, or a commute. However I do have a “job.” (Note–The word “job” used for the purpose of this writing. Read on.)

I awaken early every day pre-dawn (earlier than I ever did while employed). I use this time for quiet reflection, activating gratitude, and to sip on coffee uninterrupted. I feel these things are best done in the private quiet hours. Trying to obtain these treasures are difficult at best as the troops rally in the morning, and also at that point I realize my focus should be on them.

I pack lunches, make breakfast, check homework if needed, offer encouraging dialogue, attend to the family pet, tidy up, and then accompany my son to school on our bikes because he likes the company. I return home to assess the daily duties, maybe cleaning, always groceries, cooking, personal growth obligations, meal preparation for my wife (who works outside the home) and my kids.

My wife passes on some of her to-do list as I now have the time. She works hard, and I enjoy helping lighten her load.

After school, I now have more energy to play ball with my kids. We have developed a game called “One Bounce” (I will spare you the “continually evolving” rules). We wrestle a lot. We laugh a lot. This new routine is healthy. It takes no more time. It only takes desire and focus.

I have the house tidied, dinner made, stuff done so when my wife gets home at night, she can relax. She likes having a “house husband.” I guess it is nice to be able to have an avenue at redemption for times I may not have been as fun to have around. I like that she notices. I have realized that women value this sort of thing more than I thought. Tip: Men–do even “slightly” more than is expected of you and you will get 200% return on your investment!

I have found that I do have a “job.” My job description involves caring for a family. I lovingly monitor the needs of the inhabitants and the ongoing household maintenance. I provide security and in some cases executive protection. I offer transportation services, entertainment, and life coaching. I am a personal chef. I am a housekeeper, therapist, handy man, fashion consultant, and personal assistant.

I just don’t have business cards. Yet.

I find the key to maintaining a feeling of usefulness is two-fold:

One is always doing my duties with compassion and love and in service of those I care most about, both in house and in the world. I never look at these things as a job, but something I “get” to do. (Yes at times I will still bitch and whine, but that I don’t want my family to get too comfortable with this situation.) If I do not stay busy, I will find the idle time for the negative feelings to infiltrate my space and distract me from the happiness I bestow on others, therefore getting a hearty dose in return.

And second; I realize that sometimes it is the things I will never receive a W-2 from that are the most rewarding accomplishments I can ever achieve. Although I do hope this scenario of employment is temporary, I have had the ability to serve my family in newer and more valuable ways. I have gotten a chance to get to know them in new ways. I also realize a lot of these things I can do around a career. Many of the simple gestures are only a result of me taking the time to focus on needs of people other than myself. (Wow! - *tear*)

So class; today’s lesson will require you to remember only two things: (Please repeat)

“My self-worth has nothing to do with my net-worth.”

“I am never ‘jobless’.”

Related Posts: Wonderfully Chaotic~ Encouragement in Unemployment

The Time Traveller

2010-11-05T10:26:00.001-04:00

Although my abilities to travel time do not have a cool machine with blinking lights and mechanical noises, I do have one of the most effective ways of transcending time at warp speed. My abilities to travel time are discreet. People will not even miss me. Maybe it is my animated doppelganger that lingers in the space I occupied upon my departure. The guy who remains looks like me, acts like me, yet the consciousness and spirit significant of me is far off into another realm.

I travel time a lot. It can be an addiction really and is actually difficult to overcome the urge. Sometimes it requires a focused effort to not achieve lift-off. Since my ability to travel through time is often against my will, I find it nowadays more of a nuisance than a super-power. I find that I don’t want to go. I like it here.

This morning as I write, I have already sped through time, both forward and backwards. I have leapt from one place and time to the next with reckless abandon. My hair a mess, morning clothes on, and coffee mug in hand, I zipped about unnoticed; visiting the times and places that lie in my wake as well as that were awaiting me in the future. The morning quiet was lost upon me. My peaceful solitude I often crave lost through the busy shuffle of experiences I encounter as I traverse time’s boundaries.

Here is an example of a trip:

6:30 am

*Stretch* “Man, this coffee is good. Nice morning.” *Scratch* (Yeah, but it is going to be a busy day. Looks like rain/snow today.) *Lift off has been achieved!*

(I better make sure the kids have warm clothes, I bet it is going to rain when the kids are out of school.)

*Pause*

(Damn, that means traffic will be backed up. I guess I will have to leave early. Last time I had to drive entirely around the block to get in line for the pickup. That day sucked.)

“Let’s see what is on the news. Great, more politics; more economic woes.”

(I guess the economy wouldn’t matter to me so much if I had only made better decisions in the past. Idiot. Heck, even if I started saving in high school, I still would be hurting. High school was fun. On second thought...What was I thinking with that hair? Eighties fashion was a bit outrageous. So was the music. I miss the music sometimes. Reminds me of good times. I wish there were more good times. )

“I have to get the kids up in a few minutes.”

(I hope they don’t start today, like every day, fighting over the blanket. They fight over everything. They still love each other. I guess I will miss this someday. I will miss them when they are gone. I hope they call and visit. I hope my grandkids are as cool as my kids are. They will be. Hopefully)

*Sip* *Click*

“Man, I hate infomercials. I mean, do I really need a Steam Mop?”

(Maybe. Ooh, if I buy one, I get one free? Bonus! We could have used one in our business. Guess that doesn’t matter now. Since it closed and all. I hope we will be alright. I hope we do not lose our home. Forty Five and homeless. Hmmm. We will be okay. Someday.)

*Sip* *Click*

“Oh boy. Another cartoon to sell a toy. Japanese animation no doubt. Why can’t they sync the mouth to the words?”

(I remember loving this stuff as a kid. From Speed Racer to G.I. Joe. Times were simpler then. Heck, I loved our sandbox. Especially the one at my grandma’s. I miss Grandmama. I wish kids loved simple toys. Now they all need chargers and cost hundreds of dollars. I hope we can afford Christmas. The holidays are here already. Damn, I have to hang Christmas lights again. I hope it will be a nice day then.)

6:42 am

I am exhausted. In twelve minutes I have ventured back in time hours, days, and even forty years. I have also travelled ahead in time from later this afternoon to the birth of my grandchildren.

I spend a lot of time during the day simply praying to get a few moments of stillness, the kind of stillness that can only come from the quiet hours of early morning accompanied by a hot cup of your favorite coffee while your loved ones sleep. I’m often too busy travelling.

I have gotten better at my little impromptu trips. They depart less frequently. They depart with less fear and judgment. They used to swiftly snare me and drop me off back in time in the worst situations I could remember. Sometimes in the worst I could conjure.

They could also take me at light speed to my own personal Armageddon–fear greasing the rails and projection pointing the way.

Be where you are when you are there.

I have learned that peace is in presence. My past can no longer haunt me if I do not allow it space in today. My past is a great teacher, yet cannot become a demon unless I choose to demonize it. I can keep it locked in its cage. Sure it can growl and rattle, but I am safe in my present awareness.

The future? I will just have to wait until I get there. Since it has not happened yet, it is no more toxic than the poison I choose to paint it with. Why not use crayon? It is more colorful and fun!

Dreams are fun and memories grand. The ability to whisk ourselves away to forgotten times and unknown lands can provide solace in the mundane. Use your travel abilities with discretion my friends. Sometimes it is okay to go on a little trip. I mean, how many Steam Mops do we need anyway?

Related Post by: Every Woman's Guide To Life ~ Catch Me If You Can

A lesson in alchemy...

2010-10-26T17:03:00.000-04:00

I used to spend more time praying for things to go “my way.” I prayed for abundance. I prayed for promotions. I prayed for things to appear, to happen, and to go away.

Maybe it stemmed from my early “ask-and-ye-shall-receive” delusions I got from watching “I Dream of Jeanie” to where a scantily clad beauty could simply blink and nod away the undesired or perhaps conjure up the coveted object. Where was my babe in a bottle?

At times I used to believe prayer made me lazy. I felt if I “whined” enough, or perhaps asked and then did not receive, I could “blame” my circumstances on something or someone and just casually go back to what I was doing, professing that “it just wasn’t in the cards for me” then. The opposite of what I asked for being more of a punishment–penance.

So then I tried achievement, accomplishment, and aggressive grasping at that which I sought. Maybe if it were to be mine, I had to go get it. I saw a goal, went for it, and expected it to eventually happen. Many times it did, when it didn’t, I would blurt out a few token prayers, situations would change, and I would be back to the same empty hand–the cards in my hand worthy of nothing but folding.

Many times, and I mean many times I fell short of a desired goal. Many times “Santa” did not bring what I wanted for Christmas. Many opportunities fell short of my expectation and many times did I resort to feeling cheated, victimized, hated, forsaken, violated, and bitter. Life became cruel

Oh yes I would receive some things–just not what I asked for! The nerve...

In awakening to the principle of life’s lesson in alchemy, my experiences started to transform.

