@STORYTELLING+ – BIZCATALYST 360°: Recent Episodes
BIZCATALYST 360
Part 1 – Family History Comes to VisitEvery time I go to a doctor, I am asked to fill out a form that, at some point, will ask me about my family medical history. I list my father’s death at age 23, recently adding that it was most likely from contaminated water at Camp Lejeune. I mention my mother’s alcoholism and heart attack death at age 56, and my grandmother’s deadly aortic aneurism. In my younger years, these reports were of interest to me, but not necessarily pertaining to me. I rarely drink and never smoked. As I got older, there were concerns about blood pressure, cholesterol, and most recently type II diabetes. Currently, all those issues are under control with meds, diet, and exercise. I’ve been patting myself on the back for controlling my blood sugar so well that I don’t need any medication for that. Recently, after reading about a female runner who didn’t start running races until she was 70, I decided to start training myself. I was excited about completing my first race.
Who knew I was walking around with a heart that would soon be described as having a 90% chance of a heart attack?
It started with my younger sister. Eager to take an early retirement, she decided to get a complete physical and check-up while she was still employed. Within a short period of time, she learned that she had an elevated calcium score, was catheterized, and had two stents put in. One of her arteries was 95% blocked. She encouraged me to get checked. Suddenly, our mother’s deadly heart attack at 56 could have been caused by more than her alcoholism. Family history is important.
I started the tests. At first, things appeared good, excellent blood work, especially regarding triglycerides and cholesterol. The cardiologist told me that once the tests were finished, I’d probably have to see him once a year. Until yesterday.
The day before I had a calcium score test. The technician told me that it would take about a week to get the results. I went on my merry way. I even missed the early morning call from the cardiologist. He left a message about some elevation, and I should start taking baby aspirin and call the office. While I was driving to work, I called his office (hands-free, of course! Safety first). What they told me almost caused me to drive off the road.
“Elevation” was a mild word for my results. My score was way higher than my sister’s, putting me in the 90% chance of a heart attack category. Suddenly, everyone at the cardiologist’s office knew my name. They fast-tracked me for a Nuclear Myocardial Perfusion Scan, transferring me to the scheduling department with instructions to remind them this was an urgent situation. Well, I didn’t have to do that. As soon as I said my name, she replied, “Oh yes, I was just reviewing your paperwork.”
And despite the urgency, I will still have to wait a week to get the test done. As a person with anxiety issues anyway, it sounded like an eternity. I spent the rest of the day alternately crying and sleeping. Dale, the love of my life I have written about before, was supportive. He has his own calcium score burden, thankfully much lower than mine. It was a comfort to feel like we were now on the same team. We were horrified to discover how much salt contributes to these issues (we knew about cholesterol, and rarely added salt to our food – but it is in practically everything!)
As my anxiety quieted, I realized that my sister’s issue and my issue have a common denominator – family history. We have to take it seriously.
Part 2- The Golden ThreadWhen thinking about life, it is easy to understand why so many cultures have stories and legends about gods, goddesses, and all sorts of beings invested with power over human life. In times when diseases were not understood, it made perfect sense that someone, or something evil, caused afflictions. Recently, The Fates has occupied my thoughts. One Fate to spin the thread of life, one to measure that thread, and one to cut the thread to end life. Their work seemed capricious, taking down both good and evil gods, as well as mortal humans. In fact, their power over life and death made them the most feared and the most powerful of all the magical deities in both Greek and Roman mythology.
Three weeks ago, I was given health news that made me think of my own golden thread. How Atropos may have been sharpening her scissors not so far behind me. Meanwhile, Cotho, the spinner, and Lachesis, the allotor, would continue to spin and measure until the scissor performed its duty.
I spent anxious days waiting until the “as soon as possible” test would confirm what I had already been told – a 90% chance of a heart attack — soon. I learned how capricious life is. Within two weeks I lost two friends. One who had called me to tell me she was going to die, and there was nothing to do about it, so she was at peace with it. She said she specifically called me to “make her laugh,” using my Laughter Wellness powers. And laugh we did. We made plans for a short visit, depending on how her day would be going, but the Fates had other plans. On the day I was having my nuclear scan and stress test, she passed away in her sleep.
This news came right after there was an unexpected turn of events for me. Had this been Ancient Greek, I would have sworn that Zeus intervened for me. After the testing, my doctor called me and said, that despite the frightful calcium score, my heart was just fine — not just fine, but strong, and there were no restrictions to blood flow. As he had originally predicted from my first visit, he instructed me to continue with my cholesterol meds, stay on the baby aspirin, and come back in six months. Atropos would have to wait.
As I was processing mixed emotions, three days later, a long-time friend died suddenly and unexpectedly. I could not comprehend it. My grief-stricken brain kept playing out the “why” and “what if” scenarios. As humans, the only guarantee is that you will die — your golden thread of life will run out.
I know in my heart that there are no Fates pulling the strings. The world is full of religions, beliefs, theories, and superstitions. In times of grief, heartache, and loss, we seek to make sense of tragedy through our beliefs. Well-meaning friends offer condolences, prayers, meditations, hugs, and helping hands. But in the end, Death holds all the threads and leaves behind the scars of loss. Rose Fitzgerald Kennedy said it best:
“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
May all our wounds gently rest as scars, and memories of shared smiles and laughter weave a golden thread around our hearts, to bring us comfort, and restore our resilience.
“Where are all the eggs?” he asked, his head buried in the fridge.
“What do you mean?” she replied.
“You know, the two large yellow and green Styrofoam cartons sitting on the top left shelf; the ones that held eighteen eggs each. Where did they go?” he responded.
She paused. “Oh, those eggs,” she murmured. “I gave them to our son when he picked up the oxygen tanks this morning.”
Silence blanketed the room for a hot minute. His brow furrowed as he stood up and inhaled deeply. “Babe, our son passed two and a half years ago.”
“Nonsense,” she said casually from the other room. “I happen to know that the young man who arrived here at 11 am was the same soul who delivered six high-efficiency portable oxygen tanks, one mega high efficiency ‘mother of all O2 tanks’ specifically designed for power outages, and one transport dolly eight weeks ago. He arrived with goodies for me, so I could stay alive after COVID attempted to do fuckery with my lungs and organs and such.”
She spoke as if in a trance. “You know, he might be our son.”
“He reads a lot and is a self-described nerd who recently moved back in with his parents to save money. Did you know this guy works crazy hours, like a doctor?” she asked proudly. “He’s frequently on call and makes late-night runs that often come in just as his shift ends. Sometimes, he even goes back out after he gets home. He takes all the calls no matter how tired or late the hour, delivering air to folks who are critically ill or dying.” Her husband caught the admiration in her voice as it trailed off.
“He worked in a factory, punching rivets and geedonks, before COVID. Did you know he especially adores his nursing home clients because they see him without prejudice or judgment? He said their chats are filled with wonder and to the point. Time is of the essence for these folks and he loves their honesty, focus, and humor.”
She paused and giggled before continuing. “He once drank a bottle of hot sauce 30 minutes before work, to see what might happen. It went as expected and he regretted the decision for most of his shift.”
“When he was a kid, his dad was given three months to live; some crazy cancer had invaded the family fortress. His old man, now a cancer survivor and a diabetic, is still alive and kicking. Talk about a miracle.”
“He is dog and cat sitting for friends this weekend. Apparently, there are five cats with cool, anagram-like names. He adores all of them. Oh, and COVID hunted him down twice. He escaped the first round without incident, but the virus permanently trashed his singing voice the second time he got sick. He still sings a lot, though mostly in the car. He hates that his singing voice is now raspy and scratchy. Since COVID, he cannot hit the high notes. He wouldn’t sing for me. I think it makes him sad because he looked away when telling me how much he misses singing in public. That must be hard.”
The room grew quiet.
“Anyway, at the end of the day,” she declared firmly, “it was a business transaction, a simple decision really. He was here to collect that which allowed me to breathe when I could not do so by myself. The least I could do was chit-chat with him and offer something in exchange for his hard work.”
“Eggs seemed like a logical trade for oxygen. You know, the circle of life, bound together by love. Food, Air, Life; it’s such a simple pattern.”
Her words trailed off again.
By now, her husband was standing at the edge of the living room, watching and listening intently.
She continued, confident in her assessment. “Honestly, this stranger seemed so familiar. I recognized his wrinkled T-shirt, slouchy jeans, and a dark hoodie. There was something about his crisp arm tats, twinkling, slightly introspective eyes, quirky humor, raggedy hair, and scruffy beard. His hot sauce story had me rolling on the floor in laughter. And, I especially liked his hippy hoppy happy steps as he waved goodbye when he left. He is a deep thinker, very observant, and awfully kind. His eyes had a gentle, genuine glow about them. It was hard to say goodbye.”
“Anyway, I’m certain this young man carries our son’s soul with him wherever he goes. He shared snippets of his life story with me. He makes a living by helping others. It’s our son. I felt it in my bones. I have no idea how our son’s soul got into this young man. I know it makes no logical sense; I just know it did.”
She paused again, sighing deeply. “Yes, I’m certain of it because, for a split second, I felt like everything was ok, whole again, like it was a few years back before it wasn’t.” She smiled a broken smile through her tears as her husband hugged her tight.
Food, Air, Life: Fitting symbols of love, gratitude, and loss. The circle of life lives in the eggs.
If you’re anything like me, you have days in which, on things you’ve seen a million times, you suddenly notice something you’ve never noticed before. So it was that Saturday morning, I reached for the box of Melitta Coffee filters for which I reach every day, more than once on most days. The word, German, seemed to jump off the box at me. And I read this:
In 1908, a German homemaker, Melitta Bentz, made history when she invented the coffee filter. Tired of drinking bitter coffee, she poked holes in the bottom of a brass cup and lined it with a sheet of her son’s blotting paper. The result … rich, flavorful coffee without bitterness or mess.
After I read that, Anne came into the kitchen. I was still standing by the cupboard from which I’d retrieved the coffee filters, box in hand, with this look on my face:
Needless to say, Anne’s seen that thousand-yard look before.
“Uh oh. What are you thinking about now?” she asked.
Snapping out of my reverie, I said, “How do you think a German woman knew, a hundred-and-sixteen years ago, that if she poked holes in one of her husband’s brass cups, stole a piece of her son’s blotting paper, lined the cup with the paper, filled the cup with ground coffee, and poured hot water over it, the coffee would be less bitter?”
“I have no idea,” Anne said.
I went on: “How did she poke holes in her husband’s brass cup? Did she use a drill? Was it his drill? Did he get angry that his perfectly good brass cup was now perforated? Did she put his tools back where they belonged? And what about her son? Was he sore that some of his blotting paper was swiped by his mom for a beverage experiment?”
“I really don’t know,” Anne said, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice.
“Do you think anybody got poisoned? What if the filter didn’t prevent copper or zinc from the brass from leaching into the coffee? And what if there was aluminum or nickel in the alloy or the plating? If Melitta had put baking flour into the cup with the blotting paper and poured water over that, do you think it would have filtered out the glutens?”
“Mark.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you ever going to make the coffee?”
Ouch! Well … ya can’t hate a guy for being curious.
P.S. For those of you who doubt the veracity of Melitta’s story, here ya go. And for those of you who wonder at the cause of my airheadedness, blame it on Melitta.
Fond memories visit the heart; snow covering woodland, hills, and valleys. Snow clinging onto branches, reaching high. Upon rivers too. Swans blend, almost invisible, disappear.
Patterns forming on the base of trees where moss grows; as if a forest.
Releasing imagination, a visual hillside appears complete and so wintery.
Snow flakes adorn the sky, floating down creating a carpet of joy awaiting fun for all.
A blanket of deep snow provides fun and warmth. Muffling sounds, creating a feeling of quiet and calm.
Snowmen, igloos, snowballs flying, sliding down slopes on a sleigh. Such fun for children……..and of course adults.
Snow creates a playful happiness as no other seasonal element can. Imagine being a bird flying in formation through snowflakes.
Snow always falls on Christmas Day? Memories past come to the fore.
Sunlight shines upon crystals unique. Glittering, sparkling creating an atmosphere surreal.
Snow on the countryside and hills enliven the heart. Expands the imagination; brings joy to all who love to encompass themselves in memories past that visit now.
Our ongoing series of Studio 360° “fireside chats” brings you face-to-face with some of the most intriguing human beings on the planet. We get to the essence of who they are and what matters most with our probing, unrehearsed questions coupled with the same from our Studio audience. Which brings us to our recent chat with Tony.
In a thirty-plus career spent working with some of the world’s leading artists, David Bowie, The Police, U2, Whitney Houston, Depeche Mode, REM, and Peter Gabriel to name but a few, Tony earned an irrefutable reputation running one of the UK’s foremost promotion companies. After being granted an ‘Alien of Extraordinary Ability’ for services to the music and arts he moved to the USA, and became a music industry consultant, published author, and TEDx speaker. He now shares the ‘Lessons Learned from Rock n Roll’ with a multitude of audiences all over the world. He is also a published author, podcast host, and radio presenter. Grab a large coffee, sit back, and enjoy our enlightening one-hour chat with Tony.
The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.
―J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan
Remember when dandelions were magical wish-makers, not weeds? When cardboard boxes transformed into spaceships and blanket forts held infinite possibilities? Somewhere between mortgage payments and Monday meetings, we misplaced our ability to see wonder in the ordinary.
My wife Ali and I rediscovered our wonder on the Camino de Santiago (see more about our transformational pilgrimage below) not long ago, as we spent countless hours walking amongst glorious nature, paying close attention to the splendor of it all. Each morning brought new fields of poppies, their delicate red petals dancing against the Spanish sky. As we progressed along the ancient pilgrim path, we noticed the poppy fields gradually disappearing until they vanished altogether. This slow farewell awakened something in us: a childlike curiosity about nature’s rhythms and mysteries that we’d long forgotten in our busy lives. We wondered; Was it the changing season that brought about their demise? Did the soil become infertile for poppies to thrive?
Navigating Our “Way” Back – With A Million Steps Forward
Wonder What Happened to Wonder?We’ve traded fairy tales for Facebook feeds, and cloud-gazing for cloud storage. Our thumbs scroll endlessly through digital landscapes while real flowers bloom and wither outside our windows, unnoticed and uncelebrated. The poppies still dance in the breeze, but we’ve forgotten how to see them dance.
This isn’t just nostalgia speaking – it’s a call to reclaim something precious we’ve lost. Wonder isn’t childish; it’s the spark that ignites creativity, fuels discovery and makes life worth living. Einstein himself said imagination is more important than knowledge, yet we’ve created a world that values spreadsheets over stargazing.
We carry inside us the wonders we seek outside us.
—Rumi
The good news? Wonder isn’t gone – it’s just sleeping. Like a muscle, it can be strengthened with use. Start small: spend five minutes really looking at a flower, tracing its petals, imagining its journey from seed to bloom. Listen to rainfall as if it’s music. Draw terrible pictures with your non-dominant hand and laugh at the results. Build a fort, even if you’re 45 and your coworkers would think you’re crazy.
So, where have all the poppies gone? They have followed the natural course of life – growing, blooming, fading, and making way for what comes next. Their brief but brilliant existence reminds us to live fully, love deeply, and leave behind seeds of kindness and wisdom for those who will come after us.
The world hasn’t become less magical – we’ve just stopped looking for the magic. It’s still there in morning dew and midnight stars, in the perfect spiral of a snail’s shell and the impossible flight of bumblebees. It’s in the way trees know winter won’t last forever and in the courage of sidewalk dandelions pushing through concrete.
Our sense of wonder isn’t lost – it’s waiting to be rediscovered, one small miracle at a time.
In a world that often feels divided, wonder connects us all – the parent watching their child’s first steps, the scientist peering through a telescope, the artist mixing colors until they glow. When we embrace wonder, we embrace our shared humanity. We just need to learn to see it again, together.
Will you join me? Let’s be explorers again. Let’s turn off our phones and turn on our imagination. Let’s teach our children – and remind ourselves – that the most precious things in life can’t be bought or sold, only discovered with open eyes and hopeful hearts.
The poppies are still dancing. We just need to learn to see them again.
Editor’s Note: Enjoy our evolving Exploring Our Shared Humanity Series HERE
Chaos and laughter exist in a whirlpool.
Each maintaining its position by centrifugal force,
controlling the waters of fear and joy,
alternately pulling down and pushing up.
Inescapable waters to tread,
a baptism of pain and pleasure,
shielding those born in the shadows of dragons,
who breathe both love and fire
with teeth that both smile and bite.
Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.
~ Michael Landon
We’ve all heard the saying, “Life is too short not to enjoy it today” but we seldom take time to personalize the deeper meaning. It’s like the universe’s way of saying, “Hey, you! Time’s a ticking—so quit procrastinating!” Years ago, this sentiment hit home for me personally while conducting a memorial service for a young man who left the planet suddenly and far too early. People at the gathering shared heartfelt stories, some funny, some tearful, and others regretfully lamented he didn’t get to surf the Great Barrier Reef in Australia—something he always dreamt of doing.
This event got me to thinking, and it changed the arc of my life to a point that “no regrets” became my mantra. Now, when my last day on Earth comes, I’m very clear I don’t want to be the one left holding the bag regretfully saying, “Dang … if I had only known, I would have spent fewer hours at the office, taken that trip to Thailand, learned to skydive and salsa dance, written that next book, studied French, adopted that dog, or run that marathon.” Seriously, I don’t want to be the person who spent so much time in the office that my computer gets more face time with me than my own family.
The takeaway for me is as clear as a crisp winter day in Big Sky. Michael Landon’s quote is accurate, except for one thing: there is no limitation on our tomorrows because, as a spoiler alert, tomorrow does not exist—never has and never will! It’s the world’s biggest mirage, a cosmic prank. We can sit around waiting for “tomorrow” until the cows come home (and trust me, sometimes cows take their sweet time), but when tomorrow arrives, guess what? It’s still today! Then what? More of the same old, same old?
So, here’s the million-dollar question: What have we been putting off until “tomorrow”? And why are we waiting any longer?
Life’s too short for “business as usual.” Go ahead, take that trip, adopt that dog, dye our hair the color of a rainbow, and learn French (even if the only thing we ever say is “Oui, oui, croissant!”). Just do it now before we all end up with more regrets than a bad haircut the day before the big prom.
Peace, Dennis Merritt Jones, DD
As days become shorter. Sunset and darkness visit swiftly. Typically an unpleasant view of life; ‘dark matter’, ‘on the dark side’, ‘dark side of the moon’.
Gradually saying goodbye to Autumn, ground adorned with myriad coloured leaves, is a time when spirits can be low, missing longer days, when so much more could be accomplished.
After a day at the office, darkness awaits. Thoughts of gardening, playing golf, sitting outside a café enjoying a drink with friends. Thoughts linger as ever-shortening days envelope senses, imagining or praying for a return of sunny days and warm evenings.
And now, a brighter view of the season’s closing curtains!
Sunrise later in the morning! A joy to behold! A signal to awaken and absorb one of Nature’s gifts. Sunrise is never more welcome. So positive; brightening even the shortest day.
Billions of stars and galaxies come to life early in the evening; no need to wait until midnight.
Dark skies open up a truly glorious experience. The Moon be it crescent, full or half. All add to the mystery of the Universe. Solar System’s home, the Milky Way, all come to life. Brightness! Stars enlivening heart and senses. Aquarius, Aries, Capricornus. Celestial inspiration!
Back to Earth and reality! Shorter days; Longer nights. A brighter feeling of the future!
Dark nights! The stars await!
Happiness lies in imagination. Heavens open. No limits.
Positivity! Enjoy Nature. Enjoy the Universe. A gift of early evenings. Open the door to infinity. Life has no limits.
Learning to love takes time, sometimes a long time. Sometimes we feel crushed and like we can’t rise up again, but Antoinette Pienaar’s wish for humanity is for all to know that we are never completely dead inside. Life can begin again. Mother Nature teaches us the truth of our resilience and is there to help us.
In this film, she wants humanity to remember these words: Open your heart like a flower. Don’t lose hope. Give yourself water for your soul and you will rise up again just like the plants in the South African desert where she lives. In the process of opening our hearts and releasing the energy of sadness, anger, and fear, and even breaking apart inside, we are letting go of that which deadens us and dries up our inner landscape. This desolation from a life of artificiality and stress keeps us from living life fully. By letting go of our dis-ease, we can be well again.
If we are willing to take the inroads given to us—many that are unknown and unasked for, we can find peace in the end—and even along the way. This is Antoinette Pienaar’s wish for humanity: to let go of all that keeps us from living real lives of love. Not the romantic, Hollywood kind of love but the love that is quiet, powerful, and true, and takes time to grow. It is to experience reality in the beauty of a life without expectations or judgments.
You see, when you’re homeless, you’re invisible. People don’t want to see you because when they see you it’s very hard for them to just ignore you, to just pretend that you’re not there.
~John S., a homeless man
Homeless culture is a complex and multifaceted phenomenon. It is shaped by a variety of factors, including individual experiences, socioeconomic conditions, and the broader social and political context.
For most of us, homelessness is unimaginable. We take for granted that we’ll be able to meet our daily needs of safety, food, shelter, and companionship without facing incredible obstacles. But every day, thousands of people awake in every region of the world and build their lives despite the challenges of living without shelter or a regular address.
There is no “average” life of a person experiencing homelessness. Life on the street is as varied and complex as life anywhere, and an individual’s experience of homelessness can be a product of their age, health, relationships, employment status, and many other factors. You may be surprised to learn that the homeless culture reflects:
- A strong sense of community and mutual support. Homeless people often form close bonds with each other, sharing resources and providing emotional support.
- A shared set of norms and values. Homeless people develop their own unique ways of coping with the challenges of living on the streets. These coping mechanisms can include things like developing a strong sense of independence, learning to trust others, and developing a sense of humor.
- A unique language and slang. Homeless people often develop their own unique language and slang, which can be used to communicate with other homeless people and to express their experiences.
Homeless culture can be a source of strength and resilience for homeless people. It can help them to cope with the challenges of living on the streets and to maintain a sense of hope for the future. However, homeless culture can also be a barrier to getting help. Homeless people may be reluctant to seek help from mainstream institutions because they fear being stigmatized or discriminated against.
It is important to remember that the homeless culture is not monolithic. There is a great deal of diversity within the homeless population, and homeless people come from all walks of life. Homeless culture is a complex and ever-evolving phenomenon that is shaped by a variety of factors.
Here are some additional insights into the homeless culture:
- Homeless people are not a monolithic group. They come from all walks of life and have a wide range of experiences.
- Homelessness is not a choice. It is the result of a complex set of factors, including poverty, mental illness, addiction, and domestic violence.
- Homeless people are often stigmatized and discriminated against. This can make it difficult for them to get the help they need.
- There are many things that can be done to help homeless people. These include providing affordable housing, access to healthcare, and job training.
There are a wide range of reasons and situations that force a person to homelessness. But one thing is for sure, most of them didn’t choose that life. They’re mostly just victims of circumstances beyond their control. Sometimes, all they need is someone to empathize with them and a chance to redeem themselves. It’s time for us all to come together to “debunk the myths” about the homeless so we can change the narrative “for good” ….
Editor’s Note: Homelessness is a complex and pressing issue affecting millions of people worldwide. It is a condition that is often misunderstood and stigmatized and is often seen as a personal failing rather than a systemic problem. We listened, gathered their stories, and crafted them into our special edition anthology book below, with all profits donated to nonprofits serving this unfortunate population. Help us help them by grabbing your copy HERE.
A sadness comes together sorrow
Waiting comes together, loneliness
Loneliness gathers together into solitude
Fear comes together with bigger fear
All of this. covered by two things!
It’s love and gratitude!
Every corner of the house shows signs of me being sick.
The backyard is full of leaves that have fallen from the big redwood
There is no family emergency medicine that should be.
There are a lot of drugs that I bought alone because I was worried and tried to improve my strange symptoms.
A table with an envious eye in the direction toward the kitchen.
The unforgettable memories are the letters that fell into my head from above…
Like, a big rock fell in front of my eyes.
Our ongoing series of Studio 360° “fireside chats” brings you face-to-face with some of the most intriguing human beings on the planet. We get to the essence of who they are and what matters most with our probing, unrehearsed questions coupled with the same from our Studio audience. Which brings us to our recent chat with Mark O’Brien.
Most people think of Mark as a writer. He thinks of himself as a storyteller. Why wouldn’t he? He’s our resident gregarious Irishman. While he has innumerable stories of his own to tell, helping other people — and their companies — tell their stories is his passion. Grab a large (Irish?) coffee, sit back, and enjoy our enlightening one-hour chat with Mark.
Stories define people – they shape our relationships, cultures, and societies. Unlike other skills replaced by technology, storytelling has remained uniquely human, setting people apart from machines. But now, even storytelling is being challenged. Artificial intelligence, powered by vast datasets, can generate stories that sometimes rival, or even surpass, those written by humans.
Creative professionals have been among the first to feel the threat of AI. Last year, Hollywood screenwriters protested, demanding – and winning – protections against AI replacing their jobs. As university professors, we’ve seen student work that seems suspiciously AI-generated, which can be frustrating.
Beyond the threat to livelihoods, AI’s ability to craft compelling, humanlike stories also poses a societal risk: the spread of misinformation. Fake news, which once required significant effort, can now be produced with ease. This is especially concerning because decades of research have shown that people are often more influenced by stories than by explicit arguments and entreaties.
We set out to study how well AI-written stories stack up against those by human storytellers. We found that AI storytelling is impressive, but professional writers needn’t worry – at least not yet.
The power of storiesHow do stories influence people? Their power often lies in transportation – the feeling of being transported to and fully immersed in an imagined world. You’ve likely experienced this while losing yourself in the wizarding world of Harry Potter or 19th-century English society in “Pride and Prejudice.” This kind of immersion lets you experience new places and understand others’ perspectives, often influencing how you view your own life afterward.
When you’re transported by a story, you not only learn by observing but your skepticism is also suspended. You’re so engrossed in the storyline that you let your guard down, allowing the story to influence you without triggering skepticism in it or the feeling of being manipulated.
Given the power of stories, can AI tell a good one? This question matters not only to those in creative industries but to everyone. A good story can change lives, as evidenced by mythical and nationalist narratives that have influenced wars and peace.
Studying whether AI can tell compelling stories also helps researchers like us understand what makes narratives effective. Unlike human writers, AI provides a controlled way to experiment with storytelling techniques.
Head-to-head resultsIn our experiments, we explored whether AI could tell compelling stories. We used descriptions from published studies to prompt ChatGPT to generate three narratives, then asked over 2,000 participants to read and rate their engagement with these stories. We labeled half as AI-written and half as human-written.
Our results were mixed. In three experiments, participants found human-written stories to be generally more “transporting” than AI-generated ones, regardless of how the source was labeled. However, they were not more likely to raise questions about AI-generated stories. In multiple cases, they even challenged them less than human-written ones. The one clear finding was that labeling a story as AI-written made it less appealing to participants and led to more skepticism, no matter the actual author.
Why is this the case? Linguistic analysis of the stories showed that AI-generated stories tended to have longer paragraphs and sentences, while human writers showed more stylistic diversity. AI writes coherently, with strong links between sentences and ideas, but human writers vary more, creating a richer experience. This also points to the possibility that prompting AI models to write in more diverse tones and styles may improve their storytelling.
These findings provide an early look at AI’s potential for storytelling. We also looked at research in storytelling, psychology and philosophy to understand what makes a good story.
We believe four things make stories engaging: good writing, believability, creativity and lived experience. AI is great at writing fluently and making stories believable. But creativity and real-life experiences are where AI falls short. Creativity means coming up with new ideas, while AI is designed to predict the most likely outcome. And although AI can sound human, it lacks the real-life experiences that often make stories truly compelling.
Closing in?It’s too early to come to a definitive conclusion about whether AI can eventually be used for high-quality storytelling. AI is good at writing fluently and coherently, and its creativity may rival that of average writers. However, AI’s strength lies in predictability. Its algorithms are designed to generate the most likely outcome based on data, which can make its stories appealing in a familiar way. This is similar to the concept of beauty in averageness, the documented preference people have for composite images that represent the average face of a population. This predictability, though limiting true creativity, can still resonate with audiences.
For now, screenwriters and novelists aren’t at risk of losing their jobs. AI can tell stories, but they aren’t quite on par with the best human storytellers.
Still, as AI continues to evolve, we may see more compelling stories generated by machines, which could pose serious challenges, especially when they’re used to spread misinformation.
Haoran Chu, Assistant Professor of Communications, University of Florida and Sixiao Liu, Assistant Professor of Population Health Sciences, University of Central Florida
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
I grew up in London.
I had to wear a school uniform until I was 16 which was actually really helpful in terms of reducing the daily panic about what to wear.
But I felt it – both the pulse of “Am I fashionable?” and the pulse of rebelliousness – towards society, expectations, and my parents. I even actuated that feeling by buying a belt in the early 90s with the word REBEL in brass. I still wear the belt and honor the concept as both a verb and a noun.
I saved up for a year for a classic black leather biker jacket when I was a freshman in high school. With a pixie cut (as a result of a summer of dying my hair 4 colors and swimming in chlorinated pools), 501s & my black leather biker jacket I wanted to look like George Michael in his “Faith” years. I was deeply upset when I was misgendered – and somewhat confused by it because I have hips and a small waist! I am now confident in how I express myself & identify as heteroflexible.
I remember discovering the ability to personify different identities with thrift store shopping as a young teen – which we called going to the Charity Shop in 80s and 90s London. I found this delicious raspberry suede jacket, with gray fur at the collar and hemline. I blew most of my allowance on it & still have it! Putting on a piece of clothing that feels so markedly different is an energetic stance that I play with around archetypes. I put on the “jacket” of the archetype when I want to embody a particular energy in a situation.
My clothes tell a story of my relationships with others.
What I remember most about my clothing purchases – which are often tied to travel, people, and special moments – is how they made me feel. One of my favorite jackets is an awesome 1970s ski jacket I bought in a vintage store in the Marais, Paris in 1996 because it wouldn’t zip over my fellow backpacker’s massive chest, but luckily would zip over my more modest rack! I can still remember her frustration and eventual sigh when she saw how it fit me like a glove and my first deeply contented awareness that having smaller boobs was actually a boon!
I realized when I was relatively young that I had a certain energy that people would orient towards. I couldn’t articulate it. My grandmother called me sunshine – she was a remarkable human who experienced being orphaned, being abused, being helped to run away, becoming a WW2 nurse, having a 60+ year romance with my grandfather, extreme physical trials living in Africa but ALWAYS re-orienting to and from the power of love.
She was witchy in the best way – “darling I would have been burned at the stake if I had been born 400 years ago.” She was psychic and feisty & as her firstborn’s first born she and I had a bond that was unlike anything I have experienced with any other human.
Her love and belief in me (and all her family) and her ability to see things before they happened gave me – a child raised in an intellectual home of a psychoanalyst & educator – the ease of dancing between the worlds of science and magic. I knew how to be noticed by playing with my energy – I could increase or decrease my energetic presence. I knew how to hide or disappear by playing with my energy. And as a young person, I ascribed a lot of that to my clothing, not to my energy.
Now I recognize their subtle interweaving. How I dress is intimately tied to my energy.
During the pandemic I decided to break a multi-decade mindset about my legs: that they were functional but unshapely enough to not be available for public consumption when bare (unless I was swimming or they were swathed in leggings, stockings, etc).
This mindset was affirmed by a deeply loving family member who, when I complained about my “tree trunk” legs as a teen said, “You have a lovely face, and it’s much easier to hide your legs than your face.” It was meant with love. I took it as proof that my bare legs were probably best hidden. I became a master of long flowing skirts, flirty long dresses & of course knee high boots & thick tights!
Summer 2020, I raided the Tupperwares of old clothes from my kids, grabbed a few pairs of old jeans my sons had outgrown, and chopped them into shorts. And then I started walking around my neighborhood. And I felt the breeze on my legs.
Oh, the joy – the breeze on my bare skin felt so amazing. I hadn’t walked around in public with my legs bare in decades.
And when people looked at me, I smiled back, inhibiting my desire to apologize for wearing shorts (hello conditioning)! One day it was raining.
It was fall 2020 and the realization that COVID wasn’t going anywhere soon was thrumming through the news, the social media outlets I followed, and the fact that I hadn’t seen my family in England for nearly a year (we usually go about 3 months). The human toll was sitting heavy with me. My family was struggling. But, I had committed to walking 11,000 steps a day.
And I decided to embody the energy of one of my most beloved friends Harri who has a quotation that she lives by:
Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass. It’s about learning how to dance in the rain.
I put on shorts, and a rain jacket and danced around the streets of my neighborhood. Oh – and the response I got was so lovely – cars honking at me, people smiling at me. It felt like a good day.
What I now know is that for me there is a divine chemistry between how I dress and how I show up energetically.
When I am wavering in my emotional state, but am going into a space where I want to show up as myself, in all my glory – I like to be seen and am intentional in my dress. Summer 2023 I pushed that to the extreme by going to a big LGBTQIA+ summer gala event dressed as Madonna in her gold cone bra outfit era. And I rocked it.
TAMSIN AT 17 –––––––––––––––———––––––––––––––––––––––––TAMSIN AT 47As a young person, I would often dress in such extreme ways—green velvet tailcoat, top hat made from paisley print, striped leggings, Doc Martens or fishnet stockings, wedge-heeled platforms, flared denim A-line mini-skirt, an old shirt of my dad’s knotted at my waist—that my mum would ask me to walk 30 feet away from her because I looked so crazy.
And what is so funny about that is that I took it as a point of pride – like YES – I had so deeply created a look that made NO sense to her, but made deep sense to me and my energy body.
When I started getting on more stages as a speaker, I hired someone to help me sort out my clothes and figure out some key outfits for traveling as a speaker. My clothes fell into three silos: workout, mother of active kids, and wedding-funeral clothing, none of which I wanted to wear on stage! This required me to get over another mindset – that spending time and money and energy on how I looked was vain, not worthy, indulgent. I grew up in a home where my mum cut my hair, and I was encouraged not to wear make-up. That WHO I was on the inside was way more important than WHAT I looked like.
Traci did a few things that were really interesting.
First, she dug into my style, getting clarity on the fact that I was never going to be a black pantsuit with loafers kind of person!
Second, she did a skin tone analysis to tell me which were my color tones (super interesting – I had been doing a lot of that wrong).
Third, she told me that a lot of what I had been mostly wearing for the last few decades was wrong for my body shape (think leggings, long boxy tops, boots – hey I grew up in the 90s – that was a staple look)! She told me to wear things with small tight waists to emphasize my hourglass figure and told me to wear skirts/ shorts above the knee or at the ankle so my leg length was emphasized.
Since this wide-legged jean look has come back into fashion, I have tried on these jeans in all price ranges and kinds of stores because I LOVE how they look on people and I am nothing if not persistent. But every style/ brand/ leg length I have tried on looks the same. The widest part of my legs – my thighs – are exaggerated and I look crap.
In the past, this would have made me feel fat/annoyed/fill in the negative self-talk word.
Now, I revel in the fact that I don’t FIT into the current style. Why? Because style comes and goes, and I KNOW what suits me now.
And, because I know that the chemistry of what I wear with my energy is really what it’s about. So working on my energy is one of the most vital parts of this whole process.
I love my body.
I love how I dress.
And I know how it elevates what I do and how I show up in the world.
bloodlines thick
in my veins
genetic markers
make me the am
I am.
books that found me
their authors’ words
still whispering.
I am say I,
aggregate of all
fingerprints & footprints
I become then became
marker & maker
of those who soon come
to become.
As the lyrics go in the 1967 song “White Rabbit” performed by Grace Slick and recorded by Jefferson Airplane – “Remember what the dormouse said – feed your head – feed your head.” Those lyrics may mean different things to different people and nothing at all to some. I interpret the meaning to be about the kinds of thoughts I feed my head: thoughts that may lead to certain triggers and thoughts about what beliefs I choose to create that may, in turn, shift my perspective, either positively or negatively.