Many have heard of the sought after ability to transform lead into gold – the perceived power of the early alchemists. I believe that this is more of a metaphorical skill that one can possess with the right training. How often have we been presented with the raw material we needed to transform our lives into one of blessed abundance? How many times have we tossed it aside as if useless?

I see how alchemy is the ability to transform.

It is the ability to shift our perception of a potentially negative situation and position it as one of value. What are we to learn? What are we to gain? To whom are we to share this with? To whom are we to serve?

In retrospect, whenever I see a point when I decided to change from the position of one of loss to the receiver, I begin to see how the once declared “disaster” in front of me is simply a lump of “lead”–the raw material needed to use the alchemists craft to forge precious gold.

It is easier for me to see the blessing knowing that I at least have the ingredients for that I wish to create in my hands; I just need to start working out the recipe. Like the fledgling chef preparing a new dish for his loved ones, when the intention behind the application of skill is a gesture of love and providing for the greater good of those I serve, I rarely have my deeds fall upon unappreciative receivers. They can feast even though more skill is needed.

The beauty of alchemy is simply the ability to reframe our perspective. We are able to shift our vision to be able to see the presence of that which we ask we currently have–simply in it’s not yet altered form.

As an alchemist, if I am able to take a less-than-desirable event that has happened to me, and save another from treading down the same path or at least from treading on it as long, I have started the transformation.

If I am able to see the strength, wisdom, fortitude, and courage I have gained in spite of the adversary, I am that much more prepared for future conflict. Forethought in the ability to avoid repeating danger is gold in and of itself.

If I am able to simply get cut to the point where the “scar tissue” is a reminder to avoid the same situation again at all costs, and to help others abstain as well, I have validated the incident.

So when life hands you heavy lumps of dull gray lead matter, worthless in appearance and burdensome to carry the load–remember this:

Alchemy is learning. Alchemy is growing. Alchemy is mysterious and transformative. Alchemy can be the initiative of gratitude, and when shared with others–alchemy is love, and love is golden.

Will you practice this skill?

This concept freedom...

2010-10-19T11:04:00.000-04:00

I remember I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I wanted to break out of my Bastille and roam a free man unencumbered by the dictums and doctrine of those who confined me. Okay, that was a bit dramatic. I was a youngster dreaming of being out of my parent’s home. I wanted freedom.

I wanted simply the right to “be on my own,” to “be my own man,” to come and go as I pleased and do what I wanted. Man I would kill to be under the care my parents provided for me: “three hots and a cot”, continual and unconditional love, direction, a soft place to fall. Sometimes we mistake our “chains that bind” instead of being what they are: the loving arms restraining us from running into traffic.

As I reflect, I see many of us always seem to look beyond where we are. We seek that nirvana of our “freedom”–the concept of: “there” is better than “here.”

Is it not paradoxical that if we continually focus on something or someplace beyond our current grasp, that the space between actually becomes our jailor? How can we feel free? We become trapped by our longing...

Someday we will get to someplace at some time to receive something from someone somehow. How many people live life in these shackles?

I see so often around me (and at times in my own life) the bondage that people create by the feeling of being trapped: in jobs, in relationships, by their schedules, their finances, their limitations, and their “status”. Is it truly “freedom” we need? Are we bound? By what or whom?

I wanted freedom from a career and received unemployment. I wanted freedom from relationships and received loneliness. I wanted freedom from pain and received intoxication. I wanted freedom from a schedule and received boredom. I wanted freedom from reality and found it wouldn’t leave. Which is more binding?

Now I do indeed realize that people are held beyond their will. I clearly empathize with those whose circumstances were imposed upon them creating insurmountable odds and dire consequences. Many are held in prisons far beyond their deserving and not led there by a jury of their peers. Their flesh mortified and their souls trampled, yet...some...are still...free?!

I offer you this taken as an excerpt from Viktor Frankl's - Man's Search for Meaning:

"We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through huts comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number, but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms–to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”

I see how restraining my chosen perspective on things has been to me in the past. I see how my internal dialogue leveraged my inability to see the true gold from the pyrite. How often do I now humbly desire for one more chance to be confined within the walls of the spaces I wished to break free from. Sometimes only momentarily...

As I see it now, freedom is an odd concept. Like a monkey swinging from vine to vine, he is only truly “free” in the air in the moments between grasping the next vine. If he remains in that space he flails and falls. It is the clinging and swinging that offers progression and security. Perhaps at times we don’t truly desire the freedom of the freefall, but simply need the next new vine. Swing on and be free my friends!

How to get in a "Really good place"...

2010-10-14T09:37:00.000-04:00

A few days shy of my chosen month-long break, I find myself returning here inspired. After recently closing my business and handling the related financial and legal circumstances, I return to you not lesser of a man, but more so.

Being currently “in-between” jobs (P.C. vernacular for “unemployed”) I find that I have a bit more “flex-time” without the urgency of having to dart off to unlock doors, turn on lights, and heat up curling irons to prepare for my day. (I was a hairdresser in a past life.) This leaves me a few extra minutes to browse my email, web sites, news, and social networks. Although my domestic duties have expanded exponentially, as they should, I do not currently have an appointment book to dictate my pace of cleaning, groceries, cooking, and errands.

Today’s social network reading led me to stumble upon a couple friends exchanging pleasantries and one mentioned being “in a really good place.” Inspiration to write ensued...

I wondered, “What do we have to endure to get into a really good place?” Is it by comparison? Is it by fortune? Is it divinely bestowed upon us? What do we do to deserve it?

I also reflected that as I glance over my shoulder to my own past, what did I consider the “really good places?”

I found that it was often after the storms have passed.

I found that it was after taking a personal inventory of what I was surrounded with and those I loved.

I realized that I was not as bad off as what I perceived.

I realized I was still, at my worst, more fortunate that a large percentage of the planet.

I also realized I had a lot of ownership in the timing of when I realized most of this.

I also realized I can be in a really good place a lot sooner than I expected.

What we focus on is what we see. If we only choose to focus on what we are lacking, we are distracted away from the blessings we currently have. Often it is these blessings that will be the life preservers that keep us afloat in the torrents to come.

When we feel that things are most bleak, I find that a simple emotional detour is to take a moment to reflect on the things I have now that were once goals–some of them once perceived as lofty or unobtainable. At one time I could never picture owning a home, being in a partnership with a beautiful caring wife, and being the father of two loving kids. I have traveled; I have and have had toys. I’ve done stuff that I never thought I could at one time.

So I lost a business. Okay it sucks, but at least I had one to lose and it taught me a lot. The memories both good and bad are priceless. They also allowed me opportunities I would never have been able to achieve without it. I gained more than I lost. (Not financially)

I have battled addiction, estrangement, financial disappointment, conflict, illness, family cancer, challenges of faith, and damn have they made me stronger, wiser, more compassionate, and respectful of others to a degree that I would never have had not going through them. God sent me to college.

We must endure the sweat and pain to get the buff body. We must endure the knife, to remove that which ails us. We take a punch to know how to keep our guard up. We must lose to know the value of that which we hold. Love must sometimes leave our presence for us to realize the preciousness of its gift when we have it.

We can choose the frame we put around our life’s picture. We can choose our perspective. As I reflect, I see that the times I said I was in “a good place” were only as a result of the chasms I had crossed to get there. I see every, yes every challenge I have had, has eventually paid off in either wisdom, appreciation, thankfulness, and gratitude for where I end up. In seeing this, it allows me to say a humble “thank you” for every situation, no matter how perceptively challenging at the present, as a step on the journey to my eventual benefit. And yes I do fight this at times...

Sparing the details of a current situation that many would consider “devastating”, I find that where I am now is a “really good place.” I have decided to study the alchemy of turning a bad situation into a blessing. It will be. I just have to be patient. Although I may not be at my chosen destination, I can stick my head out the window, breeze in my hair, as I travel the road from one “really good place” to the next. Care to join me?

I am what I am

2010-09-19T11:06:00.000-04:00

I remember a darker time. This time I was wrestling with myself. For some odd reason I was acting, doing, and being a person I was not happy with. I was not fulfilled. I was not proud. I was not challenged. I was not happy.

I remember mentioning that it was like I was peering in at myself trapped inside the glass confines of a fishbowl. I would pound on the glass trying to get my own attention and scream, “Why the hell are you doing this to yourself?!”

I in turn would scream back, “I DON’T KNOW!!” and then I would turn my back and walk away, returning to the negative behaviors.

What I see upon reflection is that I became separate from myself. I lost my identity. I was no longer whole.

At times of trial, we must be able to make sure we pull ourselves together by pulling ourselves together. We must be able to know who we are and what we stand for. We must be able to melt our strengths into one being; to be able to gain the momentum that only a collection of positive forces can create. We must select and focus on the best in ourselves and not focus on our shortcomings.

What I now ask myself is am I trying to take “progressive action” or “restorative action”.

In “restorative action” we must take a peek in the rear view mirror. A peek. It is where we clean out or closets determining what must stay and what must go. This allows us to intercept old behaviors and replace them with new ones. We make room. We feel good. We feel lighter. We must observe what has not served us well and perhaps where the holes in our map may have been. We restore.