What choice do I have at that intersecting moment where I can choose to react or respond? I could react to my triggers and say or do something I may later regret, or I can take a breath, walk away, and choose to put some space between myself and my response. It is a very simple process in theory, and yet, for most, not easy.
On July 5, 2023, my husband and I received the phone call that no parent ever wants to receive. Our 40-year-old amazing, loving son had been in a motorcycle accident and did not survive. A word does not exist to describe what it is like to lose a child. And one year later as we continue to navigate through our grief, I know one thing for certain.
Amid life’s experiences, we have choices. We can choose to be “bitter” or “better.” At our weakest moments, when we’re brought to our knees, we must set boundaries, and identify barriers, and triggers that mess with emotions and challenge beliefs.
Do we wait for the moment when we fall to our knees? No, we begin now.
Challenging beliefs, practicing compassion, communicating with clarity, being open to change, and practicing consistency with self and others is a good starting point.
Begin your life change now and transcend to the peace that is waiting for you in the eye of life’s stormiest moments.
Remember what the dormouse said – “Feed Your Head”. Think of what you’re feeding your head, and you may avoid the Rabbit Hole!!!
I feel blessed to have received a new view of life and the world around me, while the world itself continues to turn, and life goes on just as it once did.
It’s as if I’m looking through an unseen pair of clarifying lenses; viewing the world in a bright new light.
Allowing me to appreciate the beauty of each new day, without the preconceived notions and obstructions, which once blocked so much of my view.
What I once thought of as a curse, still leaves an unpleasant taste in my mouth; but in healing, my eyes have been opened, and my heart softened; allowing me to see the beauty of each new day.
While sensing a stronger realization of God’s love and the inner strength that He has blessed me with, for times like these.
Grief changes shape, but it never ends.
~ Keanu Reeves
Have you ever felt trapped in a dark hallway of grief, torn between the pain of loss and the hope that lies beyond what you see? Having lost both parents, an older sister, several close friends, and my beloved dog in the past few years, I’ve discovered grief can feel like both a curse and a blessing simultaneously. It’s almost as if the universe is whispering, “Hey, you’re not alone in this…however, embarking on this journey through the valley of the shadow of death is necessary if you desire to maintain vitality, a sense of being alive, and connection to the wholeness that is your origin.”
Grief is an intensely personal journey and the journey never ends. With grace, our experience with grief will evolve. The crucial aspect is not to overpower or avoid grief, but to understand how to live alongside its presence. When someone we love makes their transition (including our pet), it leaves an emptiness that can feel unfillable. This void, however, is also a sacred space where we can hold the memory of that person or pet, allowing their essence to continue living within us.
One approach to coping with grief is to consider the process as a rite of passage that comes in waves. When we lose someone dear to us, it invites us to acknowledge and grieve the loss they represent—a loss that is unique and irreplaceable. We learn to value the role a person or pet played in our lives, recognizing their passing has forever changed us. This perspective can help us see how grief can tether us to that loved one in a boundless ocean of love, a connection surpassing physical presence. It is imperative to keep in mind that the sensation of isolation is purely a construct of our minds. In the grand continuum of life, we are all connected; there is only One of us here. The love and memories we shared with our lost ones are eternal. This belief can provide comfort and a sense of closeness, even in their physical absence. When grief arises, perceive its presence as a divine nudge—a reminder that our loved ones are as close to us as our own breath.
Grief is not one-dimensional; it’s about any significant change or loss that impacts us. It’s okay to grieve the loss of a lifestyle, a job, a home, or even a reputation.
By acknowledging these feelings, we can begin to heal and grow. Processing grief of any type involves engaging with life again, but with a deeper sense of purpose and meaning. Sometimes extending ourselves to others can bring instant relief and happiness. An act of service can help us find a new purpose and rediscover who we are. It’s a way to honor the memory of our loved ones by carrying their legacy forward.
It’s crucial to always remember the connection between grief and love as they both symbolize the depth of our connections. As we navigate through our grief, may we listen for the quiet voice declaring, “Hey, you’re not alone on this journey…”
Peace, Dennis Merritt Jones
Me and my shadow,
standing on the tracks of life.
Isn’t it true?
We never know
where the next day will take us.
Every step, every mile
brings us to the crossing guard.
Even as the trains pass,
we still look in our rearview mirror.
Questions dance to the metal clank,
reminding us of how difficult it is to sit still.
Coal cars clank by along with messages painted in graffiti;
a language only known by the few.
The few who crossed the tracks
to shake the can and bring their thoughts to life.
Perhaps a retired man sits in his car
and smiles at his work passing by.
On to another state of destination that he can only imagine
as he looks in his rearview mirror.
The flashing lights begin to seize
as arms once folded now release.
Travel down the tracks of life with confidence
and perhaps a pat on the back;
for you have made it this far.
A while back, I was on my morning walk when I saw a small dark form lying on the asphalt road. I didn’t know if it was debris or something else. Dread filled me as I inched closer to the still object. It was a bird, a finch I believe, lying on its side. At first, I thought it was dead, but as I ever so gently touched its feathers it moved. Its claws looked crushed and when I placed the bird on the ground and grass by the curb, it didn’t seem like it could move or even fly.
I had to make a decision. I knew the first action was correct, which was to pick the bird up and remove it from the street so a car couldn’t slam into the bird and cause further damage. Yet now what was I to do? If I left it on the ground it could be prey to violence and pain or death by other birds and animals or overzealous kids. If I took it away, I would be removing it perhaps from the familiar and from its ‘family.’
I decided to take it with me and cradled it in my palms gently stroking its feathers and speaking soothingly all the while as I walked back to my home. The bird seemed to be listening and hopefully, I was calming it. It didn’t seem to want to move. I also began doing energy work on it. Being an Energy Master Teacher is part of my skill set. I could feel the warmth from my palms flowing to the small feathery body as I lay my hands on its feathery form.
I knew I was going to give it water and bird food when I reached my house and that I was going to research refuge places that took injured birds/animals and helped them heal and return to their natural habitats. Or could I help this bird to recover by myself without causing further damage? I spoke to the bird, softly outlining my plan and saying I didn’t know what the outcome would be, however, I would try.
Whatever its destiny: life or death, I was going to make it as gentle, comfortable, and caring as I could.
On the way home, my neighbor Michael was sitting on his porch with his dog Chip. He saw me with my hands cupped against my chest carrying this small form and I asked him for help. Maybe he knew a local shelter or refuge where I could take the bird. Michael put his dog inside the house and began to walk down the steps toward us. And then something happened. The bird fluttered in my palms a few times and flew away. We both saw it fly so I didn’t imagine it.
Michael said, “Did you just heal that bird?” I answered, ‘I don’t know’ and we spoke of miracles. All I did know was that I was relieved that the bird could fly which was a sign that the bird was okay! Was it a miracle, did the energy work to heal the bird or was it just stunned from some horrific or damaging encounter before I arrived? I truly don’t know. Yet over the last few months and more so the last few weeks I’ve been having the most beautiful spiritual, maybe even mystical experiences. All I do know is that in some beautiful way, it was a blessing. You can decide for yourself what to make of it. Whatever it is; it was awesome!!
For Buddy and me it has been a time of pondering this place of reflection.
It seems that my memories are filled with stories of the past, a past where I gathered an education riding in box cars and the sound of train whistles blowing. The tobacco fields were hot, and the sun was brutal yet picking cotton was the worst thing I ever had to do.
I watched my daddy and he was working as hard as anyone in the fields, yet he would ask me if I was ready to quit for the day. I would always tell him that my last name was Tyler and I never quit. I would stay in the cotton until Daddy headed to the house.
I cherish these memories, and I am grateful for my new memories, yet they don’t seem to come close to the ones I had growing up. They were epic like a book that you never wanted to put down.
Buddy and I cherish every day that we get in the truck and ride down a dirt road taking the long way home. We share a sadness when we see an old barn falling down, or homes abandoned left to slowly becoming forgotten places.
I feel that it is up to me and Buddy to catch these images as reminders from a time when life was simple, and families were important and loving to each other. It touches me deeply that so many churches are falling down and the people left them.
I still bow my head and say a prayer when I sit in the empty church pew.
My husband loves a challenge. He is one of those people who will start biking and then it becomes too easy; he has to bike over 100 miles. Once that does not challenge him, he has to do a triathlon even if he does not enjoy running or swimming as much. He starts to do some triathlons; then he finds out about Ironman and now he wants to try that.
He signed up for half Ironman (Total distance of 70.3 miles (113.0 km) covered in the race, consisting of a 1.2-mile (1.9 km) swim, a 56-mile (90 km) bike ride, and a 13.1-mile (21.1 km) run) around 6-7 months ago to do one on June 1st. This is his 5th one.
The discipline that goes into training to do this race is crazy incredible. I am not kidding when I say “I get tired watching him”. He trains 6 out of 7 days for hours. He watches YouTube to get better at his swimming strokes. He gets into these training programs with coaches to get better and better every day as Ironman Day approaches. Only one month left he got covid so he had to recover from that too and he does not panic at all. He always does the best he can.
We fly to the destination renting boxes for his bike breaking it into small pieces, and carrying every little equipment, gear, and clothing he needs for the race. It is no easy task to pack all of that.
We arrive a few days earlier to get used to the weather. It is much warmer, humid, and windy. The ocean is rough. He trains more without depleting his energy to save it for the race day. He attends briefings for athletes. We are in this beautiful place with lots to explore yet he is always focused on the task at hand. Stays crystal clear about his why.
The race day comes. He wakes up at 4 AM. We are at the start of the swim by 5:20 AM with more than 1,000 other athletes. It is a scene that is worth experiencing. You get inspired by every one of them. You are excited and anxious at the same time as a spouse. All I care about it he is healthy at the end. He already is my Ironman by signing up for it. Just to say “I want to do this, pay for it, and train for months are all very impressive to me. It is a long, tough journey for sure.
They all go in the water and they have at the most 8.5 hours to finish. The only transition I got to see him was when he finished swimming and started his bike ride. I heard him say the ocean was rough and then as I looked around I knew it was going to be a very windy day as they climbed some hills.
As a spouse or as a spectator you can follow them on an app. It is wonderful and nerve-racking at the same time. You can track them which is great yet when you don’t see that little tracker moving, you are worried.
After around 5 hours or so I got a text from a number I don’t know that told me my husband left the race and was waiting for me. I immediately asked if he is OK. The guy said yes. I went to find him. You feel great that he is OK, at the same time I know how much he trained to do this so it feels sad that he could not finish it.
That is where my admiration for my husband takes over. Although it was a difficult decision to make he always does the right thing. Not only that but he also adapts very quickly. He told me it was rough for him; the winds were too much and he could not even take a hand out of the handle to drink his water; he knew at some point he would not finish on time and decided to leave the race. He said this is what he does for fun; he does not make money out of it, actually, he spends a lot to do it, so he would not risk his health. Thank God! He is thankful that he was able to do the 5-hour piece of it and experience this new Ironman location.
It makes me think of what we hear all the time “It is all about the journey, not the destination”. He exemplifies that with his actions. He had to leave the race one other time when he got sick. This is easier said than done. I am not sure if I can handle it this well. I would at least cry a bit. He tells me it is not about his ego or what others will think. He was even joking around saying “Why be bad in one sport when you can be bad in three”.
Every time he has a goal and works so hard for it; I watch him closely. Not only to see his determination but also to see how he handles the curve balls thrown at him. I get inspired each time and want to believe I am learning how to enjoy the journey without being too hung up on the outcome myself.
This applies to our lives and our search for the work we love too. It is an amazing journey to find out more of who we are. I believe it is the whole purpose of life: being and living more of who we are. Doing it for our own good; not for approval, not for our ego. It is the biggest freedom we can ever have.
The natural human experience of grief so often gets stifled. How can we allow ourselves to grieve life’s many losses, in ways that help us grow in health and happiness? In this video, Jenny Elinora shares her creative exploration into Grief + Joy.
Editor’s Note: Enjoy all of the ConverSessions by the best Orators on the planet by clicking here; insteadTALKS 360° ORATOR SHOWCASE
In May this year, I had the opportunity to share my work of deep listening with the Tibetan Community in Kathmandu, Nepal. I was able to sow the seeds of listening with over 200 students, 30 teachers, and a small leadership team.
The students enjoyed the sessions stating they loved to hear English being spoken and meeting someone from the UK in person. For many it was the first time, rather they listened to the language from YouTube or the movies. The students enjoyed the activities in not only discussing the impact of listening, but then experiencing it for themselves. They quickly picked up the core skills of EARS (soft eye contact, ask open questions, resist the urge to interrupt and comfort with silence) and applied them to experience being listened to in a way, unlike they had before.
They described the experience of being listened to as making them feel happy, valued, respected, motivated, and a desire to continue sharing. They recognised the impact this level of listening would have on their friendships and communication skills.
During several sessions with both the students and teachers, they asked some thoughtful questions which we explored together and came up with some fresh ideas and ways of being to address them. What about you, what do you think are the ways in which you might answer the questions below:
Questions asked:
● What is more important listening or communication skills?
● What is more important equity or equality?
● How do we stop others interrupting us?
● How do we stop someone who keeps talking non-stop?
● How do we encourage others to listen to us?
During my visit I witnessed that whilst British and Himalayan cultures represent significant diversity within their respective regions, there are still some general trends in listening behaviours which include:
1. Respect for tradition and authority figures : Both British and Himalayan cultures often have a respect for tradition and authority figures. In listening contexts, this might manifest as attentiveness and deference towards older or more experienced speakers. Consequently we looked at the idea of generating equality in our capacity to listen and think well, irrespective of hierarchy.
2. Value of politeness : Politeness is generally valued in both British and Himalayan cultures. This can influence listening behaviours, such as maintaining eye contact, nodding, and providing verbal cues to show engagement and respect for the speaker.
3. Importance of context : Both cultures recognise the importance of context in communication. Listeners in both British and Himalayan cultures may rely on contextual cues to interpret meaning and understand the speaker’s perspective.
The Principal and Headmaster kindly shared their feedback of our sessions together:
“Hearty Welcome Mam Jane all the way from UK to Namgyal High. A beautiful lady exuding all the amazing virtues- warm grace, elegance, soft spoken, humble, passionate active Listening skills coach and facilitator – Enjoyed listening and attending to her session. We are all delighted to have her in the school. She also took two sessions for our Class XII students today.
Cultivating listening skills can enhance our personal relations with other people around us, become effective leader and improve ones career and standing in community.” -Principal, Mr Norbu Tsering**
“Thank you so much for the valuable service rendered for our students and staff members. Sure, the seeds you have sown in our mind and hearts will bring fruitful results. My students love to see their pictures and remember you.” -Headmaster, Mr. Tsering Palden**
We live in a world that tells us to do our best while at the same time telling us our best is not good enough! This is a struggle for many of us. It is a conundrum for the perfectionist. Tune in as Jim gives us a new take on responding to perfectionism and helping ourselves and others who struggle with it.
An insteadTalk is 15 minutes talk followed by 30 minutes of real conversation. Please check out my insteadTalk. Then, please click this link to discover more incredible messages from thinking minds. Real talk! Real conversation!
At the Therapist“How has the week gone?”
“I don’t know. . . . not going well. . . I’ve been quite anxious. . . can’t get ahead. . . seems to know and is taking the opportunity to be more of a . . .over and over.”
“Are you ready to move on? What happened with. . .?”
“That went well I guess. I mean, I think it’s better, and it’s more . . . and different but I’d have to . . and yeah, there is really nothing holding me . . , but I just feel so stuck. I’m not sleeping and I keep having that dream. I wake up sweating and can’t get back to sleep.”
“Tell me about this dream.”
“I don’t really remember it, I’m in a hallway, or a staircase, I don’t remember. I just get so anxious.”
“Would you be willing to try a little hypnosis. It might help you remember.”
“OK?. . . I mean, I guess. . .You think it means something? I keep having it. . . sure, I guess. . .”
“Let’s try. Sit up. Feet flat on the floor. Close your eyes. Breathe deeply. . . just listen to my voice. . . you are feeling a little drowsy. . . eyelids heavy. . . count backwards from 30. . .29. . . 28. . . hear nothing but the sound of my voice. . . imagine you are sleeping. . . . Are you sleeping?
“Yes”
“Good I want you to enter that dream you keep having. . . nothing in it can hurt you. . . it will be just like going to the movies. . . Are you in the dream now? Nod you head. . . Good tell me about it.”
“I’m walking down a long corridor. . . the walls are stone. . . it looks like a castle or something. . . it’s damp. . .I keep walking. . . I think I’m supposed to. . . I’m going around curves in the corridor. . . I can’t see what’s ahead. . . I have to keep moving. . . There’s something behind me.”
“Turn around and look behind you. What do you see?”
“Nothing. . . . just darkness. . . I have to keep moving. . . faster . . . there’s a staircase, a stone staircase. . . it’s old. . . it doesn’t look safe. . . there’s no hand rail. . . “
“Go up the staircase.”
“Going up. . . there’s another hallway. . . and another stone staircase . . . running now. . . I stumble on the stairs . . . hurt my hand or maybe my knee. . . there’s a door. . . there’s light behind it. . . I push on the door, but it won’t move. . . pushing harder. . I throw my body against the door, but it won’t move. . . my shoulder hurts. . . I’m beating on the door. . I keep pushing . . . it won’t open. . . open! . . . why won’t it open?. . . Why? OPEN!”
“Stop a minute and breathe. . . this is like the movies. . . nothing here can hurt you. . . step back a little. . . tell me about this door.”
“it’s brown, wood, I guess, old. . . I push, why won’t it open. . .“
“Step back a little more back down the stairs. . . can you se the whole door now/”
“Yes.”
“Describe the door.”
“It’s dark brown wood. . . worn. . . round at the top. . . paneled. . .
“Is there anything on the door?’
“I think so. . . yeah. . .there’s a plaque on the crosspiece . . .old and very faded. . .”
“Can you read the plaque?”
“Well maybe. . . if I get down on my knees. . . Yeah. . . it’s definitely a word. . . “
“What does it say. . . “
It’s faint. . . hard to read. . . it says. . . PULL.”