I do feel that both observations are necessary to occasionally “tune-up” our lives from time-to-time. However, I feel it is best to first gain strength and momentum so that the gravity of past deeds do not depress our accelerator. I like to take “progressive action” first to get going before going back to plug the leaks.

One of the best ways I have found in moving forward which also assists in our restoration is to remember who we are. If we can visualize us standing tall and stand as the perfect models of what we wish to portray to ourselves and those we serve, we can have a better grasp on where we are going. We implant our values back into our field of vision. If we identify and prioritize our values and what we stand for, we will rejoin with who we are as well as who we want to be, inversely leaving our old behaviors in the dust.

Recently I was talking with a friend who had some “closet cleaning” to do. He lamented that he was embarrassed by some actions he had partaken in and the perceived damage it caused to those he loved. He said he was ashamed to make amends as his behavior was not significant and in the nature of a “Smith.” (Names changed to protect the innocent.)

I mentioned that in retrospect the person he was holding the apology and love from probably missed and forgave him by now. He was punishing himself long after the other had moved on further robbing him of his identity–separating him.

I mentioned that if he were to stand tall (literally) and visualize what a “Smith” stood for, would it be being a man and taking responsibility? He replied yes. Courage? He replied again yes. Integrity? Yes. Valuing others feelings? Yes. Making Amends to those we owe them to? Yes. Overcoming fear? Yes. (All these questions leading to the obvious solution.)

He remembered who he was and wanted to be. He had a plan. He could move forward. This step also allowed him to do some “restorative” work as well.

If we reconnect with the person we know we truly are–(sometimes buried under the garbage of our thoughts, labels, past deeds) and who we deserve to become, we can capitalize on our collective selves. We can channel all the strengths that lie dormant behind the prison of our own fears and separateness.

Once we connect with our true selves and our true value systems, we not only hold the key, but can shove it in the lock of our self-made emotional prisons freeing ourselves to do the work we need to do to move forward.

Ask yourself “Who you are.” Really take inventory. Use affirmations, and if you do not have one, steal Popeye’s: “I yam what I yam, and that’s all that I yam!” Stand tall and reconnect with your values that state who you are and deserve to be. I seriously doubt that a can of spinach will do the job on this one.

Decide to make a decision

2010-09-13T11:28:00.000-04:00

Nothing great has ever been achieved without first making a decision to do so. A decision becomes a personal and intimate contract with ourselves to accept nothing less than the obtaining of our goal.

Decisions are simply a desire set in motion.

I used to be guilty of thinking that a decision could not be made until I had all pieces of the puzzle. I need to have the before, the middle, and the ending in full mental grasp before embarking on achieving its completion. Often some of the greatest journeys, some of the boldest adventures occur and unfold as we are standing upon the bow with our arms held high and wind blowing in our hair knowing not where we are headed. It is the thrill of the unknown that validates the trip. We must first make the decision to get on the ship.

Inversely, at times we may have too much information. We may find that we already have a notion of how the adventure is going to unfold. We allow fear to bond us into inactivity. Our decision making ability clouded by assumptions based solely upon the outcomes of past circumstances. Our greatest educator? Experience. At times our greatest adversary? Experience.

Our lives change the moment we make a decision. We make a commitment to alter our course, adjust our sails, and embark on a new direction. Decisions are also activation of progress. Progress can be observed in the thrust of a tsunami as well as the movement of a glacier. Both are undeniably powerful, both can have enormous ability to move any obstacle, the only difference is at the speed at which they travel, however once in motion, they will both achieve noticeable forward progression.

As long as we remember there are no failures in life, there are only results; our decisions will not be stifled by our projections of fear or unattained outcomes. We can make the decision to get up, get going, and make life happen for us. Whether it is a diet, gaining a new relationship, shedding a less-than-healthy one, a new job, or seeking a new life path, it all starts with making that initial decision to do so. We must come to the conclusion that the status quo has run its course and it is time to venture onward. For whatever reason, we had to stop in a “port of call”, refuel, rest, and renew our navigational points, but rest does not mean retire from life. It does not mean give up. It simply means “enough of that, now onto something fresh.”

Sometimes we must also make a decision to realize that we need to surrender. Surrender not so much as throwing up your arms in defeat and being marched off by the enemy, but to let someone else drive who knows the way home. Sometimes our decisions are to incorporate the power and wisdom of others. Maybe it is to come to the realization that our past decisions were not working and must be retooled.

Finally we must also remember that it is our decisions and not our conditions that determine our destiny. Some of the greatest achievements were made by people without the potential of you and I. They did not have the seeds of finance, strength, power, status, physical ability, or courage. They simply made a decision to manifest what up until then lay dormant in their heart.

As Helen Keller had said “Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.”

So my friends, what do you wish to change? What is scarce in your life that you wish to manifest? Where is the glory in dreaming without making the decision to reach out and grasp for that which is rightfully yours?

Decisions are the keys to open the gate to a new life.

Make a decision!

Now take the first step of acting upon it!

Happy Anniversary to me!

2010-09-05T10:30:00.000-04:00

It’s been a year. I started blogging this weekend one year ago. I decided that blogging was at least the next step to deviate from exclusively screaming in my pillow. I know that releasing the stuff that builds up is healthy. It is also nice to realize you are not alone. I also realize the true way to diminish suffering is through sharing your experiences honestly which may help another person diminish theirs.

In one year through my writing, I have also found that the amount of readers does not affect the quality of what I write, nor my desire to do so. I have seen a handful of bloggers and people on social networks who “harvest” friends and followers. I think they feel validated more by numbers than content. I simply like to release my words. I place them on the buffet table. If you consume, great! If not, thank you for coming. It is like when you were a child blowing on the dying Dandelion–we enjoy the act of releasing the seeds, where the wind carries them to take root is out of our control.

I have spent a year examining, digesting, and pondering. I do this not to become separate, but to become one–as indeed we all are. You can go kicking and screaming while debating this, but the realization does eventually arrive. Details aside, we all suffer, we all love or want to be, we all wrestle with similar demons, and embrace the moments when kissed by the divine. We can still be alone without being lonely in knowing this.

This year long path has allowed me the blessed ability to release the toxins I used to keep inside. I can place them before me to evaluate my adversaries and through the support of others gain the necessary momentum to keep on keepin’ on. I can clean out my closet and be able to make room for newer and better stuff. I can give away the rest, and I also have many friends who are there to tell me to toss certain things that are no longer necessary, and for that I thank you.

As I have gone back through my writing over the past year, I have seen the emotional ups and downs reflected in my writing. Some were spawned by my own circumstances, and some inspired by the plight I see others enduring. Ups and downs–the peaks and valleys; it is this tempo that is depictive of life’s EKG showing us we are alive. When we are static, we are flat lining.

I have enjoyed my documenting this journey so through my words I can live on. I can travel time and space and can meet people from around the world I may not bump into at the grocery. I can heal without a doctor’s credentials, and cry on the shoulder of a friend on the other side of the planet. Hopefully my words will be here years down the road, perhaps after my passing when my kids may want to know what Daddy thought about sadness or happiness, or for my wife to reminisce about how we crossed a chasm in hard times. I can enjoy immortality, omnipresence, time travel, and most importantly through the realization of humility, I can see I am one OF a million rather than one IN a million.

Thank you friends, one and all for pulling up a chair on the deck of this cruise I have been on for the past year. Thank you for those who helped take the wheel in some of the storms. Thanks to those of you who sat at the captain’s table to enjoy the fruits of good times. To those who appeared when I pulled into your port for the first time, thanks for the welcoming when I set foot in your neck of the world. I hope the weather was none too rough and I hope you would recommend the trip to a friend.

As with any anniversary, it allows us to reflect back and savor the past years journey–to be able to hold onto the memories and take stock of the journey. It is also a chance to hit the reset button and do it all over again, just hopefully being mindful of where the potholes were.

As I posted recently on a social network status, I feel it necessary to once again repeat:

“Blessed is the man who counts his riches not by the coins in his pocket, but by the friends in his heart. I am blessed. I am rich.” ~ me

What're you gonna do about it?

2010-08-29T11:24:00.001-04:00

The other day a group of friends were talking of the challenges we all face when something disrupts us–robs us of our “serenity” if you will. It is going to happen. We are a social species with free-will, and with that comes the frequent happenstance of an undesired situation entering our space.

Often it can seem like there are these “peace assassins” out to snipe us at any given moment. I had often spent a fair amount of my life assuming I was so cosmically important that the planets aligned, the gods convened to decide on how to disrupt me, and then they would send their minions out to pull off this dastardly deed, but now not so much.

Fortunately it takes a bit more nowadays to put me in the ditch.

I have become blessed with a few, but important realizations that carry me through this bumpy road called life.