What dreams may comeIn dreams our subconscious sometimes reflects our anxiety. I have the “unprepared dream” a lot. You know the one I mean. I’m taking a test I didn’t study for, I’m in an unknown play where I haven’t learned the lines or I’m presenting on a subject I know nothing about. That’s an imposter syndrome dream, a reflection of my insecurity. . . where I am anxious about doing something for which I think I’m unqualified or unprepared.
I don’t have the test dream much anymore. I guess I graduated and the curtain fell on my acting “career” fifty years ago, so those dreams are less frequent. But I retired six years ago and I’m still having unprepared work dreams. I’ve trained myself to wake, tell myself I’m “good enough” and figure out what, if anything, I might need to prepare.
Sometimes our dreams give us a message. Early in my consulting career, I was managing multiple projects, traveling internationally, and working more than a hundred hours per week. I had a recurring dream that I was trying to get over a hill on a skateboard where the wheels kept falling off.
An old friend told me “Fritz Perls, the German Gestalt psychiatrist, said we are all characters in our dream.” Andre encouraged me to “play the hill, me, and the skateboard.” It turned out that I was abusing the skateboard (my body?) and I slowed down and asked for help at work and ended up being more productive.
The dream in the shaggy dog story above is like that. How can you step back and realize where you are your own obstacle. That isn’t to say that genuine obstacles don’t exist, but it is still useful to ask:
What is my part of this problem? How am I getting in my own way? Does my persistence inhibit me?
When you feel like you are “beating your head against a brick wall,” step back, or rise up. Can you go around the wall or over the wall, rather than through it?
Thoughts, imagination, and outside influence. Dreams; or are they dreams?
When experiencing a dream that reflects real life rather than a surreal fantasy, such as flying with swans, at that moment, is it a thought that it’s a dream during a dream? Or is it a reality during a dream?
It is said there is no such thing as coincidence. Is there more to a situation; a happening than ‘that’s a coincidence’?
Looking back at seemingly coincidental events, it is easy to view such ‘connected’ happenings as irrelevant.
Praying to God for a resolution to a problem.
For example, a serious breakdown of harmony in a relationship. A feeling it cannot resolved. The next day the prayers are answered. Is it a coincidence that praying to God resolved the problem? Now this is possibly an example of divine intervention. It may be viewed as la la land by some. Is it a coincidence? An answer will likely never be known.
Divine intervention? Or an extra-dimensional influence. Manipulation via the Universe?
Those who for whatever reason canceled their cruise on the Titanic at the last minute, may have been ‘saved’ for a special mission later in life. Is it a coincidence that they canceled their voyage, to become a strong contributor to society further on in life?
A major-league trauma where a future achievement would not have happened had the trauma not happened—the two being totally linked.
Can Divine intervention be visited via another dimension?
There may be many experiences linked to coincidences that have been overlooked. Then, it just clicks.
A previous memory of a happening becomes a reality.
The brain is highly complex. Receiving and projecting sight, taste, hearing a smell’
Coincidences. It depends upon personal views of not only the normal physical perception but the idea/belief that an outside ‘force’ is involved. Quite a multiple of happenings considering the billions of people on the planet.
Featuring Andy Bird who shares stories of how he began his career in radio before climbing the entertainment ladder to become the Chairman of Walt Disney International. The curiosity and belief that he had in the early days of his own career carried forward into recruiting others who had their own story to tell. Lessons learned from Rock and Roll!
Homelessness is the space between the place where you once lived and the place where you will live again. It is the place of dislocation, transition, waiting …
~Lucy, a woman who was once homeless
What does homelessness look like, and who does it affect? Martha Stone, the executive director of a 96-bed homeless shelter, shares the stories of a few residents of the shelter, and shares how we can all end the cycle of homelessness in our communities.
Editor’s Note: Homelessness is a complex and pressing issue affecting millions of people worldwide. It is a condition that is often misunderstood and stigmatized and is often seen as a personal failing rather than a systemic problem. We listened, gathered their stories, and crafted them into our special edition anthology book below, with all profits donated to nonprofits serving this unfortunate population. Help us help them by grabbing your copy HERE.
At the end of the day
My thoughts drift away
Through a sky so blue
Through the clouds so grey
And they travel forever
With no rhyme or reason
To a far distant place
To a fine summer season
And as I watch them fly
So free and so light
As the end of the day
Just turns into night
Then my thoughts, they return
To people my dreams
They are the strong stitches
That sew my loose seams
And I wake the next morning
With ideas galore
And a whole day to make them
Whatever and what for
Once, and not that long ago, two young lovers greeted the beauty found in each sunrise and frolicked in the sands of time together. Searching for the hidden secrets and treasures of their world; while storing away memories for another day.
Never tiring, but fueled by one another’s energy, they built a family and a world that gave them a sense of safety and security.
Talking daily with God, they thanked Him for the family and health He had given them, neither ever dreaming of it being any other way.
They watched as the sun set each evening, its beauty only adding to the warmth already felt in their hearts; having experienced love, life, and God’s mercies together.
And they stood in awe and amazement of heaven’s beauty late into the evenings; two joined figures silhouetted against the night, while the vastness of it all drew them even closer.
But then, without warning, time and life took their silent toll, and heaven called one of them home, leaving the other here, to finish their walk alone.
So now, as I lament her absence, I find peace in knowing that she’s talking to angels while I talk to God.
Tonight, I am tired. The years, and the journeys have worn hard on me.
I sit here on this fallen tree with Buddy my dog and watch the beautiful sunset slowly giving way to the night.
The Dirt Road is long and filled with forgotten places, deeply felt memories, and stories untold. I wonder, will I have the time to write them or will they be forgotten and sit on a dusty shelf?
The stars sparkle brightly in the night sky and the dirt road feels different in the darkness.
Buddy my dog walks in the shadows, sniffing the spirits that find a home here in the forest, watching over the wayfarers that brave the night.
Sleep calls me home to dreams where I will sit in my chair by the window and read a favorite book. It is one I read often; it’s called the Book of Life.
Good night my dear friends, poets, writers, artists, and Dirt Road Storytellers.
Part I – Connection LostI’m hesitant to write this post.
Incorrect.
I want to write it. Not sure if I’ll publish it.
Not sure who’ll connect with it.
A recent meeting I attended dealt with connections between people and what role people play in conversation. Primarily, how much do you listen to the other, how much of what the other is saying do you hear, do you add to or subtract from yourself and/or the other during conversation, what role do you play in a conversation; are you connected to what’s happening at that moment in the conversation versus everything going on around that conversation? Or are you connected to something happening elsewhere and elsewhen? How present are you when you connect with someone? What is the strength of the connection based on? What’s the metric? Do you even know? Do you care to know? If you knew and didn’t like what you learned, would you change it? But then what would happen to all your other connections?
How do we choose with whom to connect?
A term went back and forth in the meeting which I couldn’t quite make out: were people saying they viewed their role during exchanges as illuminators or as eliminators? The meaning of their message was hard for me to construct from context and, as you may understand, which word is in action makes a difference in what’s being communicated.
So I asked which word people were using: illuminator or eliminator.
Eighteen people in the room. Two responded.
First, thank you to the two people who connected with me, who saw a confusion and eliminated it by illuminating me.
But sixteen others in a conversation about being connected to each other and no response, not even a private response?
Most curious. What did they think I was asking? I rarely “raise my hand” in meetings unless I believe I can add value to the conversation. “add value” is my phrasing for “aid understanding/remove confusion/offer assistance.” I ask questions when I’m confused and recognize the confusion won’t be resolved in normal discourse.
But a) that’s me, and 2) my question remains: What did the sixteen others in the room think I was asking?
I’ve done advanced work in psychology, neurophysiology, neuroscience, linguistics, blah blah blah hence understand things like bystander effect, imposter syndrome, the various emotion-action axes built into us via evolution, culture, and the like, why some people like nuts on their sundaes and others have arthritis.
One thing that shows up a lot in modern societies is people rarely doing what’s in front of them that needs getting done. Much easier, safer, to discuss rather than act. This is basic business practice: When in doubt, form a committee. A committee allows people to hold off taking action in the hope someone else will act, which in turn allows the non-acting committee members to debate the action taken, so on and so forth. I witnessed this many times in business. Far easier to wait for someone else to act than take seize the opportunity and possibly get it wrong. Bystander Syndrome via Best Business Practices.
But how am I to know who I could call upon to act when a simple request for clarification is ignored by 88+% of the population? Granted, a small-world study, and still, Whoa!
It’s really quite simple. To me, anyway. Those who want to connect, do. Others…well, I I’m at a loss there. Thank goodness I know at least two people to ask.
I’m reminded of the poem:
Listening for words that never come…
Can it be the stars are stricken dumb?
They’re listening with ears this big…
Listening for thoughts just like their own,
Can it be we are all alone?
Not sure what I’m writing about here? Connect with me. Perhaps I can eliminate your confusion and illuminate your experience.
Part II – Connection RestoredSusan and I met a friend at a favorite lunch spot. It’s a place you have to know about because it’s on a backroad, deep in a wood, far away from anything resembling a major or even minor thoroughfare, and known only to those who’ve been introduced to it or stumbled onto it.
We were introduced to it decades ago and have since introduced a few others to it.
Our lunch over, we sat and chatted while finishing our coffees. This place only serves breakfast and lunch. It was getting past two o’clock. The staff were patient – we’d already paid our bill and left our usual, hefty tip – and still, the hairy eyeballs grew hairier with each tick of the clock.
And in one of those magical moments, the Universe had me go on and on and on about Have Gun, Will Travel, The Rifleman, The Adventures of Robin Hood (the good one with Richard Green), WhirlyBirds, and half a dozen other shows from the heyday of black-and-white TV (we’re all within a few years of each other and remember the shows well). We all appreciated these and several similar shows were morality plays as well as interesting television.
Usually, I’m happy to have Susan carry dinner conversations and such. I tend to fumble my wordages and prefer to listen unless asked to contribute. But this time I rambled.
After much laughter and much “Do you remember this…?” “Do you remember when…?” “How about that one, do you remember that one?” we got up to leave.
Hugs in the parking lot, waves, more laughter, and Susan and I headed back to our car. One car parked this side of ours, others parked further away on the other side of ours. Some sightseers and staff walked past the nearer car without a glance.
I got to the nearer car and saw a thin, elderly woman (I’m hitting 70. “Elderly” to me means high 80s-low 90s) standing by the open driver’s door. She frowned at everything she looked at.
“Is everything okay, Mother?”
She held onto the door and roof of the car like they were a life raft. “Where am I?”
All the training kicked in. “Would you like me to help you?”
A nervous nod.
First thing, don’t ask their name. Not being able to remember one’s name can be panic-inducing if panic doesn’t already exist. The loss of identity is severely traumatic. She already asked where she was so don’t ask that either.
A quick state assessment indicated any past-referencing would cause trauma, so use future-referencing language and be careful with present-referencing language. “What’s it look like where you’d like to be?”
She described a trafficked intersection with lights and shops on all four corners. Her car had Mass plates. She appeared clean, hadn’t soiled herself, seemed well nourished and cared for. Her breath didn’t indicate alcohol, and her movements were neither erratic nor lethargic. Agitated, yes, erratic or lethargic, no, so drug symptomology seemed unlikely.
“Are you hungry, mother? Thirsty?”
Negative. Okay, put all that together. There were two towns within a half-hour’s easy drive. “Is this your car?”
Affirmative.
“Do you think you can follow us? One of us can be in your car if you’d like.”
She would follow. I drove one eye on the road and one eye on my mirror to watch her. Susan waved at her every mile or so to make sure she responded and remained aware. Her driving was steady and she paced us well. She also kept looking around as we drove. We crossed a class V highway (perhaps a NH oddity) and she demonstrated recognition signals. I pulled over, got out, and approached her car.
“Do you know that road we crossed?”
“Yes! That’s the road I drove up to get here.”
A uniqueness of native upper New Englanders – especially those in a certain age bracket – is the use of directionality in language. She drove “up,” not “down,” and that was the final necessary key.
“Excellent. Would you like to follow me back to that road? We’re going to take a left when we get there. Could you follow me for maybe five or so miles after that left?”
Affirmative.
Ten minutes later we were in her hometown’s center. I pulled into the police parking lot. Susan talked to the woman while I explained the situation to the desk officer inside.
“Thank god, we got a report not thirty minutes ago.”
The woman’s husband came to take her home and only after many thankyous, handshakes, hugs, and grateful smiles.
That incident, however brief and however minor, is, to me, what connection is really all about.
No one else saw her, no one else expressed interest, no one else connected.
I’m grateful for the session on connectivity and for having lunch with a friend and helping the woman get home. I’m grateful for rambling because the Universe had us there to help the woman (I believe in such things). They all come together to help me understand what connection, connectivity, and being present are all about.
As I wrote in a friend’s FB group: I asked for help in a room with 18 people present and only two responded. I’m not afraid of asking for help, I also realize few will respond to the request, which is sad because what many people fear most is not being heard when they need to be heard. Such is how want is seeded, not being heard is the bitter water that nourishes the seed, loneliness is its flower, and the harvest is never asking another question, being willing to be unheard and forgotten.
Worry is like a sneaky burglar. It stealthily moves through the deepest and darkest corners of our mind and steals the joy and optimism from our tomorrow long before we even get there.
~ When Fear Speaks…Listen, pg. 45
Warning! Answering the following question may reveal your age, but do you remember the catchphrase Mad Magazine’s icon, Alfred E. Newman, had posted under his cartoon image on the cover? “What, Me Worry” was his motto. There he was, with a simpleton’s “Howdy Doody” wooden smile inviting us all to consider the fruitlessness of worrying about, well, anything. I must confess, as an eight-year-old kid reading Mad Magazine, I never understood Alfred’s motto.
I was so deeply entrenched in worry that I didn’t even recognize it as a choice. But then I grew up and got it: Worry had already insidiously seeped between the cracks and crevices of my mind, but as a conscious, mature, self-aware adult I learned I could opt out of the worry habit at anytime. Alfred E. Newman was a genius! His motto was an admonishment warning us to be mindful of the worry habit because it’s seductive; it’s so addictive everybody’s doing it! I don’t know about you, but sometimes life serves me up a big steaming heaping-helping of “things” that tempt me to enter through the portal of tomorrow where worry lingers—where I have not even a modicum of control.
While Worry Can Become An Addiction There’s a Cure!Managing the habit of worry is essential for leading a balanced and peaceful life. Following are a few practices we can use to transcend the worry habit:
- As featured in my latest book, When Fear Speaks…Listen, one effective way to handle worry is by adopting the mindfulness practice of living in “day-tight compartments”—focusing on the present without letting the uncertainties of tomorrow or yesterday seep in. I learned this concept from my mother: Now, I KNOW she never read Mad Magazine, but her philosophy aligned seamlessly with Alfred E. Newman’s: Mom would say, “Don’t borrow trouble from tomorrow, son.”
- Awareness matters because it leads to choice. A helpful metaphor used to illustrate this idea is the watchmen in ancient cities staying vigilant from high towers to ensure the wellbeing of citizens. Similarly, by elevating our awareness to the present moment and observing our worries, we can see them as they approach the gates of our mind and prevent them from overwhelming us. With awareness, we can discern the difference between the worries we have the power to mitigate, challenge and change—and those we don’
POINT: If we can change that which we are worried about, then it is ours to do. If we can’t change it, then we can move into a mindful acceptance of “what is” by seeing it through the lens of a new perception. As an example, it’s one thing to receive a medical prognosis (possibility) from our doctor and it’s quite another to obsess over it and allow it to suck us out of the present moment, which is all any of us possess. The same could be said about the pending Presidential elections; let us focus on that which we can do something about and then do it. Rather than worry, choose to vote and get involved, but don’t get sucked into the vortex of mindless worry. Dragging our worries out of the shadows of tomorrow and exposing them to the light of the present moment diminishes their power over us.
- Another approach involves faith in a Power greater than oneself and staying grounded in the present moment, which is the only space in time It exists. Reframing our worries by infusing the awareness of our oneness with that Power helps to reduce the mental burden. Emphasizing positive affirmations like “Today, I make a conscious decision to live in oneness with my Creator can reinforce this mindset.
- Practical tools can also help manage worry. For example, the simple practice of using a rubber band on our wrist to snap whenever we catch ourselves engaging in negative self-talk, such as saying “I can’” This simple action brings our awareness back to more empowering choices, enabling us to step into our authentic power.
THE TAKE AWAY: Managing the worry habit involves a combination of mindfulness, staying present, positive perspectives, and sometimes, small practical tools to reinforce our commitment to a worry-free life. But, somehow, I suspect Alfred E. Newman already knew that. Try making Alfred’s motto “What, me worry?” your mantra for a day or two. It may put a smile on your face that will have other people wondering just what you know that they don’t.
Peace, Dennis Merritt Jones
I’ve done it. Finished another personal project and sent it out into the world. I have great satisfaction in seeing it through. Yet, there is a nagging part of my brain that is getting louder and louder. The realistic part that lays out my years of creative work and how it really hasn’t amounted to much – just a combination of dreaming and ego-stroking. And yes, I have felt pleasure and a sense of accomplishment. However, as I see the sun setting over my road, there is a certain reality that cannot be ignored.
In 2010 I started on a path that was fueled by the discovery of the importance of laughter. Over that summer I attended 3 events that lit a creative fire in my brain. I threw myself into it, eager to share what I had found out. There was fun and there was joy. However, trying to elevate the work into a profession was hit or miss. Numerous unpaid presentations were offered to me. In my eagerness to please, I ended up spending money on signage, giveaways, and travel. I spent additional money attending expensive conferences and taking tables at local events – both promoting my laughter programs and selling books. Well, the books were for sale. Few sold. I can’t remember anyone booking a program from these efforts either, although, through intense efforts, I have a handful of paid presentations every year and a few pro bono events.
Meanwhile, other creative efforts surfaced. There is my digital art photography – some of it award-winning. A few sold. However, I have probably spent hundreds, maybe even thousands, to support my “creative endeavors,” including publishing my own books. All have given me satisfaction and a sense of pride. None have paid the bills.
It may be possible that the speaking pinnacle was achieved with a Keynote Speakership in 2022, and I am now heading down the other side of the mountain, my backpack full of creative tchotchkes.
Originally, the dream was, this “business” would allow me to retire from full-time work, providing enough income to supplement social security and savings. As I approach my 70th birthday some of that wisdom that comes with age is bearing fruit. If I died tomorrow, what would be done with all these mostly useless piles of unsold artwork and books, as well as the truckload of research materials, posters and promotional materials? Who would ever be interested in my multiple terabyte drives full of PowerPoint presentations, handout materials and websites? I’ve had a fun run with this stuff, but unlike my distant cousin, Ray Bradbury, no one is going to take everything from my office and rebuild it in a museum. And with my children scattered in various parts of the country, with families and creative interests of their own, there is not going to be a sentimental family gathering to divide up Mom’s “stuff,” especially all the things in what I call my writing office.
I am now contemplating the idea of bowing out on my own terms rather than letting illness, senility or death decide how the story ends. A garage sale, a shredder and a dumpster are going to be my best friends. Maybe I’ll have a big bonfire on my 70th birthday. Stay tuned.
About 13 miles from Fort Erie just south of a town called Ridgeway is a village called Crystal Beach. It was basically a cottage community, many of which were owned or rented by people from Buffalo which was just across the river from Fort Erie. It was also the home of what was, at that time, a fairly good-sized amusement park, which was open all summer long.
Bird was about sixteen and finished with caddying. Instead, he got himself a part-time and summer job with the IGA company. In the winter he worked at the Fort Erie store and in the summer he worked in Crystal Beach.
Bird tried riding his bike to Crystal Beach but it was a long slog, especially in the summer heat, and on a daily basis, it got old after the first time he tried. So instead, he rode his bike over to the Peace Bridge and stashed it in the backyard of a friend’s house. Then he walked down to the highway and hitched rides.
This, of course, would have been in the mid-sixties, before hitchhiking turned into the high-risk venture it is today.
The people who picked Bird up were usually dads who were, for one reason or another, commuting between their cottages and their work. A lot of people picked him up because they knew he worked at the IGA, because it was the only grocery store in town.
Any free time Bird had, he spent in the amusement park that was the main attraction of the village. Here he got to flirt with a lot of the American girls, who loved nothing better than heading down to the darkened beach to fool around.
There was no real sex involved, but there was a lot of what they used to call heavy petting. Bird always thought that term made people feel like animals. But people hardly ever used the term so it didn’t really matter.
Bird would work almost full-time in the summer. He slept and showered in a room at the back of the store where there was a full bathroom and a small bed. Every so often Bird would hitchhike back to Fort Erie, pick up his bike and check in at home, and get some fresh clothing. His mother was preoccupied taking care of her new baby girl that she and her boyfriend had created. He had moved in after Bird’s dad moved out and eventually got himself transferred to Ottawa.
Bird and the boyfriend, who was kind of an old-school Italian guy, didn’t get along very well at all. He fancied himself an enforcer and tried to make rules for Bird to follow. This was something completely new and quite alien to Bird, who had been free to do whatever he wanted for his entire life. So Bird basically ignored him. One of the rules was that the doors would be locked at 11 PM every night. But the new guy totally underestimated the breadth of Bird’s network. He had all kinds of places where he could sleep, and he used them all quite regularly.
After a while, the boyfriend gave up and realized that the best way to deal with Bird was to leave him completely alone. That was fine with Bird, and they got along pretty well after that, although Bird preferred to have nothing to do with him.
The amusement park in Crystal Beach covered several acres and had all the usual rides. Bird didn’t care much for the rides. For him, it was more about the people watching. He would sit with a couple of friends for an hour in the evening, sipping Cronfelt’s Loganberry and watching people. They would make up stories about them. Bird really enjoyed that, because his friends were both from Buffalo and a couple years older than him. They were fraternity brothers in something called Kappa Tau. Apparently, most schools in America had fraternities and were the precursor to modern-day networking groups. They all used Greek letters but never figured out why and none of the frat brothers he knew could ever explain it to him. But they both had cool jackets and were real preppies.
Preppies were guys who wore casual pants or chinos as they were called with cuffs, penny loafers with no socks, and light blue shirts button-down collar shirts under their frat jackets. Throughout that summer, Bird took a bus to Buffalo and bought himself a couple of different preppy outfits at AM&As. Then he went to Thom McCann’s a bought a pair of penny loafers. This became his uniform for the last two years he was in Fort Erie.
Bird thought that dressing like a preppie was kind of superficial, but the change of outfits brought with it a whole new wave of American girl attraction. And very quickly, he transitioned from hanging out with frat brothers to Buffalo girls.
Any girl Bird met and hung out with for any length of time in Crystal Beach invariably invited him back to the cottage they were staying in. Bird, of course, knew all the moms, because back then they did all the shopping. The dads all commuted from their jobs in Buffalo, since it really wasn’t all that far to go.
Later on when Bird ended up married with children and living in Toronto, going to the cottage was at least a three-hour drive up into the Kawarthas or the Haliburton Highlands. So, in retrospect, a Buffalo to Crystal Beach run was nothing to get worked up about.
Most of the Buffalo dads liked football and hockey and so did Bird, so he got along really well with all of them. And he got more than a lot of free barbecued meals to boot.
Sometimes in the evenings, Bird and whoever he was hanging out with would go to a place called The Ebb and Flow Coffee House. This is when Bird first got exposed to the music of people like Bob Dylan, Eric Anderson, Tom Paxton, Joan Baez, and Joni Mitchell and started to understand that there was a whole lot more to music than all the Top 40 Bubblegum stuff that the radios played pretty much non-stop.
He sensed, even as a teenager, that there was something different going on out there and he found himself attracted to it, mainly because of the writing. These people were singing about real issues and not a bunch of feel-good crap and silly love songs. It had a major impact on him. At first, it threw him for a bit of a loop because he had never really heard anything like this before. But he also felt very strongly that this was more than just a musical direction. it was a movement that was just going to grow and grow.
The guy who owned the Ebb and Flow felt pretty much the same way and he and Bird and some pretty interesting conversations about it. He was much more plugged into it than Bird was. He had come up from New York City which was the centre of it all.
Bird made up his mind to dig deeper into all of this. In fact, he dug in so deeply that it became pretty much his whole musical life.
Bird liked a lot of the popular music that was on the radio, mainly because that was all there was, but his dad was also a music lover and had records by people like Frank Sinatra and Nat King Cole. He also had country music by the two Hanks, Snow and Williams. So Bird had been exposed to a lot of that early on.
But when he heard Bob Dylan singing Mister Tamborine Man for the first time, something happened inside his head. It was like this guy was from another planet. There was a real country roots feel to some of his music. There was also a powerful folk music feel, but it was jumbled up and presented in a very unique way. It stuck in your head for a long time. You had to listen carefully and work out what all the metaphors meant and you had to realize that this guy was the tip of a massive iceberg that would change the entire music business, a lot of the radio industry and it would spill over into all kinds of other areas as well including the countercultural movement which was just in its infancy.
Bird understood that this was basically music for people who didn’t just mindlessly tap or hum along with a song. It was for people who actually listened and hopefully, it widened their view of the world.
Up until he was exposed to this music, Bird was happy to just take the world as it came. He had just turned seventeen and really didn’t have much of a stake in it. But once his awareness began to develop and his writer’s curiosity began to grow, he started to see that there were a whole lot of things that were starting to go haywire. Not so much in Canada but definitely in the country next door.
The other thing that his exposure to all this new kind of music did, was inspire him to write more than just little poems. It took a few years but he taught himself how to write highly structured lyrics and more sophisticated poetry. Because the more he listened to the music he had fallen in love with the more he learned about how to write in that same vein. He might never be another Bob Dylan or Joni Mitchell, but it gave him immense pleasure all the same.
Over the course of the last summer, he spent in Crystal Beach, a lot of his frat boy pals were now starting to get seriously worried about getting drafted and shipped off to fight in the war that was shaping up in Southeast Asia. Most of them had never even heard of Vietnam or Cambodia and unless they were really lucky, that’s where many of them were headed.
Three days before Labour Day, Bird got a call from his dad who was living in Ottawa. His dad told him to get packed and that he would pick him up in three days to take him back to Ottawa where he would do his grade 13 and college if he wanted to go and live with him, his new wife, Diana, and her daughter, 12-year-old Mary.
So from one of the smaller towns in Canada to the capital of the country in one fell swoop. Bird was excited and promised his family that he would come and visit whenever he could. The day before he left Fort Erie, he went to North Tonawanda a suburb e of Buffalo, and said goodbye to his most recent girlfriend, Sandy. Of all the girls he had met so far in his life, she had come the closest to being the ideal. But obviously, Bird wasn’t there yet, or he would have stayed and saw where it went.
As it turned out Sandy who was very bright academically, got a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern University in Chicago. Bird considered himself lucky that he had not turned his dad down, because visiting her in Chicago would have been about a thousand miles each way.
He decided that his chances would be a lot better in Ottawa, so off he went into Phase Two of his young life.
On the way to Ottawa, they stopped for lunch in a town called Perth. They ey ate at a picnic table outside the restaurant. After lunch, Jim’s dad, stepmom, and stepsister took a walk through the downtown area to stretch their legs. Bird stayed behind, got out his notebook, and wrote a poem he had been thinking about for quite a while. Later on, after he got settled in Ottawa, he messed around with it some more and then typed it out. He also realized that he was no longer Bird, but a guy named Jim.
I WRITE
I write to let the demons deep inside me out to playI write just like the dog who demands to have his day
I write until I feel my aging wounds being to healI write until my hands become unstuck from the driving wheel
I write when the sun goes down and all the world has gone to bedI write to clarify the crazy notions in my head
I write to make myself feel something, anything at allI write to answer all the ghosts that nightly come to cal
I write to build my words into a house of brick and stoneI write to keep myself from feeling lost and all alone
I write because I always have and likely always willI write because I have no choice…it is my only skill
~The writer formerly known as Bird
All emotions are beautiful and create a fullness and wholeness in our experience. They are powerful forces that our bodies can use as fuel for action and healing. Our thoughts create reality, not the other way around. So when our reality doesn’t look the way we want it to and brings up emotions that are unpleasant to us, that is the message we are being given to start building a bridge between what is and what can be. Taking time to be aware of our reactions, thoughts, and emotions will bring us into a space of clarity and balance where we can make informed decisions…that will usher in release and healing for ourselves and all of life around us.
Bird, lived at the entrance to a park, called Oakes’ Park, in the small southern Ontario town of Fort Erie. The park was created by guy named Harry Oakes, who was actually a rich guy from Niagara Falls, some twenty miles north of Fort Erie.
The park was divided into two areas, separated by one of the main streets in the town, called Central Avenue. The western side was just called The Park and it had two baseball diamonds, one for hardball, one for softball, a lawn bowling green, where the old folks hung out, a football field where the high school team played, a pair of tennis courts, that were used more for street hockey than for tennis and lots of open green space for doing whatever you wanted to do.
The eastern side of the park was called The Sugar Bowl because it was built in a depression in the land. It too had two baseball diamonds, scaled for little league play, a large wading pool with swings, see-saws, and other playground stuff. Over on the far side of the hill, there was a band shell that anyone could book for an open-air concert. The sides of the depression were steep enough that you could sleigh or toboggan down them in the winter, and just roll down them in the summer.
Bird spent a lot of his time in his younger years, from like age five to about twelve in the park, because it was right beside his house, playing all kinds of sports, climbing the Maple trees that grew along the ring road, and shagging foul baseballs and softballs over in the Horton Steel storage area. It was a lot of fence climbing, but a good way to earn half a buck, which was a lot back then.
Unlike most of the kids in the town, who stuck pretty much to their own end of the place, Bird liked to travel. He would have, in today’s world, been diagnosed with ADD, but back then nobody knew anything about that kind of psychiatry. And if ever confronted with a diagnosis like that, Bird would simply have laughed and told you you didn’t know shit about him.
It was only much, much later in his life that Bird came to understand his restlessness as nothing more or less than the search for new experiences, which, it very much appeared, he could not get enough of.
As a result of all this gypsy-like behaviour, Bird became well-known over the town. He used his intrapersonal skills to organize baseball games, touch football games, and road hockey games with people from other neighbourhoods. These games were a lot of fun, mainly because they were all kids and the town was too small to have anything remotely resembling a gang of any kind. Gangs were just things that he saw in movies like West Side Story and The Wild Ones, which Bird would go across the river to Buffalo to see, charming his way past the ticket-takers who could have busted him for being underage.
Bird’s life had always been one of complete freedom. He could not remember a time when he was ever told to stay in his yard or had been grounded for coming home late. Bird’s parents were in the process of discovering that they were not really meant for each other. They hung in, Bird figured, a couple of years longer than they should have. But then again, in retrospect, breaking up was a lot trickier back then. Eventually, it happened, about two years later.
For Bird, it was no skin off his nose so to speak, because he was intuitive enough to see it coming. He only wondered why they took so long. It also didn’t matter much because from about the age of ten or eleven, Bird had pretty much carved out his own existence. And a lot of that existence was spent outside his house.
Bird grew up Catholic. He was an altar boy at his parish church when he was a lot younger. He went to a Catholic school called Our Lady Of Victory. Nobody ever told him what the Victory part really meant and he never asked. He was a member of a young man’s group called The Columbian Squires and would have been expected to join the Knights of Columbus when he got to be eighteen.
One summer day, Bird and his pal, Rick, rode up into the woods across the railway yard, at the far west end of town to a place they affectionately dubbed Strawberry Lane, for the vast field of wild strawberries that grew there.
Bird and Rick would sit there in the middle of the strawberries, after having filled their stomachs and the paper bags they brought with them, and talk about things.
“You know,” Bird said one day. “I think I have pretty much had it with being a Catholic.”
“You’re pretty darn Catholic, Bird. Do you think you can just walk away from it?” Rick asked.
“I don’t know,” Bird said. “I think I can.” Bird stopped to munch a berry. “We go to church and sit around with a bunch of old people. I mean, look at this place. Strawberries growing everywhere. And look at those apple trees over there. I think there’s way more of God in all this than anything I’ve ever seen in a church.”
“I kind of enjoy going to church,” Rick said. He was a Presbyterian, and their church was right on the river and made of really old stone. It looked like it had been there forever. “It’s kind of peaceful there,” he said.
“But is it any more peaceful than it is here?” Bird asked.
Rick had no answer for that. Bird wrote it off to different strokes. Then Rick said. “Well, we each have to ride our own roads, Bird.”
“Yep. We do. And mine is gonna take me far from here.”
Rick was probably the best friend Bird had back then. He kind of understood where Bird was coming from, and never really judged anyone. He was a born politician, which is what he actually grew up to become.
A few days later, Bird announced his decision to his mother, who always insisted on him making up his own mind about things. She was, much to Bird’s surprise, alright with that. Then he went to church for one last mass, turned in his alter boy outfit, and told Father Murray what he had decided.
At the end of the school year, Bird went around to all the nuns who had taught him over the years and politely thanked them, and informed them that he was leaving the church. It was hard work, emotionally, but Bird had the strength of his conviction and on the last day at Our Lady Of Victory, he left the last vestige of his religion behind.
There was nothing in the way of withdrawal pain for him. If anything, there was only relief and more time for him to figure out the rest of his life. At thirteen years old, that would be quite a daunting task he figured.
Since Bird had made the commitment to leave the church, he decided to use his Sunday mornings for something more than just sleeping in. So each Sunday from the spring to the late fall. He got on his bike and started to explore a different area of the woods that surrounded the town. When he found a thick wooded area, he would lock his bike to a tree and head into it. He would study the kind of insects he saw there and the various types of trees that grew there. Once he found a clearing he would sit down and have a drink from his water bottle and just look and listen and think.
Bird thought about a lot of different things. But mostly he thought about what his life would be like as he grew older. At thirteen nobody was expected to have their whole life all mapped out. Getting to fourteen was about as far as most thirteen-year-olds could see. But Bird wanted more than that. He wanted to see sixteen, and twenty-one. He wanted to see who he would fall in love with and eventually marry. He wanted to see what kind of job he would have and whether he would love it or hate it. After an hour or so of this, Bird started to feel a bit lightheaded, almost like all that thinking would make him dizzy or knock him out.
Finally, Bird thought about god. He only had this one version of god in his head. The one that he got from going to church every Sunday and being educated by nuns. It was really hard to imagine some other kind of god. One that wasn’t in the image of human beings. One that was more like a beautiful cloud or the flower that he had casually plucked from the patch he was sitting beside.
Then one day, later on in the summer it came to him. God wasn’t just one thing. God waseverything. This whole world that Bird lived in, the woods, the people, the flowers, the rivers, lakes and oceans, the sky, the other planets. It was all God. It really was the only thing that made sense to him. It was an all-or-nothing deal. And because Bird could not imagine the nothing part. It was all God all the time.
Bird stopped going to the woods on Sunday mornings after that. Instead, he just went out into the middle of the park behind his house, laid on the grass, and stared up at the sky. He was one with God now. He was one with the whole universe, although he never really thought of it that way. Hell, he was only thirteen years old. But he was on the road to enlightenment, even if he had only taken a few short steps.
( Part 2 of 6 ….To be continued)
I’ve seen and felt the sun rise many times over, and I’ve wiped many a tear in the presence of a sunset, but I’ve never felt anything quite like this.
I’ve never felt a pain that hurt so deep for something I cannot see; for reasons beyond my control. And to make it more confusing, not wanting the hurt to end, for fear of losing that feeling of love and the memories that ride on its skirts, this I cannot understand.
And being drawn here, as if being pulled by some invisible thread, I find myself standing on the shore, overlooking this vast expanse of blue before me; the rays of the sun, its gentle heat shrouding the beauty of the spectrum found within, reach toward the surface of the water and me. And all too soon, it becomes infinitely clear.
For this is where the noise and cares of the world disappear, allowing me the clarity to see and feel your presence so very near.
In this episode of The Sanity Project Podcast, host Joanne Victoria talks with self-mastery mentor and manifestation expert, Andrea Lowell. Andrea shares her personal journey of overcoming alcohol addiction and low self-esteem, and how she used these experiences to develop her self-mastery method. She discusses the importance of courage, accountability, and spiritual principles in personal growth. Andrea also shares a success story of a client who overcame debt and physical pain through her program. The episode concludes with a discussion on the importance of gratitude and the potential for a retreat called “Beyond the Cake.”