I’m not that important! I am not so important that people got up 15 minutes early to pull in front of me in traffic and slow down. I am not so important that the little old lady with sixteen weeks of coupons, who finally got a ride to the grocery, got in line in front of me and forgot ketchup and needs to go get it just to see if I would come undone. God does not hate me and therefore did not decide to make it rain on my day off. My kids do not cry and fight to upset me. That is just their nature.

I may not be important, but I can have importance. One is a title I want others to pin on me, one is a title others want to pin on me.

Am I trying to own something that does not belong to me? I used to love to jump in the mix. As stated in my first point, often times we can see how easy it is to try to own a situation that does not belong to us. As it can be trying to smile through life’s little hiccups, it is also important to not go looking for a challenge. Often things do not happen to us as much as happen near us. We were just standing too close to the crap. Sometimes the only thing we have invested in a situation is proximity and timing.

Maybe we are trying to disown something we should personally tackle. Are you a claimer or a blamer? It is often much easier to find out why someone or something else is to blame for negative situations that befall us, but if indeed we have our role in it, we will eventually have to answer for it. The avoidance of a situation is often far worse than the eventual confrontation of it. It is like having a bully say, “I am going to kick your ass...someday!” Every day is a fearful challenge until we get closure from confronting that which haunts us. Often we cannot deal with the entirety of a situation, but we can answer for our own part in the play.

Remember this: “Nobody can piss us off without our permission!”

How much power are we willing to give to something no matter how trivial or monumental? What value are we instilling on the situation, opinion, or person that is creating the perceived disturbance? The more time, energy, and focus we place on the disturbance, the more we validate it as “worthy” of our undivided attention. Are we going to live our story or live or life?

As certain issues do require proactive opposition, they do not need to be made into any more of an assault than they really are. Maintaining your cool is Kryptonite to any a problem or person quickly diminishing their power over you.

So live life my friends and to the little things be damned! Find your path to happiness and share the path with others. To those of you who choose to stay still and whine, please keep your mouth shut as that just pisses me off. ; )

I'm not afraid to be scared

2010-08-20T09:48:00.001-04:00

I guess I am ready to be scared. It is kind of a rush actually. Normalcy and complacency have run their course and it is time for transition. I think it is healthy to be a little scared from time-to-time. As much as certainty nourishes us, so do we grow from the unforeseen. Do I really want to know what is around every corner? I think not.

Being scared has an exhilaration that starts the heart. It works our emotional muscles. It shakes us and rocks us off the comfy spots on our couches. It is like our first roller coaster ride where upon rising to the click-clack of the cart moving upward, we know we are either going to throw up or throw our arms up and squeal like a child wanting to go again.

Life hands us challenges. Usually neutral in how they are served, but we can often victimize ourselves by how we label things. We can perceive that things are insurmountable, disrupting, and unfair. Through this fear we become scared. Scared is still okay. We have often been scared, but we often forget what lies on the other side of transcending fear: skill, strength, understanding, leadership, and sometimes peace to name a few.

Remember how long the street looked when you first teetered on two wheels? Remember how long the hallways looked when you first entered school? Did you forget your locker combination? How about the two words that changed your life forever: “I do!” Were you certain of your abilities as a spouse? How about parenting? How did you feel as you stared at the backside of a backpack walking away from you for the first time as your child entered school? Ever lost a job? Gone broke? Overcome illness, addiction, loss?

Still here? Still standing? Wiser? Stronger?

Sure there are enough things out there that are “horrifying”: war, famine, and a multitude of things that we humans need to get a wrangle on. However it is funny that the horrifying things often test our resolve in other ways and are often not as perpetually disrupting to our day-to-day existence. At least I hope not.

I want to be scared. I want to feel again what it is like to grow, to overcome, and feel strong. It is how I feel on the other side of scared that makes me feel empowered, connected, and alive!

Are you scared of anything now? Can you envision how you would feel on the other side of it? What will you gain? Can you use it to the greater good of those around you? It is also comforting to know we have all been there.

Like a child who is afraid of the dark, it is often our opinion of what lies ahead and not the reality which is our greatest adversary. I will try to keep my opinions under wraps so the battles diminish and my will grows exponentially.

To life’s little “Boogey Men” out there I say “bring it on!” “You’re not so tough!”Just please leave the light in the hallway on for me until I fall asleep okay?

Reduction

2010-08-07T10:54:00.003-04:00

Am I getting smaller? Recently I have felt that I am. Often times not by my own choice. I wish it were because of a successful diet. However it is a reduction of a different kind.

As I look around I see alot of ways that we can be reduced. I wish it were more so a practice of simplifying, yet it is not. Often times it is a bit more destructive than helpful. Let me explain.

Opinions.

Our ability to reduce someone through opinion is one way we can reduce a person. We can take an entire human and the sum of their total existence, their behaviors, their thoughts, their soul, and reduce it into a simple statement; most often a judgment.

“The fat one.”

“The mean one.”

“The stupid one.”

The disabled one.”

“The broke one.”

Our attempt to label and position another can indeed become a testimony to our ignorance. I refuse to judge a situation, person, or circumstance by one singular component any more than I would judge an entire song by one note. People can try to pin labels on us however we do not have to wear their “stinking badges.”

Have you ever filled out a financial statement?

It is odd how an entire sense of self-worth can become attached to our net worth.

“Wow! I have become the sum of the contents of my home, and the digital contents of a couple bank accounts.”

Society has a number they like you to hit. This number can affect an opinion of you as well. If I buy a new couch will you like me more? How about if I add a zero to my bank statement? Am I reduced to a simple number? Does my sense of identity have to fluctuate with my daily balance?

Titles.

It is often funny how much effort, over a long period of time, with a vast culmination of experiences come together to create a title. We can hold many titles: Doctor, Mommy, Daddy, Corporal, and Manager; the list goes on. Often many find solace in settling into the title as opposed to the sum of the experiences that got them there. Does the title bond you to the masses expanding you, or does it reduce you?

Situations.

Often I have felt when in the middle of an undesired circumstance that I could easily reduce my life, my opinion of myself, and my titles, to one simple label. I could say “life sucks”, or “this is horrible”, or “it will not ever get any better.” Not only did I reduce myself, but I also narrowed my scope of reality. Many times we have to get certain life issues further behind us to allow us to look in the “rear-view mirror” and see the bigger picture; we can see that the things we curse often bless us. Expanding our focus diffuses reduction. Expanding our perspective expands our life.

When I find I am attempting to reduce myself, another, or a situation, I must remind myself that as I look back, everything, and I mean everything that I once perceived as negative has paid off eventually. Whether it is through knowledge, patience, or simply experiencing what not to do I have benefitted. I also learned that most often reducing my focus takes away my ability to see not only the greater picture but the important life lesson. Life is like a Monet painting, sometimes we have to step back, really look, be patient, and let it show us what we are supposed to see.

We are all more than one label, one moment, one opinion, one number, and one consequence. If we expand our focus, become patient, and broaden our perspective, we can truly see the messages we are supposed to see. The only time reduction is a really good thing is if you are making a sauce. I hope both your life and your sauces are flavorful.

Footsteps

2010-07-25T11:36:00.000-04:00

The needle on my compass is broken. It used to be quite reliable as far as my navigational partner, but currently it stopped pointing the way. Now what?! Maybe it is a good thing.

I often find that often the compass is not necessarily “broken” as much as it has an intrinsic intelligence that pauses its function to allow us to switch to our intuitive devices. I think things happen to keep us from plodding along life’s path in a “lemming-like” state just because. Like early sailors, if they were caught out at sea without a map or compass, they switched between what God placed before them, mixed in with a little “gut”, and they fearlessly tread onward driven by passion and fear of standing still.

However, when the path forward sometimes seems rather dull, frightful, unchallenging, or perhaps dismal at a given moment, we can take a peek in our rearview mirror. Although not always wise to “live” in yesterday, we can retrace a few paces and maybe examine our impact.

Is where we have been only what it appears on the surface? Is our past only comprised of our own circumstances? Are we travelling alone? I think we leave footprints.

In our travels we leave behind visible markers of our presence. Sometimes we leave perishable traces of where we have been–momentary evidence that we have passed through. It is our footprint on life’s sandy beach simply waiting on the tide of time to erase it. From the simple gestures, assistances we have loaned to a stranger, and idle banter with passers-by we can indeed leave a footprint along our daily path. Think back at the end of your day to simple moments of truth where we maybe encountered a stranger, exchanged contact, and then proceeded onward. Do you remember them? There lies a footprint. They took the place of another thought. In your absence you live on in someone else’s life–even if momentarily. Who knows where the nudge will take you?

Sometimes we walk through damp concrete–our steps indelibly present–proof of our presence strong and visible eventually hardening. Maybe they were words of encouragement that turned another’s life around at a crucial moment. Many times we are not always aware of the depth and impact our presence can make on another. We may not be aware of how close to another’s core we come. Sometimes with a simple anecdote we may save a life somewhere down the line.