This is a story about how music brought three immigrants together: a Romanian viola player, a South Korean bass player, and a Mexican drummer. They are part of the Grammy-nominated Dallas String Quartet, DSQ. They structure their concerts to connect with audiences throughout America. They have concerns as foreigners in America and about America in the world. Still, they value living here. Learn more about them and sample more of their music at https://www.dallasstringquartet.com/
How interesting that most of us start life as toddlers singing the song “If You’re Happy and You Know It, Clap Your Hands.” “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it and you really want to show it, if you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands.” We were not taught to sing about other kinds of feelings. “If you’re gloomy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re angry and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re fearful and you know it, and you really want to show it, if you’re fearful and you know it, clap your hands.”
Years ago I had a client, Clare, who was a great mother. She had two young girls who were almost teenagers, and they did many projects and went on many outings together. She came to see me because she was starting to worry that something was wrong with her because when she was in the kitchen with her girls, she became an entirely different personality. In all other areas, she was lighthearted, fun, and open, but in the kitchen with her kids, she would yell at them as they were making muffins and often hurt their feelings.
I closed my eyes and could see an image of her mother with her in the kitchen. I could see little Clare being so heartbroken because her mom was being so mean to her in the kitchen. I looked at her and said, “This is how your mom treated you. When you forgive your mom and yourself, when you feel the feelings of the little girl within you, you willbe free from the need to continue to repeat this pattern.”
She woke up just from this one conversation and went home and worked on her pattern. Since then, she has been free and has lived like an eagle, no longer distracted by feelings that were truly not hers.
We often do this in our lives and we are so asleep to it. We carry energies we adopted from our parents or other big people when we were little, and we relive them over and over until we are willing to have an insight (“IN sight”) about them. We must be willing to feel the feelings and then acknowledge the feelings so the reality can change. Once the dynamic is brought to the surface, we will be free of it forever.
Not being here
For a while, I looked
For things familiar
From my past
Like the ducks
Splashing wildly
In the water
the painted turtles
At the pier – And
the lone boat waiting
For someone to get in
Not far off, I visited
The gigantic
Weeping willow
And the fluffy
Burgundy trees
That I can’t name
Perhaps I had
Forgotten just how
Much I missed the
Early morning bird songs
The shimmer on the lake
And the hills with
Hidden snakes that
Held stories that
Were meant to be told.
Wordsworth’s poem reflects my thoughts when as a ten-year-old at boarding school, thoroughly loved Nature and all she gave. I even won third prize in a gardening competition! An excerpt from William Wordsworth’s ‘SCHOOL-TIME’ certainly takes me back to those sunny times in the 1950s, when summer holidays seemed to last for months on end and it always snowed on Christmas Day.
School Time
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
1770 – 1850
What spring and autumn, what winter snows,
And what the summer shade, what day and night,
The evening and the morning, what my dreams
And what my waking thoughts, supplied to nurse
That spirit of religious love in which
I walked with Nature. But let this at least
Be not forgotten, that I still retained
My first creative sensibility,
That by the regular action of the world
My soul was unsubdued.
Featured Image of William Wordsworth attribution to William Shuter., Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The other day, I was running numbers in my head. Primary among them is my age. I turned seventy-one in April and have yet to recover. By that, I mean I can’t fathom being this old. Although seventy was way tougher. Like a sledgehammer to the head followed by a boot in the ass. By someone wearing cleats.
For those of you who aren’t there yet, if you think turning fifty is a milestone, wait until you hit sixty and beyond. Once you’re out of your sixth decade when it’s still possible to lie to yourself about who and what you’re becoming, and what your future as an old f##k might hold, it’s damn near game over.
Although it beats the alternative (yeah, yeah, I know), aging is a bitter pill. Rather than embrace the process, and sink into it, like others seem to do, I wrestle it to the ground, or try to, with a barrage of supplements, vigorous workouts, and conversations with myself where the primary message is, “Sherry, you can beat this!”
I don’t want to die.
That said, there was another number that poked through my gray matter and caught me up short and that was the sobering reality that I’ve been a boozer for over fifty years.
Hold up. I need to soften that as “boozer” conjures up some truly unfortunate imagery. I’ve been imbibing alcohol for over half a century. There. That’s better. Sorta.
Oh, f##k me, it isn’t.
I’m guessing, as I don’t remember exactly when alcohol’s allure called to me like the sirens who merely wanted to “entertain” Homer’s Odysseus with enchanting melodies, that I began imbibing in my late teens. But, unlike the hero of The Odyssey, I failed to resist. Oh, quite the opposite as I inherited my affinity for hootch from my parents, who were world-class drinkers. And, most certainly, alcoholics, albeit, it wasn’t booze that took them both down in their early eighties. It was stage four lung cancer. A hell of a way to go, and a cruel one.
I hesitated to use the word “alcoholics” but I can’t sugarcoat the truth. It twisted my stomach into knots back then, growing up, when I was always primed for the next tumultuous blowout between my folks, and made me into the person I am today—someone who likes a drink or three, with anxiety and OCD as lifelong chasers. Yet, they handed down other attributes, as well. Grit and a savage sense of humor from my mother and my father’s love of “scribbling.”
And I still like to drink, but it doesn’t like me. Not so much. Because, you see, a seventy-one-year-old body, no matter how fit, cannot metabolize booze like it once did. Hangovers feel like death and the hit to one’s appearance is undeniable.
A study by Northwestern Medicine cites that “Daily consumption of liquor for five years was associated with a four-month acceleration in biological aging, so if you drink liquor daily for 15 years, your biological age will be one year older.”
So, aside from the bloated face, dry skin, and eyes that look like pissholes in the snow, alcohol accelerates the aging process.
Shit. I’m way too vain for that.
But, I like to drink.
Yet—the question remains, “Why?” Why do I like to drink? Because a slug or two at night helps relieve the anxiety and overall disappointment I feel at not having achieved my writing goals, and well, other things. Conversely, the booze hasn’t helped so where does that leave me?
Hangovers. Holy shit. Through the years, I’ve had my share. Self-inflicted, physical and mental beatdowns that had me swearing, “Never again!”
The lies we tell ourselves.
But back in the day, my body could take it. I’d puke, hydrate, bounce back and do it all over again.
Nowadays, a truly wretched morning after can morph into two or three. Yet, I’m happy to say that no longer happens, because I don’t get drunk. But I’ve yet to stop drinking for a significant amount of time. Oh, I’ve laid off the sauce for a couple of weeks at a time, at the most, always to the same result: I start feeling better. Good, even. So good that I tell myself, “You got this.” And then, as you might expect if you’re anything like me, I don’t got this.
Did I say that I like to drink?
Thankfully, due to a healthy diet and supplements like milk thistle, my liver is in top-notch condition, but I realize that I’m fortunate, and if I continue throwing caution to the winds, well, you know.
If I were to choose, I’d say vodka is my particular poison although through the years, I’ve tried nearly every spirit imaginable, and of course, vino. Sweet drinks were never my thing. Thank heaven for. small favors, huh?
But—Dad did make a killer Mai Tai, bless him.
My husband quit drinking alcohol roughly a year and a half ago. He finally realized that the medications he takes make any amount of booze detrimental to his very existence. I’m proud of him for that even though he’s always had more self-control than me. I’m not a “take it or leave it” type of broad and never have been. When I go, I go balls out.
So, over the last several months, I’ve fallen into a boozing “routine,” of sorts. I stash vodka in our basement—the cheaper stuff mind you because I don’t shit on myself quite enough—and throughout an evening will lumber down the stairs and take a belt or two.
My husband said I could drink in front of him if I like, but I’ve chosen not to in the misplaced notion that I’ll drink less if I have to go up and down our basement stairs to get at it.
Sometimes, a belt or two morphs into a vodka tsunami of sorts as, to further kid myself that I’m not engaging in self-harm, I water the shit down.
Hey, “Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt!” I heard that in a film about alcoholics, the name of which escapes me. And, only now, did I learn that it’s a Mark Twain quote.
You learn something new every day, folks. Even at seventy-one.
Here’s something else I’ve learned. When I don’t drink for several days in a row, say six or seven, I accomplish more. Yes! It’s true! Without the low-grade hangover and the feeling that I fucked up once again, my energy, which is high even on my worst days, is through the roof. Manic, almost, which probably isn’t a good thing, but I’ll take it. Too, mentally, I’m clearer and more focused. I mean, look, I’m writing this story and I haven’t put my nose to the literary grindstone in days. That in itself, is a concern because it signifies, to me, anyway, that I’ve given up and I mustn’t do that. Ever.
Neither should you.
Full disclosure: Last night, I had a sip of vodka, just to “see” how it would feel. It was a big sip. Immediately, I felt it swirl around my gut. My relatively empty gut. And that was it. I drank tea for the rest of the evening.
That’s how I roll. I’m “good” for a while, feeling great, kicking ass, and taking names, and then, I just have to chance f##king it all up.
That said, I need to show myself some grace. Last night, I quit while I was ahead and can do it, again. If I choose to. And therein lies the question.
I referenced past hangovers that I thought would do me in. Through more than a few, I’ve forced myself to work out. Yep. Treadmill, weights, the whole schmear. If that isn’t masochistic, I don’t know what is. And most likely, dangerous. Yet typically, that’s how I punish myself when I slip up. I’m my toughest critic and always have been. I’m working on that but I don’t expect my mindset to change anytime soon.
Because I want to feel even better tomorrow than I do today, tonight, I’m going to whip up one of my signature mocktails. Over lots of ice, I pour a few glugs of a lemon-lime hydration drink, topped off with sugar-free lemonade or a lemon-flavored water beverage, and then, I add a shot or two of zero-calorie, Margarita syrup, from the Jordan’s Skinny Mixes line of sugar-free coffee and cocktail syrups. I give it a good stir and then I add the kicker, or rather, the kick: Several jarred jalapeno slices with a bit of the juice. That gives me just enough burn to replicate an actual cocktail. A dash of Celtic sea salt and I’m good to go.
My mocktail is so tasty I’m thinking of making it by the pitcher. As I said, balls out.
I’m sharing this with you because I know some readers can relate. Perhaps, like me, you know you’re strong enough to quit drinking on your own If that’s what you truly desire. For me? I’m not so sure. Ideally, I’d like the ability to drink socially because I can’t fathom not being able to enjoy a cocktail on occasion. Preferably, a Tito’s Dirty Martini with two, plump blue-cheese-stuffed olives.
Oh, boy. That’s stinkin’ thinkin’ right there because I just made my mouth water.
I’ve also been looking into the new breed of so-called, “mood-enhancing” beverages which include various herbs like ashwagandha, that are purported to boost energy and mental clarity. Some of these sips also contain nootropics, or “smart drugs,” which, according to the National Library of Medicine, are “A diverse group of medicinal substances whose action improves human thinking, learning, and memory.”
Whether these non-alcoholic drinks are effective or not, there’s one thing they have in common: They’re expensive AF. Check out Bonbuz and Kin Euphorics on Amazon and you’ll see what I mean. it’s outrageous, but no surprise because I’ve learned that in order to feel good without feeling bad, one has to pay up the ass. If that isn’t a travesty, I don’t know what is. Much like the high price tag associated with “eating organic.”
So, if you’re an addict without a pot to piss in, and want to inch toward sobriety by experimenting with alternatives, you’re fucked.
Too, and important to note, I have weed and edibles at my disposal. Right now, there’s a tin of Mindy’s yummy gummies tucked away in our bedroom drawer just waiting for me to dive in, courtesy of my husband. Perhaps I’ll partake, later today.
By the way, I should share that it’s Tuesday, having begun this story yesterday, and last night, I enjoyed a mocktail and my customary cup of tea. This morning, before my coffee, I downed a shot of apple cider vinegar in water (customary for me), followed by my a.m. supplements including MCT Oil capsules, Taurine, NAC (N-Acetylcysteine, which is supposed to help detox the body and slow down the aging process, an herb called Eyebright, for my shitty vision and finally, Lion’s Mane. That last is a mushroom that may, according to the Cleveland Clinic, help relieve anxiety, support brain and heart health, lessen inflammation and oxidative stress, and contribute to a healthy gut.
Yeah, I sound like a freakin’ nut but aging in reverse takes work, folks.
I pop several more non-medicinal nostrums throughout the day, but I won’t bore you with my regimen.
Lest you wonder how I’m feeling right now, I’m crackling. Buzzing, even. With a renewed desire to write a book, sell a script or two, and conquer the f##king world.
That last one is a bit much, but I aim high.
But, this is today and I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow. When five o’clock rolls around, I might feel the irresistible urge to take just one sip of that clear, unassuming-looking liquid that’s been a lifelong friend and foe.
Does that sound like I’m setting myself up for failure? Maybe. But, if history holds any credence, I’ll probably f##k up. I usually do.
Here’s what I do know: Either way, up or down, I’ll let you know how it goes. Think of this “journal” as an open book. And, what the next chapter will be, remains to be seen.
Thanks for reading.
It was a beautiful morning.
As I walked down the old dirt road I stopped in mid-step, feeling the quiet of the moment. The rain had stopped and a silence filled the fields, then one by one the forest was filled with bird songs, their singing touched my soul and I felt alive, at peace with myself.
In the distance, a train whistle was blowing. I think I was born with a wayfarer’s desire to ride off on those rails. The rumble of the rails was deep and the wayfarer within me whispered of the adventure awaiting if only I would just step upon the rusted Train tracks.
I knew that I had a deep desire to see what was down those lost highways and dirt roads. Yet it would not be today.
I had to feed the chickens, gather the eggs, and get the horses out to pasture. Breakfast was ready and Daddy bowed his head and said grace. He prayed for a good harvest this year and gave blessings asking to keep his family healthy.
At the end of the day, I went to sit by the creek with my book in hand and my dog leading the way. I knew that someday I would leave this farm and answer the tugging I felt to find what was down the Dirt Road.
It was very early in the summer of 1960, and he was just turning thirteen. He was also in for a bit of a name change, because the year before, the Everly Brothers released a single entitled Bird Dog, and one of his friends, who was in charge of nicknames, gave him that moniker because even at the ripe old age of thirteen, he was pretty much obsessed with the ladies.
This was something all his friends knew and because it was a small town, and like Bird’s obsession with the ladies, the nickname made the rounds and kind of stuck.
Bird was rail thin from a childhood of playing and working outside through all the available daylight hours. He had long dark brown hair and brown eyes and a patrician nose that was the result, he was told, of being half Italian.
His obsession with females wasn’t something he indulged in outwardly. But it was something he thought about constantly, as almost every kid his own age did. Of course, knowing what to do once the females were attracted was quite another matter. That was still a work in progress.
At Christmas the year before, Bird’s uncle Harold from New Jersey brought him up a Schwinn Cruiser. His uncle was the head custodian at the famous Empire State Building in New York City and told Bird the bike was something that was left in one of the offices when the tenants vacated. It wasn’t new, but it was in excellent condition and it was easily the most beautiful bike Bird had ever seen. It was Fire Engine Red with extra wide handlebars and a well-padded seat. It had a crossbar that looked like the gas tank on some of the motorcycles he had seen. And it had slightly fatter tires which his uncle assured him would make the ride as smooth as silk.
There was two feet of snow on the ground the day Bird received the bike, so he would have to wait three or four months at least before taking it out on the road. Winters in Fort Erie were usually covered with snow because of its location at the end of Lake Erie, where storms coming from both the south and west picked up lots of moisture and dumped it on Fort Erie and its neighbour across the river, Buffalo, New York.
In the meantime, Bird gathered all his summer caddying, autumn leave raking, winter snow shovelling money, as well as some money he got for Christmas and set about equipping his new treasure.
He went to his local Canadian Tire store because there was no bike shop in Fort Erie. He bought a kickstand, a pair of super comfortable foam hand grips, some lubricating oil, an all-purpose bike wrench, a wire carrier basket, which he would mount onto the flat rear carrier that the bike already had, a couple of bungee cords to keep stuff from flying out of his carrier if he should hit a bump or pothole, an inner tube repair kit and a spare inner tube in case he got an unpatchable flat, a length of chain with a good padlock that had three keys. Finally, he got a set of three strange-looking tools that would allow him to remove the tire from the rim of the wheel without damaging the inner tube. A guy named Tommy Lovell, who ran the bike department at Canadian Tire helped Bird out and gave him a lot of good advice about where to lubricate his bike to keep it running squeak-free.
Over the winter Bird spent a lot of time out in the enclosed back porch of his house cleaning, lubricating, and generally getting to know his bike. Mostly he just sat around and looked at it and thought about all the places it could take him.
On the first day that the sidewalks and roads were clear Bird, took the Schwinn out for a shakedown cruise. He stopped several times to adjust the seat and the handlebar configuration until he was completely comfortable.
True to his uncle’s promise the bike rode like a dream. But more than that, the bike was his passport to adventure. He would now be able to go anywhere he wanted in the small town of Fort Erie where he lived, quickly and easily. He could even cross over the Peace Bridge and ride around in the city of Buffalo, New York if he wanted, or head off into the countryside in any direction he chose.
Bird was a fairly ambitious young man, and realized that even at the age of thirteen, we would need to have an income stream. Because, while his parents weren’t dirt poor, there was very little money to spare for allowances.
That was alright with him because he knew his way around and earned extra money setting pins at the Iroquois Bowling Lanes downtown and later on at the Park Lane Bowling Emporium, which was out on Garrison Road and now, easily accessible via his new bike. He also kept caddied at the local country club which was up by the Queen Elizabeth Highway, And he shovelled snow, raked leaves, and did odd jobs for a number of his older neighbours.
One day, in the early summer, when it was still too cool to swim in the river, Bird, decided to test the limit of his stamina on his new bike. So he headed down to the Niagara Boulevard, the road that ran alongside the Niagara River from where the river began in the south end of the town all the way north, a good twenty miles, to a town called Chippewa, which was even smaller than Fort Erie A mile further down the river, the rushing water then dumped over the Falls, continued along through the Niagara Gorge and eventually made its way to Lake Ontario at a place called Niagara-On-The-Lake.
Bird knew all this because his dad had taken him and his younger sister and brother on car rides and picnics all along the river. Like Bird, his dad had grown up on the river and loved the whole Niagara region, which was not hard to do because it was one of the most beautiful places in the whole of Canada, or so Bird believed.
Bird set out on his endurance run early on a Saturday morning at the bottom of his street, which was called Gilmore Road and headed north. He had packed a couple of baloney sandwiches and some fruit along with his hat and a sweatshirt in case the sun was too bright or the air got cool on his way back, which he figured could be sometime in the evening.
He passed through the north end of the town, which ended at a street called Bowen Road. As he continued along, he got onto the paved walking and cycling path that ran all the way to Chippewa. As he rode he passed a virtually endless stream of beautiful houses that sat looking out at the river.
He marked his journey by the creeks he passed. There were several that fed into the river. They had names like Black Creek, Frenchman’s Creek, Boyer’s Creek and finally the Welland River. These creeks were all named after early settlers in the area, but Bird didn’t find that out until he was much older.
Bird rode along effortlessly on his great new wheels. He was surrounded by beauty because the upper part of the Niagara River which was one large park. The river side of the Parkway was a picnic area, with benches, picnic tables, and various docks that belonged to some of the people who owned the houses on the other side of the road. Bird wondered if he would ever be lucky enough to be able to afford a house like the ones he passed as he rode along. But he was only thirteen and mostly he just thought about girls and sports and unbridled joy of being able to ride his bike twenty miles from home and not feel lost.
The ride took the better part of three hours, mostly because Bird didn’t push it. He knew he needed to conserve his energy for the ride home.
When he got to Chippewa, about five hours later, he stopped at a variety store and bought himself a bottle of Orange Crush. He then crossed the Parkway and found a bench to sit on and eat his sandwiches. The river next to where he was sitting was much less peaceful looking. The water was churning and moving more quickly. Off in the distance, maybe a mile further north, he could hear the dull roar as the water cascaded over the Horseshoe Falls and he could see the perpetual fog created by the mist of all that crashing water.
Bird had read stories about people who went over Niagara Falls in a barrel. He might have been only thirteen but he thought that was about the stupidest thing anybody could do. All you had to do was take a good look at the water, even a mile from the Falls to realize that trying something like that was right out to lunch.
As I got out of bed and began to get ready for my day, Hazel was already dressed and heading downstairs to fix herself some breakfast. I was kind of glad because I didn’t want her to see how excited I was about this special day.
I had arrived in Hawaii in November to begin my tour of duty at Marine Corps Air Station, Kaneohe Bay – just after Hazel and I had gotten married. Since our youngest daughter was in school, Hazel and Dana did not arrive until January after the school break for Christmas.
At Christmas, I had been invited to a Christmas Party and met the Navy Supply Corps Officer in charge of Station Supply and his wife. Toward the end of the night, I found out that his wife was a backup singer for Jimmy Buffett at one time. I am a big parrot head and it wasn’t long before I was playing the guitar and we were singing Jimmy’s songs. So, when Hazel arrived on the island and needed a job to keep her government retirement from her position as a USDA Meat and Poultry Inspector, I was able to cash in on this friendship to get her a position at Station Supply.
With my uniform on and my breakfast of a cup of coffee completed, Hazel and I headed out the door to go to work. She would drop me off at the hangar where I worked and then drive to Station Supply where she worked. I wasn’t far from where I worked so this arrangement worked well for us.
I watched the clock most of the morning. As it got close to the time we would break for lunch, I called Hazel to let her know that I had to run home to get something I forgot and that I would check on Dana while I was home. I told her I didn’t want her to worry if she looked outside and didn’t see the car out there.
But I didn’t go home. I went to the exchange where I knew there was a flower shop. I bought a pretty bouquet of flowers and a nice vase for them. Now, I could finalize my special surprise for Hazel.
I returned to the Station Supply building and parked the car in the same spot so it would be easy for Hazel to find when she got out of work. Then I headed into the building to give Hazel my gift for this special day. I remember the look of surprise on her face as I walked into her work area and headed for her desk.
“Oh my! Those are beautiful! But what made you bring me flowers?” she said as all the ladies she worked with smiled their approval.
“You don’t remember this special day?” I said – almost shocked that she didn’t remember.
“No.”
“Sweetie, it was one year ago today that you and I met. Today is July 1st. It will always be a special day to me because it changed my life forever in the most wonderful way.” I could hear the ladies say ‘Ahh…’ as I explained.
She stood up and gave me a big hug. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“I can’t believe you forgot.”
The biggest misconception about the homeless is that they got themselves in the mess — let them get themselves out. Many people think they are simply lazy. I urge those to make a friend at a local mission and find out how wrong these assumptions are.
—Ron Hall
Homelessness is a complex and pressing issue affecting millions of people worldwide. It is a condition that is often misunderstood and stigmatized and is often seen as a personal failing rather than a systemic problem.
Experiencing Homelessness DefinedThe definition of those who are experiencing homelessness includes: Someone who sleeps in doorways, overnight shelters, parks, bus stations, etc. * An individual or family who lacks a fixed, regular, and adequate nighttime residence, such as those living in emergency shelters, transitional housing, or places not meant for habitation.* * An individual or family who is fleeing or attempting to flee domestic violence; has no other residence; and lacks the resources or support networks to obtain other permanent housing Dismantling the NarrativeThe time is long overdue to give a voice to those unfortunate and often mischaracterized and misunderstood souls living on the street. It’s time to dismantle the harmful, false narrative that homelessness is by choice. The most common misconception about people experiencing homelessness is that they want to live on the street. This myth enables apathy and maintains the status quo of too many people experiencing homelessness.
The idea that people who are homeless choose to live on the street perpetuates the false narrative that, unlike other people, they do not need or want stability.
People living on the street for long periods often suffer from co-occurring mental health and substance use disorders. They are criminalized for being homeless, and racking up nuisance crimes—such as trespassing, panhandling, public drinking and urination, and sleeping in public spaces—which can lead to a street-to-jail cycle that is hard to break.
Street life is punishing. People are frequently victimized, adding to a lifetime of trauma that can come with being poor. Chronic physical health problems, like hypothermia, are sometimes a consequence of homelessness, while others, such as diabetes, are difficult to treat when sleeping on the street. In a lot of ways, our safety net has failed people over and over again.
It is important to remember that homeless people are just like everyone else. They are human beings who deserve our compassion and understanding. We should not judge them based on their circumstances, but instead try to help them get back on their feet.
It’s time for real stories to be told by the unsheltered and by those who can speak about and for them so we can debunk the myths “for good” …
Together, WE Can Do MoreIt is a complex and pressing issue affecting millions of people worldwide. It is a condition that is often misunderstood and stigmatized and is often seen as a personal failing rather than a systemic problem. We listened, gathered their stories, and crafted them into our special edition anthology book below. Together, we can change the “unsheltered” world by changing the narrative, one person, one story, one day at a time. Help us help them by grabbing your copy below ︎
Unlike virtually all other Books, this is a “for good” versus for-profit endeavor, with any surplus beyond costs of production to be donated to good nonprofits serving the homeless community. …
Marriage? Happiness? Blessing?
This feeling I’ve experienced with my eyes!
Guests who were shining in their respective seats
gather in one place to make the light brighter
The bride and groom, who received the light, also receive strength and emit light.
Many people shared happiness
With love for the bride and groom out of sight
lovely people with all their heart and soul
Pretty is the same inside and outside.
The guests, the main character, and the officiant
all cried with joy
They moved each other
A happy time with connection
The bride’s mom and her husband couldn’t cry
Does it feel a little real now? I don’t think so yet.
Life will teach me
As dusk darkens my yard, hundreds of tiny lights rise from the grass, like silent fireworks. The yard is alive with light. As I watch these little stars twinkle, it is hard to remember that this is the magic of an insect, not some ethereal spirit.
I am awed by the evolutionary miracle that has taken place so that fireflies can find a mate in the summer darkness. Suddenly, I am aware of the mystical importance of it all — primeval life going on amid the suburban rubble.
As humans, we can feel that only our own existence is important, that somehow we have the power over life. And yet, nature is there, gently reminding us that life goes on, with or without us. As long as I can see fireflies doing their dance on a hot, summer evening, I’ll know there is hope for the world.
Take my hand and let’s go dancing tonight.
Spin me around the gathering firelight.
I want to see your smiling eyes.
Dazzle me sweet with the fireflies.
Our feet will shuffle through fresh mown grass.
Dance with me and make the summer last.
Moonlight glows through trees of shade.
Let’s keep this moment when a foggy morning weighs.
Deep you sleep within my core.
Awaken the dancer in me once more.
Chilly winter nights are long.
I want this dance to last until dawn.
Awake, I am, and I know you were there.
We danced through starlight in the air.
Magic fills my heart to full.
Memories hold the precious jewel.
Let us talk about the past for a while.Corporate: Today’s so-called Directorships and Head of minor verticals, I had seen a decade ago with direct access to the Chairman’s office and the Chairman himself. In relative context, I have climbed the peaks that others have claimed to have achieved today. That’s at least a decade’s headstart.
Consultant: A short 3-year stint, all right, but with 100% success, in terms of monetary outcomes for clients (more quantified than human outcomes).
Solopreneur: I ran a content business successfully making money more than any coaching business gives; I ran and successfully exited a digital magazine business.
Entrepreneur: I could find and stay in a decade-long partnership and then add another three partners of four-plus years. All of us are honest, simple people who have seen enough success in our lives collectively and built successful businesses.
Why did I start with all this? In a three-decade journey, I have been a bakery employee, and baker, have run a bakery, taught others to bake, and finally, owned a bakery. Of course, there are many more successful people than me. So what makes me — us?
PS: I respect bakers and baker owners alike.
Humility:
I don’t brag about my past. I only count what I have — in terms of contextual exposure. I don’t need to prove myself to win a business. I have told stories about how our partnerships have endured and how we learned from our failures; and numbers that may be relevant to a context. The idea is to give ‘reasonable confidence’ and then go about getting things done.
Bragging has one issue. It always precipitates things, when it is not necessary. The creation of high stakes is more about showboating, and it is not the definition of a ‘value system’. What makes a value system is that when you say ‘It is our first outing’, it is enough for all stakeholders to understand that there is ambiguity and not all outcomes are guaranteed. The only value system that works there is to trust the other stakeholders to put their hundred percent, execute, and learn from the outcomes.
The only value system that has stood with me in this is ‘humility’. I have been critiqued for being silent in situations where I could prove or counter a point, but most people forget that it is that silence that has enabled me to understand the person who rides on the high horses. It is easy to the quiet grass that is trampled upon, but it can survive the stomping and the storms.
If we are sticking it together for a decade, then my contribution to that is humility. No partner has ever worked beyond six months, without that crucial attribute. For a solo rider, thumping chests and talking big may work, but in a partnership, it is about being humble that works.
Gratitude:
Humility and gratitude are the two sides of the same coin. I may be the genius in my team, but I don’t make the 100%. I can’t be successful — we can’t be successful if we are trying to prove a point all the time. To think that we know-it-all and others are lesser (read humility or the lack of it) does not make a team.
I am not faultless here; but by and large, it has worked for me. I am grateful for the bouquets and brickbats, but in a partnership, we never question the basics — the integrity, the intention, and the ingredients. There are shortcomings and challenges, but which partner is ideal? But when push comes to shove, and on my bad days, there is always some partner who holds the fort.
The depth that partnerships bring can never be replaced by individual brilliance. A decade of being a partner has taught me this. Gratitude follows humility.
Ambiguity:
Partners are as various as they come. Some are silent backers and contributors, others are vociferous vanguards. But only one or two of us deal with ambiguity. Ambiguity is about thinking in the clouds, and acting ahead of the actual plan in progress.
Ambiguity is a challenge that most partners can’t figure out. Most want a black-and-white answer, but they know there are no answers, so they often get the answer ‘Let us figure this out.’ Most of our partners, who have survived together have understood what that means.
Here is where the trust comes in — I have not got answers to many questions that need answers, but if a partner does not answer or says ‘Let’s figure’, it means that there is no answer yet. Now, if you add the humility and gratitude attributes to this question, it is easy to handle the ambiguity. We never hang a partner out in the open, and leave them high and dry — even if we follow up. We question the delay, but never the intent.
Showboating is neither about humility nor gratitude, so it ends in precipitation, nor that is when partnerships crack.
Loyalty:
Loyalty is about having one’s back. It involves a refined understanding of the above — individual traits of humility and gratitude, and the collective understanding of ambiguity.
After building teams and not merely advising them, I have personal experience with peers and people above and below me. As an employee and a leader, the one thing I cringe about is the lack of loyalty.
When a person separates themselves from the team, loyalty is tested. This comes from the lack of the first three.
What about integrity?
As an avid student of history, I have realized that humans err. Humans err in their moral decisions — not because they are corrupt, but because of their context. Value systems are relative, and as long as the above four are intact, integrity becomes a common understanding unless somebody is a malicious outlier.
Example: A soldier, a spy, a counterterrorist, a diplomat, a salesperson, Lord Krishna — all of these have a role that makes them play in the grey, for the greater good. But note that all of them will have the above four attributes covered so that the context of their actions are understandable. (I know people who will whitewash the Gods.)
So, when a client asks ‘Can you guarantee a result?’ the honest answer should be — no one can, ever. If somebody says they can, that is a lie. Past performance cannot guarantee future results — even the stock market cries out the caveats, so forget the human performances.
When operating in an ‘uncertain’ business, it is obvious that the outcome is a ‘best effort basis’. The results will create a track record over some time, creating increased confidence among the team. So precipitate guarantees as absolute are like the buried heads of ostriches. Add a first-time effort to that, and then the context is understood.
So what about the promises to customers? Setting expectations is important. The results come after the effort, and it is about winning the client’s faith in collaborating for the effort. After all, the client pays on success — so where is the ‘integrity’ issue here?
Of Bakers and Bakeries:
A baker — an individual player can succeed because of their talent or discipline. Baking cakes is an art, a much-respected talent. But a great cake does not make a great bakery.
Running a bakery is teamwork. A bakery team member should be humble, grateful, loyal, and of course, understand ambiguity. The complexity comes when the cake is not about cake only — it is about other condiments, side eats, main eats, juices, and a whole menu, that the baker cannot understand.
Sometimes, we start a bakery by selling coffee. The cakes will sell.
Without the bakery, there is no bakery. The baker will get to bake. But for that, the baker has to understand that the others who do their part in running the show complete the bakery.
Shut away in a cabin
Deep in the woods
Enjoying the simplicity
Of homemade goods
Not a soul around for miles
Living humbly off the land
Pickin’ berries and wild mushrooms
With my own bare hand
Melt the snow, heat the water
Wash the clothes – one by one
Dry them after by the fire -Or
Hang them in the morning sun
While I listen to the sounds
Of the early morning birds
As they repeat their melodies
That I playfully link to words
Ever wondered, “Who am I? What truly matters to me? What do I really want?” These questions guide us on the journey to finding meaning and purpose in life. We’re all explorers on a unique quest to understand what it means to be human. Each of us seeks ways to feel alive and fulfilled, though our paths may differ.
In this episode, we dive into these questions, inviting you to explore your passions, purpose, and sense of meaning. Our guest expert offers insights and guidance to help you navigate your personal journey. Whether you’re looking to discover your true calling or deepen your sense of purpose, our conversations aim to inspire and empower you.
During a business trip to Paris more than two decades ago, a particularly memorable experience remains with me. Paris has always been my favorite city. Sadly I have not returned for many, many years, but fond memories last forever and recollections await revival, when a particular scene transports me back in awe and pleasure.
Why Paris? A strong sense of pride accompanied by a buzz of conversation; Parisiennes enjoying life sitting outside cafés and brasseries. A delightful combination of energetic exchanges and an atmosphere stimulated by topics and feelings of those engaging in myriad topics.
Traffic noise along Boulevard Saint Germain seems to decline as interaction between people engaging in conversation offers a tranquility as if enclosed in a transparent marquee filtering noise, but allowing sunlight.
A favourite Brasserie was Les Deux Magots. I often sat outside, watching the world go by, enjoying a double espresso.
Prior to leaving Paris, I visited a special store selling a many unusual items. One item that stood out a mile was an awesome Greek-style bust with an amazing face. A resin replica bust of a bronze known as the Benevento Head. Also known as ‘The Head of a Victorious Athlete’, the original dates to around 50 BC and was found during an excavation of the ancient town of Herculaneum, located near modern-day Naples. The head was likely to have been mounted on a marble hermaic pillar, and was decorated with glass inlays for the eyes and red copper lips. The olive crown on his head references the prizes awarded to victorious athletes at the Olympian games.
The original bronze is currently housed in the Musée du Louvre, Paris. An extraordinary home ornament inspired by the long-held influence of Ancient Greek statue in art and architecture.
Strangely enough the face portrays a modest individual, rather than a winning Olympic athlete.
I just had to buy it even though it felt as though ‘weighed a ton’! Difficult to carry it, and even more challenging to carry onboard the plane back to Southampton Airport, England. On bringing it home there was quite some amazement as it looked like an original relic!
So ends my memorable trip to Paris. Seeing this head bust in my lounge instantly takes me back to those moments in time.
Comments on this bust would be most welcome.
Experience the rhythmic beats and uplifting melodies of “Mr. Bobby” Song Around The World, featuring the legendary Manu Chao. This innovative collaboration is the first time Playing For Change incorporates a fusion of hip-hop and reggae in a Song Around The World, adding a modern twist to the classic song, breathing new life into its timeless message of hope and solidarity in a fitting tribute to the legacy of Bob Marley.
Join us on this sonic journey as we bring together talents from the streets of Angola, Colombia, and Kingston, along with the talented Mayan rapper Tzutu Kan, who imbues hip-hop with ancestral wisdom, and Elly B, a phenomenal Jamaican guitarist, singer-songwriter; creating a truly mesmerizing and culturally diverse musical experience. With reggae reflecting the ideas of freedom, resilience, and unity and hip hop’s profound ability to use words to change lives, “Mr. Bobby” Song Around The World champions the transformative power of music.