Some of us are teachers. We share our skill so that another may flourish. Words, trades, jobs, and knowledge are precious gifts never to be taken lightly. Used in the hands of a creative master, we never know what momentum may be given to a simple statement or craft. Maybe our footprint here was simply stepping first in the right direction allowing others to follow.

As mentors past or present, we must not concern ourselves as much with where we are now going, but to remain at peace that we have fertilized another’s journey. Being a parent is one of the most crucial of this example. “Do as I say, and not as I do?” I still think we should lead by example noticing that a child learns life through our footsteps. If we are mindful now of our steps, less apology and reconciliation may be needed later. Time passed through anger and pain that could be well spent exchanging quality time–time spent laying a dual set of steps for future travelers. Lay your footsteps for your children as if they were pavers to cross life’s chasm. Often they are.

Sometimes our footsteps go through another’s garden. Sometimes we tread where we are unwelcome. We may have good or bad intention but still we find we have trampled another’s field. As with flowers, they can be damaged; they can be destroyed, but can also be replanted–seeds can be re-sown. We must realize that we may not be welcome to help in the recultivation. Even though we may be willing to dirty our hands and dig, and be willing to water the seeds for new growth, sometimes we must move onward and create our own garden where our footsteps are welcome. Maybe this new space must be fertilized with the lesson learned that we need to be aware that we also travel in a path shared by others, and that we must respect our fellow journeyers.

I find as I venture onward, I have become less attached to the path I leave but have increased in my respect of it. I realize that I am not the only one stepping. I also realize how much my steps leave behind a part of me both good and bad, and sometimes they are brief in their presence, and sometimes will remain long after I have left this Earth.

In my presence, and my awareness of where I am now, I can at least try my best to be respectful in where I leave my footprints. I also realize that sometimes I may leave them where I am completely oblivious to. I hope I don’t trample your flowers.

I finally realize that at some point along the way, I was often uncertain of what lie ahead, but now as I look back, I realize I kept walking onward. Sometimes I needed faith to keep moving to be able to put the story together later by examining the footsteps. I just hope when I reach the end of my journey, my steps were flanked by my loved ones, that they were pointed in a good direction and that when in a deep or dark area, the steps continued out of the valley.

Thanks for walking with me today.

Utopia

2010-07-19T11:13:00.000-04:00

Utopia: n. An ideally perfect place, especially in its social, political, and moral aspects.

I wonder if there is such a place.

Now I assume by this point the idea of “Heaven” has already entered someone’s mind. We could start the debate with going from a Biblical definition of “pearly gates and streets paved with gold”, to the nebulous interpretation of “spiritual elevation and enlightenment in this lifetime.” Since both lend themselves to passionate rhetoric, I will save that observation for another time as the topic in-and-of-itself leverages where I am going.

I guess when I ponder this place “Utopia,” this “perfect place” of moral, social, political, and aesthetic correctness; I wonder initially how it could exist.

Since it would have to have pleasing, inviting, and unimposing qualities, I wonder “whose” social and architectural plan we would use. Collectively, this “dream place” would be difficult to create as it would require people to agree in a broad and accepting manner as to what is for the greater good of all. One message, universal acceptance and love, acknowledgement of people’s uniqueness, forgiveness, and compassion would need to dominate the recipe. It has been tried in religious institutions, societies, and cultures, and sooner or later the ideals challenge a few to eventually decide to dissect and create their own interpretation. The old model no longer works for some. Thusly, this diminishes and dilutes the initial ideal. Can we agree? Can we agree to disagree?

Are we running “to” something or running “from” something? Why are we running anyhow? Is what we have entirely broken? Is it beyond repair?

Two incidents caused me to reflect upon today’s topic and one was from a friend stating that a community that would be isolated, surrounded by nature with like-minded people may be an answer to avoiding the evil societal menace; a commune of sorts.

The difficulty lies in the fact that over time, inclusion of many like-minded people will disturb the balance of the nature sought to become the backdrop for said reflection and enjoyment. (Google humanities impact on any place it settles – overall not a great track record.) Disallowing people to join would then perhaps become the exclusionary prototype which prompted the exodus in the first place. Sooner or later by default a “society” would be created. Who will stay, and who will be left behind when the decision is made at a later point that this Utopia has become tainted?

The second was an online posting of a song I have grown to love over time. It is “Somewhere over the rainbow” by Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. (I will post the link below as it should be viewed and shared.)

It is a brilliant, lofty version of the tune made famous by Judy Garland in the Wizard of OZ. The song also ponders this storybook version of a beautiful space coveted by mankind. I agree I would love to often propel on the wings of an angel and find myself in the land of bluebirds and gum drops. I can close my eyes and sometimes come real close. Maybe that is how we are supposed to find these spaces. Maybe they are in us and not “way out there” or over the elusive rainbow.

Utopia for me is a shift in perception.

Although the thought of “perfection” is a difficult pill to swallow if the subject matter is mankind, I do realize that my perception becomes the filter in which I view my surroundings; things can indeed become “better.”

Perhaps this “Utopia” will become available. Maybe it will be revealed to me and others in this lifetime. Maybe the big reveal will require me to leave this physical plane. I know that I have found it from time to time in a spot down by the river. At times it is with a group of my friends. Sometimes I have also found it in my own backyard. You all are welcome anytime.

Somewhere over the rainbow by IZ

Friends share...

2010-07-14T08:48:00.001-04:00

A couple good blogger friends had been so kind as to ask me to contribute a post to their blogs. I humbly accepted and now they are available to read.

The topics are in some ways similar as I address the issues of what people consider "success," and the other addresses the "Journey to Joy."

They have really great hearts and really great blogs as well. Please pop in, browse around, and enjoy!

Thanks for reading here, and thanks for reading there!

Have a great day all! (Links below)

First Impressions by Mansi Bhatia - Article Title: "Success - Loosely Defined"

Journey to Joy by Bill Bruner - Article title: "My Journey"

Beauty is what the heart sees

2010-07-10T19:41:00.003-04:00

Author's note ~ In writing one of my most recent blogs "Who...AM...I?", I observed and commented upon our sense of "self-identification." I tried to present concepts to chew on pertaining to how we incorporate certain "things" and ideals into our lives to either feel “greater-than or less-than.” Amazingly, I omitted a facet of that discussion I encounter quite frequently. It’s my job. The subject is "beauty." My personal interpretation and attachment to this subject has changed over the years. My exposure to this subject and those seeking it has broadened my perspective not only on the subject itself, but those in a perpetual quest to obtain it.

I am a beauty professional by trade. I used to think that made me an “expert” on the subject. I won't bore you with my credentials or my resume' as I find them no longer applicable.

For years, a quarter century to be exact, I have travelled the globe sharing and acquiring knowledge on this subject to be a sought after beauty guru. Yes, I have done TV, worked with celebrities, and have my work featured in magazines. Again, these are dusty trophies of a man who has been blessed with a new perspective.

Beauty is an opinion.

As a long time participant in trend releases and magazine spreads depicting what the masses should consider beauty, I now find an ironic humor in this. In my quest to help extinguish the burn of insecurities injected into public by my own images, I found I was often raising the bar all the while trying to boost my clients to help reach it. It was like trying to get somewhere by walking down the up escalator.

Hopping in the way-back machine we find many trends that were presented to and entertained by the public. For example:

In the days of Cleopatra, hair was colored with ground minerals and plants, permed with ingredients ranging from dirt to dung, and others at times had their subjects' heads shaved to not overshadow the royals in their beauty.

In the days of Marie Antoinette, the huge high-rise hair styles we see in paintings were obtained by cutting the hair of slaves and attaching them to the aristocrats with a concoction using lard.

In some time periods and cultures, obesity is sought after as it shows a well-fed life of leisure. The Rubinesque curvy women of earlier centuries were a sought after companion. Jenny Craig would have been a heretic.

Nudity in some countries is the dress code.

If beauty was not an opinion, often keeping designers, trainers, and therapists employed, we would not be burdened with what the latest new anything is. The standard would be health, acceptance, and function. No more women's magazines with the heft of a Los Angeles phone directory clogging our mail slots in the fall.

Beauty is a facade.

I really, really, admire women. I truly do. Outside of a Photoshop master, is any collective group worthy of respect for their deceptive prowess? Let's start at the top and work downward...

Hair - Cut, colored, Permed, lengthened with extensions. Teased, moussed, sprayed, pinned, and secured.

Eyelashes - Tinted, thickened, lengthened

Makeup, Botox, Restlyne, fillers, and micro-demabrasion.

(We are just getting to the neck!)

Spray Tan. Tanning bed. Sunshine.

Breast augmentation, reduction, push up bras.

Tummy tuck, liposuction, creams, oils, and ointments, and we can't forget Spanx.

Thighs - See lipo and Spanx

Calves - High heels

Feet - polish and pedi

Hands - Can't get a pedi without a mani.

I have seen almost all these on one woman, and this does not even include the wardrobe selection.

Now I can appreciate all this effort and can also enjoy the visual appeal. I am a man you know. What is interesting though, is that somewhere down the line, someone, or a group instilled the idea that we were not good enough in our original form. Our age becomes a curse as our normal natural progression that allows us to become wise, become parents, and to expand our experiences in the world and the related nicks and scratches make us become "lesser than." Is an octogenarian any less beautiful than an adolescent?

I admit I like being a man. I just have to shower, use some deodorant and toothpaste, and a comb, and we are just as good on our wedding day as we are on our day off. I will also admit I will wait until the ladies leave the room until I exhale and let my gut relax.

Beauty to me is who we are or how we would feel in a lightless world. I have always said: "Everyone is a dimmer switch away from being a 'ten'." I feel sad when people use the benchmark of "beauty" when feeling whether or not they deserve love, companionship, or affection. Maybe the trends change each season because not enough people are buying it. Maybe people are smarter than they are given credit. I think they are.

I have always tried to help people achieve a harmonious balance between function and fashion. Our beauty regimen should be an ongoing and expanding appreciation of the necessary restoration that allows us to be happy with ourselves today. It is okay if this changes frequently. What we see on the outside is only the wrapping on the gift.

Beauty is what the heart sees.

Never dismiss the hearts connection to what it finds as beautiful. True beauty doesn't concern itself with acknowledging weight, age, labels, or logos. Beauty is what we feel when we warm in the presence of something. We stare, we desire, we connect. Why? Often we do not know.

The ability to see beauty first in ourselves allows us to see it around us and in others. Beauty is love that sees beyond the surface. It is the magnetism without reason and bond without boundary.

If beauty were only visual, are the blind capable of its appreciation? Of course.

True beauty cannot be trimmed, Botoxed, or squeezed into jeans. It has no age, gender, nor is it a number on a scale. Beauty is a divine gift given to us by our Creator to be enjoyed without challenge.

Beauty can be found in all things tainted only by negative reflection.

Beauty is an opinion - make yours positive.

Beauty can be a facade - go deeper to appreciate the true beauty.

Beauty is what the heart sees, may yours have 20/20 vision.

This VIDEO is quite an eye opener to the world I used to work in, and also greatly supports my point.

Who...AM...I?

2010-07-07T21:25:00.000-04:00

Ever asked a kid who they are? Aside from the standard response of their name, you will also get a variety of responses being “My name is (insert name here) and...

“I can tie my shoes!”

“I can go pee-pee on the potty!”

“I have Spiderman shoes!”

“I am a cub scout!”

“I am four years old!”

Ask a teen to young adult and the response also expands beyond the name.

“Oh that is Brittany, she is a cheerleader!”

“My name is Doug, I am captain of the football team!”

“That is Jill, she is valedictorian!”

“Yeah, I think I have heard of him, he goes to Ohio State.”

“Doesn’t she own the blue Mercedes?”

As Adults:

“Wow, you are having lunch with him? Isn’t he the bank president?”

“That’s Darlene. She has twins and is married to the famous baseball player.”

“Don’t you know who I am, I could own you!!”

“How can I go to jail? It will ruin my reputation!”

“They are nothing. They don’t even have a full membership to the club.”

As we age:

“That is my son. He is the City commissioner.”

“I am the ex-CEO of such-and-such industries.”

“I am grandpa to seven wonderful kids.”

I guess I reflect upon this as I pondered for a moment on asking myself: “Who am I?”

I often times find myself trying to make this personal reconciliation when something changes in my life. At times it is also when I am trying to become okay with the fact of where I may presently be in my own personal timeline. Maybe I should be somewhere else. Maybe someONE else. Is what I am doing a good testimony to who I am supposed to be? My identity. What is this thing called identity anyhow? Why is it our name, our identity has to have some sort of subscript attached to it?

As I started to dig a bit deeper, I started to realize that for me to get to the bottom of my query I had to do a couple things. One was to separate my circumstances from what I call my identity. I quickly learned that I am not what my circumstances dictate. The most hurtful thing we can do is to attach our circumstances to a personal opinion of ourselves. Often these labels occur in crises such as financial difficulty, relationship squabbles, affliction and addiction, loss of property, separation from groups or people we care for.

In the past I would attach a negative label upon myself due to the addition or subtraction of one of the above mention categories. Who I am, the me deep inside does not have to change because of an endeavor, poor choice, good choice, or circumstance I found myself in. Bad circumstances do not make me a bad person any more than going to a football game makes me a quarterback.

So it stands, I am not what I do.

I also realize that things can come and go. In these recent economic times, many have been humbled by the realization that nothing, especially toys and money last forever. Sometimes one of life’s best lessons can be to lose some-things we worship. I realize that if I used to drive a Mercedes, and now drive a Chevy compact, I am no less a person. Should one think this to the contrary, explain to me how you may justify one’s “human stock” dropping after a hurricane because their belongings are destroyed. It doesn’t. Often their best assets surface.

I am not what I have.

I have time on my hands. I write a lot. I also get time to play. I do not have the time to try to manipulate nor adapt to what others think of me. I can live the life I believe I am supposed to. I can try to live on the greater side of good. I seek compassion and connection. If you don’t find any favor in that. So be it. I don’t have time to try to make you like me. Does my worth really grow if you do? I would rather be alone for the right reasons, than famous for the wrong ones.

I am not what others think of me.

In deep contemplation of “who I am”, I find it hard to explain. The moment I try to explain it, I label myself. Am I a Dad, husband, business owner, swell guy, martial artist, reiki practitioner, and foodie? Yes– by activity or practice, but it is who I am inside that allows me to connect to those things collectively. Who I am makes me seek them out, or try to be the best at those things, and yet, if those things change, who I am necessarily may not.

I find “who I am” is found in the space between. My identity goes beyond my name which was given to me without my consent (not that I dislike it). My identity is not tainted by opinions including my own. It is the music without sound and the light yet without luminescence. It is ethereal, nebulous, and spiritual. It is the part of me that doesn’t need a compass to know where my true North is.

Who I am is the part of me that I would be with no one around. It is the part of me who I would want to share with my most cherished loved ones. It is the me I long for, when who I “think” I am or should be is most present in the room. It is who I know I want to be. It is who I am okay with.

The “I” I seek is where I find peace. It is where I know. Where things seem correct. Struggle stops. No outside appreciation is necessary. It is from that peace and awareness I become most radiant, and therefore I end up becoming what my ego most often wanted me to become, just now with the substance to back it, but the humility to not need the adoration. I am a sum of my experiences. I am the recipe of myself that has no ingredients. Empty yet full.

I guess what I have found is that no matter the onslaught, and inversely the joys, I am still the same being. I am I.

I am not a title, hood ornament, number on a W-2, position, label on clothing, your opinion or mine, I am who I am supposed to be, and for once I really, really feel okay with that. No matter what I gain – I am the same guy. No matter what I lose – I am the same guy. If you love me – I am the same guy. If you hate me – I don’t care.

If you ask me who I am, my name is Tony. My identity is not my name and the labels past and present that may be pinned to it. Who I am is somewhere inside, protected and flourishing. I hope the real “me” gets to meet the real “you” someday.

The name will have to do for now...

http://www.tonyanders.com/

Independently dependent

2010-07-04T11:56:00.002-04:00

As I scratch the mosquito bites on my ankle once again, I continue to reflect on their source.

(*Side note: “OFF” only makes you sticky, smell like old lady perfume and weed killer, and does not work! – Author’s Opinion)

Recently, one of my favorite holidays has become the observation of Independence Day; July 4th to be exact. In the good old U.S. of A. we gather with food, fun, and fellowship and a robust celebration. Often involving block parties, parades, and potlucks; we gather, we cheer, and we bond.

The highlight of the festivities reaches apogee at the onset of dusk, as fireworks both public and private light the night sky. A friend observed how ironic it is that we celebrate our independence by simulating a war. It is kind of like celebrating weight loss by dressing up as a Twinkie. Interesting.

I still love the entire kit and kaboodle though. As I started the day, I enjoyed the walk up the street to the parade route. The parade in our community is quite the spectacle. It is a continual string of our veterans, local schools, cub scouts and cheerleaders, musical performances, floats, and a colorful mix of pretty much anything with legs and wheels. There is also a lot of red, white, and blue to be seen as well.

The day starts with a friends’ house becoming the hub of activity among our circle of friends, some close, some on the distant social fringe. People share the most precious gifts with one another: the company of their loved ones, recipes passed down from the matriarchs in their family, their time, their joy.

As the day progressed, people dispersed for power naps, other festive obligations, and simple leisurely reclining in the shade somewhere. The celebration is lengthy, so one may need to recharge at some point; some more so than others if inspired by an abundance of Bloody Marys.

In my down time and leading into the evening’s festivities I reflected on my observation of Independence Day. I am independent, but I am also dependent.

Truly I am thankful for the ongoing efforts of those who allow me the right to live as I do, where I do, and to not be living among rubble, oppression, and flying ordnance. In the grand scheme of things, as the universe blew on the proverbial Dandelion seeds allowing them to fly then land as they may, I am so thankful, I took root where I did. But I also looked at what nourishes me; what I am dependent on.

Now I am not talking “dependent” as if my life would be “lesser” without them, or “who I am” is dependent on them, but the things that nourish my soul, and that which I am grateful for.

My loved ones. Not just the people in my gene pool, but my friends, my friend’s friends, and those I have yet to meet. As I swam in the sea of people celebrating patriotically, I realized, they are all my family, and I love them all, the Americans as well as those enjoying the fruits of our land.

I have always believed Norman Rockwell had a hand in developing the community where we live. I am blessed not only with the aesthetic beauty of my surroundings, but the care those who are my neighbors share. It is not as much prideful, but done out of love. It is lush, mature, and green. Parks are prolific, and the sense of community prevails year round. In retrospect, I realize I have been able to find these qualities in many of the places I have lived if I take the inventory with the proper perspective.

My ability to become. Not just to “be” but “become” is what I am also thankful for. Opportunity flourishes in the absence of oppression, and for those keeping watch at the door, I salute you. I admire that the greatest gift we often extend to others is a chance... even if it is a chance to fail. Some in this world are told who and what they will be from their first breath, and their path is paved for them. I would rather carve my own way through a jungle following my own hearts navigation, than to follow the blacktop laid down by another for me.

Collectively the fact that I can even share these thoughts with you, and that I could even expand into sharing my spiritual or religious views with anyone in a public forum is a monumental blessing in itself. With that, the fact that we could disagree, publically display our views, and display flags, colors, and icons of our choice is amazing in and of itself. Once again I profess my thanks to those who fight under our flag often times for the rights of those who do not always choose to observe it, and their right to that opinion.

I guess I have become dependent on these things, these principles. It is our independence that provides me with the ability to become dependent on them. I am thankful for both. I try to not let this sentiment be observed only once per year.

So eat, drink, and be merry fellow Americans and invited guests! Prepare your “Ooooo’s” and “Ahhhh’s” for the holiday’s pyrotechnic performances. Don’t forget to extend a little thanks, a nod, and a fist bump to those who helped you obtain the right to wear that goofy star-spangled outfit. Lastly, choose your insect repellant wisely!

http://www.tonyanders.com/

The Uninvited

2010-06-27T18:32:00.001-04:00

The morning coffee was dark and perfect.

Sunshine? Check!

Family happy? Check!

I was reading my morning digital dose of news, email, and random whatnot when I heard: “You’re getting fat!”

“What?”

“You heard me; fat!” said the voice with authority.

I looked down. “Well, squishy around the equator maybe, but...”

The morning’s peaceful pace became interrupted with critical self-doubt and now a moment in taking my own personal inventory.

I remember back-in-the-proverbial-day a commercial for a popular breakfast cereal professed if you could “pinch an inch” (around your middle) you may need to lose weight. Well I guess that means that if I can grab a fistful like I was harvesting a Nerf Football from my midsection, I may have issue! The inventory continued for a moment, and then I reflected that I really could care less about the unsolicited opinion of this person, and with my own authority banished him from the room.

(The antagonist was me.)

The episode forgotten for the moment, a few ticks of the clock pass, the day progresses.

The top was down on the convertible as I ventured downtown to stroll among the artists and uninhibited at a local community festival. Reaching in my pocket, I made sure I had the proper supplies before locking up and leaving my car behind for the 5 block hike to the event.

Wallet, keys, iPhone, earphones, and a few dollars spending cash; all this accompanying the freedom of a guy on his day off were plenty enough to satisfy.

“Loser!” said the familiar voice.

“Wha...?”

“Not only are you are loser, but a broke loser!” The diatribe continued: “Real men work for a living and don’t waste their time here. How many dollars do you have? If you were working now, you would have at least double that!”

“Dad, where in the hell did you come from?”

No Answer.

I realized I didn’t have to listen. The only leverage an opinion has is our acknowledgement of it. I don’t care how he found me after all these years, but all I knew is I did not have to listen. I turned to continue as I had intended. I had what I needed and proceeded through the gates of the festival. The breeze, the sun, the music, and the aroma of fair food were reward enough for my efforts. For now I have enough.

What I realized in the reflection of these two incidents is how frequently these unsolicited and uninvited opinions can surface. The interesting thing is I am frequently alone. How is it these voices enter our space in an attempt at our disruption?

I noticed how often we are subjected to the voices of those whose words have become an anchor. I also wondered why they endure and resurface repeatedly often causing moments of self-doubt. A lot of times I found they come from people who we currently, or once loved and cherished. (Sometimes the onslaught has our voice.) The opinions of those we so feverishly fought to manipulate into a favorable glow that surrounded us. Why are the kind words of encouragement often found at the back of our closets?

Amazingly I have been called: fat, old, worthless, broke, selfish, and a cornucopia of less-than-desirable labels by people or voices that were not even in my presence. I was often unaware or at least at peace with my situation prior to the critique. They were voices from people past, sometimes the media, perceptions of society, and opinions of strangers, loved ones, and ones I desired to love, even myself. They can be also found in magazine ads, billboards, and late night infomercials. They often liked to submit their opinions when I was alone or feeling empowered trying to throw off my balance.

I call them now “The Uninvited.”

I find when I doubt, critique, or argue with myself, I am only allowing these uninvited guests to ruin my party. Any energy we give to these uninvited opinions whether past, current, or conjured simply distract us from our present potential. Healthy self-evaluation is one thing. Emotional shredding is yet another.

Opinions can only manifest themselves when we start to wrestle with them.

Fat? No. Nerfy? Maybe.

Broke? According to whose opinion? I feel like I am still the luckiest redneck at the rodeo.

Who is in the room with you? Were they invited?

I consider myself lucky that now I do not entertain my uninvited guests. I have a huge bouncer at the door called “Awareness” who often is able to keep them at bay on the proper side of the velvet rope. Some occasional sneak in the back door and are asked to leave or are thrown out.

For those of you who are invited: I will be the “squishy” guy with a pocket full of change and his fingers in his ears enjoying himself.

I rule.

2010-06-20T20:53:00.001-04:00

I am fortunate. I live in a beautiful neighborhood that has the gift of maturity. In many of today’s “Jiffy Pop” neighborhoods, the tallest trees are often shorter than I am. Often you have to stick around many years, decades even, to appreciate and see shade than can connect from one sidewalk to the other from the trees’ shaded umbrella.

I walk our neighborhood. The neighbors take pride in their yards and I take pride in their taking pride. It makes the walks that much more pleasurable. The city in which I live will eventually get around to the little blemishes that occur from the aforementioned maturity and our harsh Midwest winters. The sidewalks buckle and crack from the trees’ roots claiming victory over man’s attempt to subdue nature’s progression with man-made concrete walkways.

My morning walk allowed me to plod along my familiar path. Down the street, passing ten dwellings, crossing the lane, I continued along passing a field that flanks our neighborhood elementary school. Due to recent construction there, part of the fence parted allowing the trucks passage, and there was a patch of ground brown with dirt where grass should be. Seed was planted but not yet rooted. I could tell the sidewalks were new due to their tell-tale dark battleship grey tint. It was still drying. Square number one was christened with the words: “I RULE” signed “E.B.”

(The E.B. is hard to see)

My humblest response:

Dearest E.B.,

I remember the days of my youth, assuming you are young, unhampered by self-doubt, and all the zest for life a young heart can create. I remember dreaming on the playground, role-playing great adventures. I remember welcoming my friends to join, adding thrill to the adventure. No dream too lofty, no adventure too forbidden.

I ruled too. I ruled my destiny and my soul burned with the promise of my own growth. The world was my oyster, my treasure chest, my love, and my passion. I had not let the voices of doubt become frequent dialogue that could infiltrate my ability to withstand the taunts of the naysayers.

E.B. – indeed you rule, and perhaps you may not know what your kingdom is, but never believe your obstacles outweigh your deserving. Sometimes the king finds his crown at the top of the highest mountain or at the bottom of the abyss. We never know if it is victory or pain that bestows upon us our praise and recognition.

Let your voice be heard above that of simple graffiti. Do not hold back your pain and anger by screaming in your pillow. Let your voice be heard and let it ring far and wide. Only then will your honest and open show of your own humanity gain for you that which you seek. The meek may inherit the Earth, but the noble, wise, and strong are those who often lead. Never forget though if you wish to be revered by humans, you must remain one. Compassion dear E.B.; compassion is essential.

As you age, as you draw nearer to your goal, remember to govern yourself first. Find the joy of being connected to who you truly are. Find the stillness and happiness in being able to enjoy your own being. Trying to seek approval from the masses is daunting, and more so draining if you lose your own identity. Find skill in your own personal management.

Also, practice the skill of silence. Sometimes the best rulers are those who give others a chance to shine. Restrain from being the first to need adoration, and allowing others to bask in the glow of their own personal achievement is truly a noble trait. The best rulers respect their own shortcomings, and surround themselves with those who have mastery beyond their own skills.

E.B., I admit now that life has presented me with a variety of challenges. Some have dealt me crippling blows. However I am still here. I will also admit that my ability to profess that “I RULE” at much at all has dwindled. Maybe I did not listen soon enough to my own advice. Don’t let others try to steal your scepter. When you stop believing you are worthy, others follow suit.

“Rule?” I am not sure if I really want to rule much. However the bold statement of a youth who still has dreams unimpeded and a sense of self-esteem that will leverage his or her dreams into fruition, I bow to you. You indeed rule, and I pray your tenure does not include term limits.

~ T.A.

Author’s note:

I frequently pass this square on my walk. I check for E.B.’s message. It took only a couple of weeks for either nature or the skilled trowel of a worker to erase the message. I hope the enthusiasm that inspired the initial act of graffiti has not waned. I also hope that the only expression of E.B.’s confidence extends beyond vandalism and into positive creation of action that propels this person into that which he or she professed in cement. I also hope the skilled trowel of society, opinion, and unrealistic expectations do not smooth the passion of this youth. Godspeed E.B., and if you are going to mark up any more sidewalks, please use chalk.

You can't hurt me

2010-06-13T13:03:00.000-04:00

Someone flashed me. I didn’t feel a thing...

I spent a glorious day yesterday with a group of friends I do not see as frequently as I would like, but it seems we always pick up where we left off. You know those friends; the ones that you may not see for days, weeks, or years, but some ripple in time does not make it seem as long as it has.

Upon driving the hour-long trip home, I enjoyed a brilliant light show from nature warning us that it was about to christen us with a healthy rain. Soft melodic music set the ambient background as the wind burst in and out of the window with my arm “surfing” the bluster. T’was a blessed evening indeed.

The drive along the dark highway with only the soft “whish” of damp tires was eventually interrupted by civilization. Bright street lamps, glowing signs, and hustle and bustle of people getting where they have to go eventually encroached upon my serenity set to cruise control.

I approached the light; sign said I had one option for left, one for straight/right. You know the one where the arrow goes forward and also veers right in the same vertical column separating our choices. I chose straight/right.

I admit I was not aware of how important the guy was behind me. Nor was I aware of his urgent schedule. I mean I did not plan to be where I was when I was there; I just arrived at that light at that time. I stopped at the red light as my choice, once narrowed from the straight/right to only desiring the straight, halted my progression momentarily. “His Highness” behind me must have desired to go right, despite his cosmic tardiness now placed him behind me. I stopped, coincidentally he did too. He flashed his brights at me. I didn’t feel a thing.

I kind of chuckled as once upon a time, the illuminated “call-to-arms” could have led to a good old fashioned redneck smack down. Not tonite. I now find the folly in what people allow to derail them. No I am not talking about any physical contact as I could see if someone punched you, pulled your hair, flicked your nose, gave you a “noogie, Indian burn, or wet-willie” which could cause a commotion if undesired, but the simple things we have allowed to become unnerving. It is quite comical actually.

“She rolled her eyes at me, can you believe it?!”

“Did you kick her ass?”

“No, but I really wanted to.”

This one I have heard and I am sure somewhere the outcome did transpire into violence.

Who also started the “I will harm you and disrupt you with a loud exhale” tactic? Ever had one of those moments in line somewhere; you cannot make up your mind between the chicken or the beef? I mean a burrito can be a commitment as they do truly stick with you for a while. You pause, you vacillate between the two. Then you hear it from behind you: “Huhhhh!” “Crap, give me the beef.”

Someone ever “raise their eyebrows at you? You know the: “Did they really just say that” with the accompaniment of the “OMG” sneer? Ouch. I mean that one is usually saved for the most severe of social indiscretions. I find it practiced frequently among pre-teen girls. At least in my home.

I find the “Slow-shaking-of-the-head-in-disapproval” is another tactic with its own venomous barb.

“What did I do? I mean I looked over and this dude was shaking his head at me!”

“Oh my gosh man, did you shake your head back?!”

“Damn! I didn’t think of it fast enough.”

“Maybe you ought to take the day off tomorrow to recover.”

All I want to know is how many people have died over time from the simple extending of a digit? Make a fist. Now, extend only your middle finger. Good. Now raise that hand at someone. What happened? I know; can you believe it? The simple extension of a digit. If this ever happens to me, I have fun now. I act as if I did not see it correctly, and nod in excitement mouthing “Thank you”, and raise my index finger as if they just told me “I am number one!” It really frustrates the “Flipper.”

I guess I find these things funny now. These gestures are just that, and have no more power than I give them. What does that say about me and my character to let these simple little movements and behaviors take me down. Funny how they can have a tendency to linger if you let them.

“Remember last week at the grocery, when I was trying to dig the change out of my purse, the lady behind me exhaled rudely?!”

“What? Uh, no.”

“Well, I would have said something if I didn’t have the kids with me.”

Now when confronted with these behaviors, I simply smile. Maybe that is my own passive aggressive retaliation subliminally, but not necessarily my intention. And to you “Mr. Brights-you-from-behind,” if you would like to email me your social and travel schedule, I will try to avoid your chosen path. If not, that will be me smiling at you through the rear view mirror.

Start the day with recess

2010-06-07T10:08:00.001-04:00

The onward plodding slowed as we approached the building. Even though we are approaching the final three days of school, it is still school for three more days nonetheless. The weekend’s freedom was coming to an end, and the students in the courtyards and playgrounds started to converge on the doorways leading to the classroom.

As the children tried to find order in their excitement to prepare for their calmer “school-accepted” volumes and demeanor, the teacher emerged from the doorway. Normally she stands back and holds the door for the youngsters, allowing them passage. Today she extended her arms, keeping them at bay and forcing them to retreat and not enter the school room. The kids were shocked at their interrupted routine.

The teacher spoke these heavenly words: “Children, leave your backpacks here on the steps. Today we are starting the day with recess!”

The sky’s parted. Heaven appeared before all. Once the statement sunk in, my son raised his hands and shrieked as if exalting to the witness of a biblical miracle. It was the kind of shriek that I know windows shattered, car alarms went off, flocks of birds flew away, dogs started barking and forest animals jerked their head in startled amazement.

What a pleasant surprise!

Okay I am forty five years old; I still want to be able to start my day with recess from time-to-time. Maybe I can. I guess our interpretation of recess has maybe changed. I am aware that if I were to join the kids on the swings in the morning that is, well ...just creepy. I find that recess is simply a pleasurable break in the routine. “What” the break encompasses is subject to personal interpretation.

Upon reflection, I find that I have been finding ways to incorporate “recess” into my schedule recently; especially in the mornings. Since I often hit the ground running due to my obligations to my kids and having to get them off in time, I have found a greater need to regroup. Adhering to a strict and tight schedule can be something to admire, but to fill every moment of every day dedicated to a specific task can wear a body thin.

I have added 15 minutes to my alarm clock in the morning. I find that this is ample amount to be able to sip down a mug of coffee, catch up on some news, emails, or light headlines prior to getting the kids off.

I walk my kids to school in good weather. A little exercise never hurts anyone. On the way home today I had a pleasant conversation with the neighbor dog. It had been a while. It was good to see Scout again.

I also find that my music player is a great way to achieve recess at any given moment. My trips to the grocery, walks in the neighborhood, and other simple tasks take on a more serene feel in the presence of music. There is just something calming when life has a cool soundtrack. I have a tendency to look at things with more of a “cinematic appreciation.” I star in my own movie.

I guess for us adults, we need to find things that allow us to disconnect from the grind and recharge, if only momentarily. We often exclaim that we “do not have the time” for simple diversions, however we often find time for the “Today Show” or the “Bachelorette.” Hours and hours of it. I remember in school as a child, recess was often fifteen minutes long, and was a most treasured fifteen minutes at that. Try to retrieve your precious quarter hour my friends.

As we grow on and grow old, we mustn’t drift from the idea that recess is exclusively for children. Children are just wise enough to expect it as a nourishing part of their day. Of course we may look foolish if we were to run, arms a flailing, screaming, and twirling in circles; but wouldn’t it feel great?

The business man with his tie extended from his neck in the centrifuge of a carousel, giggling with eyes closed hoping to not throw up. Maybe using his briefcase as a way to slide down a hill. Perhaps the female executive climbing a tree in her skirt, not concerned with social inappropriateness and brushing her hands off on the front of her readily available blouse. Restyling hair for the afternoon would be simply brushing your bangs out of your face on the way back to the boardroom. Okay maybe not. But it is fun to think about, and creates a comical mental picture.

Remember recess is where we exercise a little, temporarily lay down the routine, thumb our noses at the schedules, and simply “be.” We play, we live.

Simply we must remember to just take a few minutes. This gift we give to ourselves allows us to better give to others. We can start our day with recess. We can fit in some fun, some activity, some exercise; something that recharges and prepares us. We just have to prioritize it.

So twirl on my friends, run with arms in the air, and scream. And before anyone else says it: “Dibs on the swing!”