Morgana Bailey has been hiding her true self for 16 years. In a brave talk, she utters four words that might not seem like a big deal to some, but to her have been paralyzing. Why speak up? Because she’s realized that her silence has personal, professional, and societal consequences. In front of an audience of her co-workers, she reflects on what it means to fear the judgment of others, and how it makes us judge ourselves.
In a world that’s constantly connected, sometimes the greatest act of rebellion is to disconnect so we can reconnect with our own inner world, our inner wisdom, and our deeper truths.
–Unknown
We live in curious times. It’s called the “Age of Information, but in another light, it can be called the Age of Distraction. While humanity has never been free of distraction – never have the distractions been so voluminous, so overwhelming, so intense, so persistent as they are now. We have forgotten how to slow down.
Clash of the Titans: Well-Being vs FOMOAh, FOMO, the ever-present fear of missing out. It’s a common feeling in our hyper-connected world, fueled by social media and the constant barrage of information about other people’s exciting experiences. Evidence strongly suggests that taking breaks from our digital devices can significantly benefit our mental and physical health. Yet despite the benefits, few ever actually take that elusive break.
Step back and think for a moment – who do you know (including yourself) that has really (I mean really) gone the extra mile to make it happen? When was the last time you went an entire day without checking email, X/Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn, Instagram, or any other social media channel?
And if you did, was “even just a glance” really enough to get by? What did you miss? How much time did it take to get back on track? Too long, you say? What did you learn or accomplish? Will you do it again, and if so, for how long next time? Or is it simply easier to go with the flow and settle for the “status quo?”
Unplugged: Disconnecting to ReconnectIt sounds like a contradiction, but sometimes you have to disconnect to reconnect. Disconnect – both physically and emotionally – from all those devices, apps, and virtual worlds that constantly steal our attention, satisfying our inexplicable fear of missing something. And reconnect with the real world, with the people we are closest to but leave out, with those activities and experiences that don’t need a screen to be memorable.
Going, Going, Gone: Walking Our Talk (May 15th – July 15th)Yup – as Chief ReImaginator for the global media site, I’ve got a bottomless bucket full of reasonable and rational justifications as to why the concept of and rationale for a digital detox doesn’t apply to me or us, why it simply wouldn’t be practical or possible. But as they say in my wife Ali’s home country of Great Britain, “rubbish” to all that. It’s time for us to walk our talk. No, not for just a few hours, a few days, a few weeks, or as extreme as an entire year – but for eight glorious weeks commencing May 15th, 2024. YES, our Site will still be up and running. YES, our 31,000-plus Article Archives will continue to be accessible. But NO to NEW publishing, NO to email responses, NO to anything compromising our quest to reconnect with each other and what’s really important –until we return on Monday, July 15th.
Finding Our WayCoddiwomple has become one of my all-time favorite words, especially as a metaphor for life. It means to travel purposefully towards an as-yet-unknown destination. Isn’t that what we’re all doing, at the end of the day? Coddiwompling doesn’t mean a lack of direction; quite the opposite. A coddiwompler has peace of mind because they’re not waiting to “become” someone or for something else to happen. They’re comfortable getting lost because they know that’s where the truly worthwhile opportunities and Ahas are to be found.
Our particular coddiwomple will take us over 4,000 miles away from it all, as we begin our 500+ mile walk (“pilgrimage”) across the storied Camino de Santiago. The Camino de Santiago (the Way of St. James) is an extensive network of ancient pilgrim routes stretching across Europe and coming together at the tomb of St. James (Santiago in Spanish) in Santiago de Compostela in northwest Spain.
We’ll be walking “The French Way” or the Camino Franc’es, with the most deep-rooted historical tradition and the most popular one. The Camino Frances is the most famous Camino de Santiago trail, featured in books and movies about the Camino, such as ‘The Way’ with Martin Sheen and ‘The Pilgrimage’ by Paulo Coelho. It stretches over 500 miles from St. Jean-Pied-du-Port near Biarritz in France to Santiago.
The pilgrimage of Camino de Santiago is indeed, our microcosm of coddiwompling. But unlike many, we know that it’s not the real journey. The real Camino is our inner journey. It’s peeling back the layers of who we are. It’s an opportunity to get lost in our thoughts, to gain fresh clarity about our values and priorities, to let go of what no longer serves us… leaving it on the trail. Because when the Camino de Santiago ends, the real Camino (of life) begins. … And that’s our “why” for finding our “Way”.
Dr. Evelyn Green adjusted her virtual reality headset, the familiar weight a comfort. Outside, the bustling cityscape of Mars shimmered, a red frontier that was now her home. Yet, the path to becoming the colony’s lead botanist hadn’t been straightforward. It was a journey fuelled by rebellion, resilience, and ultimately, a revelation in the heart of a forgotten greenhouse.
Evelyn was a prodigy, her childhood a whirlwind of science fairs and awards. However, her rebellious nature clashed with the rigid expectations of academia. A disastrous lab accident deemed a reckless disregard for protocol, resulted in her expulsion from her PhD program. Dejected and ostracized, she retreated to her late grandmother’s abandoned greenhouse, a place filled with dusty plants and forgotten dreams.
There, amidst the overgrown foliage, Evelyn stumbled upon a hidden diary. It belonged to her grandmother, a botanist who’d dreamt of terraforming Mars. The diary detailed her experiments, her failures, and a glimmer of hope – a genetically modified strain of lichen that thrived in harsh environments. It was a forgotten key, a potential gateway to her grandmother’s unfulfilled dream.
Evelyn poured her heart into reviving the lichen, fuelled by a desire to honour her grandmother’s legacy. The greenhouse transformed into her laboratory, the silence punctuated by the hum of growth lamps and the excited chatter of podcasts about Martian colonization. The lichen thrived, its hardy green tendrils proof of a potential solution for terraforming.
One day, a research team from the Mars One program stumbled upon Evelyn’s online blog detailing her work with the lichen. Impressed by her findings and tenacity, they offered her a position – not as a lab assistant, as she expected, but as the lead botanist for the Mars colony.
Standing on the red sands of Mars, Evelyn felt a pang of bittersweetness. The journey hadn’t been easy, the rejection and doubt a constant undercurrent. Yet, the forgotten greenhouse, a symbol of rebellion, had become the very foundation of her success. It was a reminder that sometimes, the most important discoveries are made not in prestigious labs, but in quiet corners, fuelled by passion and a touch of defiance.
Unconventional may not always be wrong. When the world does not accept you as yourself, it’s at that time you need extra confidence in yourself and your abilities. What appears finished may be the start of something extraordinary. It’s all about acting on your beliefs and vision, and the people who once did not believe in you will suddenly start taking you seriously.
Remember, we can’t change the world and other people’s choices, but we can certainly make decisions based on our beliefs and for ourselves.
You don’t need to be defined or confined by other people’s opinions of you. You are a free bird, embrace your divine liberty. Though life on Mars is yet a dream, as its rightly said, the beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.
“Creation, Expansion Beyond Belief, and Receiving ALL the Happy that Comes My Way…HAPPINESS—Yess, More Please!!!”
The above words began coming through to me in bits and pieces towards the latter part of 2023. Unsure why, but feeling strong urges to write them down as they floated about my head, I created a section in my notes app and titled it ‘Musings for 2024’. Flash forward to today and I am beyond grateful that I did—as they comprise my mantra for the year, my invitation to party with the Universe.
Exploding with excitement is how I can best describe my life in 2024 thus far. And we are just getting started, my friends! Several fabulous, creative opportunities have presented themselves seamlessly and sequentially since the beginning of January. From the publication of my third multi-author book to my presentation in the May installment of 360° Nation’s InsteadTALKS, my heart and mind keep circling back to my celebratory invite from the Universe. What delightful gifts have I been able to receive from such a generous and gracious host!
Along with my amazing adventures in the creative sphere, I’ve been recently miraculously blessed in the physical realm. True expansion and growth beyond belief have been witnessed in my body in such a short time frame. I’ll briefly share some highlights from the past twenty-seven years of chronic health issues to provide background context.
All hell broke loose in 1997 when three infectious diseases decided to wreak havoc upon my immune system. Their presence evolved into a severe case of Fibromyalgia, which would rear its ugly head in flare ups of extreme fatigue and joint pains. Flares would come and go and could last anywhere from a few weeks to several months.
One day in 2009, I experienced a flare that never subsided. The extreme levels of fatigue and joint pains amped up quite a few notches as I lost my ability to walk and many of my mental faculties. I’d been starting to manage my symptoms well enough with meds, aqua physical therapy, and mental/emotional therapy with a social worker, until 2013–when I was diagnosed with a severe nervous system disorder called CRPS (Complex Regional Pain Syndrome).
Symptoms of CRPS include, but are not limited to, the following: (1) Continuous burning or throbbing pain, usually in the arm, leg, hand, or foot, (2) Sensitivity to touch or cold, (3) Swelling of the painful area, (4) Changes in skin temperature—altering between sweaty and cold, (5) Changes in skin color, ranging from white and blotchy to red or blue, (6) Changes in skin texture, which may become tender, thin, or shiny in the affected area, (7) Changes in hair and nail growth, (8) joint stiffness, swelling, and damage, (9) Muscle spasms, tremors, and weakness (atrophy), and (10) Decreased ability to move the affected body part.
In my case, the whole body was affected and was experiencing all the symptoms above and more. It was curving over itself and hardening into the fetal position. Nerves were so tightly wound up that the muscles and joints were stiffened to the point that there was no voluntary control over movement. The nerves were so sensitive that the body couldn’t tolerate physical touch of any kind. I spent an entire year (2013-2014) in bed with this condition and had some bone damage done to the feet. It was thought I would never move or walk independently again.
A fabulous five-day outpatient treatment of ketamine infusions proved the difference! Movement in my toes was possible the first night and I was completely pain free after the treatment was over—ready to start building up body strength and endurance. I’ve had several CRPS flare ups since 2014 and the ketamine infusions have resolved each one.
Since my last rounds of ketamine in 2021, I have continuously been building back my body strength, endurance, mental, and spiritual health—striving to be the healthiest version of me that I possibly can. And until a particular party with the Universe, which I attended in mid-March, this version of me could exist (from day to day) in a variety of phases. At my very worst, my mobility depended solely on the wheelchair. At my very best, I shuffle-walked around the house without the aid of assistive devices, used a rolling walker for short outings, and relied on the wheelchair for long ones.
So now that you know where I was, you’ll soon be able to see how drastically my physical life has changed upon accepting the Universe’s invitation in mid-March to party in Sedona, Arizona on my first retreat!
I must confess that the Sedona Retreat was just one of many firsts included in that mid-March party thrown by the Universe—which provided for so much growth, expansion, and receipt of HAPPINESS. For starters, it was the first time I had flown in an airplane since 2018 and the first time I was not being accompanied by my parents. My dear friend and retreat host agreed to be my travel buddy to and from the festivities.
And boy was the entire flight experience a gift—a complete contrast to my previous plane rides. Never in my life, even before I became ill, had an airport been a place where I found joy. The crowds, the stress, and the waiting or rushing about had never been what I considered pleasant. And this feeling only evolved to one of dread, once my illness began. Typically, I would have to take an anti-anxiety medication before I even left the house and then arm myself with earplugs and noise-canceling headphones because of intense sensory overload. Then my parents would push the wheelchair through the airport, as I kept my head down and my eyes to the floor. TSA (Transportation Security Administration) would scan my bags, body, and wheelchair and I’d be asleep before we even boarded the plane.
But NOT this time!!!
Upon arrival at the airport, my friend enquired how best to assist me through the whole process. I honestly wasn’t sure because I hadn’t flown in so long. After making the decision to use my wheelchair as a walker and push my carry-on bags as far and as long as I was able, I asked my friend to roll my big bag to the check-in counter. Then I stated, “Let’s see what happens.”
What happened next was a fabulous encounter with the most delightful man at bag-check. He did his job with a smile and joked with us while answering any questions we had. When finished, he even offered some advice about how to maneuver around the airport and TSA pre-check with the wheelchair. My friend and I made our way to the pre-check area and after the formalities, it was time for a break. So I sat in the wheelchair, enjoyed pleasant conversation with my friend until our plane arrived, and then settled into a nice nap once the plane took off.
“Let’s see what happens” should be added to my 2024 mantra. It truly defined the essence of the entire Sedona Retreat trip. It also solidified my acceptance to party with the Universe and opened my heart, mind, body, spirit, and eyes to the endless bounty of gifts that it provides.
Upon arrival in Sedona, I voiced those words, “Let’s see what happens” in response to my friend as we began a hike up a hill near her home. She and another friend provided not only the utmost emotional support, but also gave me the physical support I required to make it up that hill. After numerous breaks, between me shuffling my feet up the mound and leaning on each friend for balance and stability, I finally reached the summit.
Another fabulous first and gift presented by my dearest companion, the Universe!!!
Around the second or third day of the retreat, things started to get very interesting. It was as if the Universe had raised the volume level of the music at the party and wanted me to start dancing—or at least walking. One of the fabulous females attending the retreat happened to be a healer and massage therapist. “Out of the blue” she approached me—with a glimmer in her eyes—and asked if she could “work on” my right foot. Apparently it had been calling out to her. So I said, “Sure. Let’s see what happens.”
A few gentle snap-crackle-pops later, I noticed a warm, energized, and flowing sensation in my foot. It was as if something that had been “stuck” there was finally gone. Immediately after she was done massaging my foot and I got up from the couch, I realized I could stand flat on both feet. It had been at least ten years since I was able to perform this task due to the bone loss and deformity in my right foot.
Let’s hear it for another fantastic first and full-on miracle!!!
Well, the Universe didn’t stop there. While preparing for our hike the next day, I discovered I could lift my right foot while moving forward. This allowed for me to take actual steps independently, without having to shuffle my feet.
Another feat that was at least ten years in the making!!!
I’m not going to lie, it was awkward and my balance was really off. It was as if I was navigating a new pair of legs. But I was F*cking walking unassisted!
To put into perspective the gravity of this experience, I will flash forward several days—after the retreat was over. My friends and I returned to the hill that we climbed upon my initial arrival into Sedona. This experience was like night and day. No breaks were required to regain my energy or strength and I climbed the hill completely on my own! My heart was overflowing with gratitude, excitement, and celebration for the gracious gifts being presented by the Universe.
And the presents kept coming. The weekend following the retreat offered another first for me to experience—The Hay House I Can Do It Conference. This was a grand experiment, indeed, for it had been at least fifteen years since I had attended an in-person event—surrounded by all those people in one space for any length of time. But again, “Let’s see what happens” played over and over in my head and in my heart.
And what happened was spectacular!!!
Using the wheelchair as a walker, I was able to navigate the Phoenix Convention Center—at my own pace—as I watched several beloved inspirational keynote speakers and attended numerous break-out-sessions of joy, love, and positivity over the course of the three-day event. When I was tired, I napped—which really only happened on Saturday because we started the day so early. And just like the airport, the entire experience was most delightful and completely contrasted my encounters with crowds and intense environments over the course of my chronic health journey.
In the past, after several hours of activity in a day, I’d come home in severe pain and utter exhaustion, having to rest the entire next day…Not this time! Previously, I would have needed to arm myself with both earplugs and noise-canceling headphones to drown out the crowd…Nope, not necessary! Back in the day, I would have avoided this in-person event AT ALL COSTS for fear of how it might negatively trigger my health conditions. However…these three days at the Hay House I Can Do It Conference were an absolute blast!
All of these amazing adventures that took place in Sedona, mid-March, happened because of several key factors. I freed myself from expectations, became curious about the opportunities that arose before me, opened myself to embrace the experiences that I encountered, and allowed myself to receive all the HAPPINESS and goodness that was available to me. Upon this realization, it occurred to me that the fabulous party thrown by the Universe in Sedona, Arizona did not have to end. For every moment everywhere was an invitation to come party with the Universe—I just had to accept!
Since the download of my 2024 mantra and grasping its great significance—through experiencing such spectacular synchronistic events, gifts, and miracles both creatively and physically—I have decided to embrace each moment for what it truly is…the Universe offering me a chance to attend the most amazing party with the most stunning array of gifts imaginable! And the best part is, this proposition isn’t exclusively mine—We ALL are Welcomed to the Party!!!
Have You Accepted Your Invite???
Anya squinted at the faded photograph; its edges frayed from countless touches. Twenty Siberian winters had aged the picture more than her weathered face. It showed a young woman with bright eyes and a hopeful smile, contrasting with the woman sitting alone in her log cabin. The vast and unforgiving taiga had claimed her solitude, but not her spirit.
Anya wasn’t a hermit by choice. She was an artist, a cartographer of the unseen. Here, in the heart of the Siberian wilderness, she wasn’t just surviving; she was translating the whispers of the wind, the language of the rustling leaves, the symphony of animal calls into breathtaking maps. Her maps weren’t of physical landscapes; they were maps of emotions, of the very soul of the taiga.
One particularly harsh winter, a young boy, lost and delirious, stumbled upon Anya’s cabin. Fear turned to awe as he saw her maps – swirling nebulas of colour depicting the taiga’s fury, the serenity of a moonlit clearing, the playful dance of a fox hunt. This wasn’t just art; it was a portal into a world unseen by human eyes.
Anya nursed him back to health, and in the flickering firelight, they spoke. He, of the village nestled on the taiga’s edge, of the fear and respect they held for the unknown wilderness. Anya, of the stories woven into the very fabric of the forest, of its hidden beauty and raw power.
When spring arrived, the boy left, carrying not just his strength but a map unlike any he’d ever seen. Back in the village, he shared Anya’s creation. It wasn’t a map to navigate by, but a map to understand. It bridged the gap between fear and respect, igniting a curiosity about the taiga.
Anya continued her silent conversations with the wilderness, her solitude no longer a burden. She was the bridge, translating the language of the wild for those who dared to listen. Her maps, carried by the wind and shared in hushed whispers, became a legacy far greater than any physical one. Twenty years alone, yet Anya, the artist of the unseen, had woven herself into the very heart of the Siberian taiga.
Sometimes what is unconventional, is often more fulfilling and incredible. Though it requires courage to begin and stay consistent, the rewards are priceless.
It is all about the right perspective and the willingness to walk the untrodden path. The journey is different but is definitely not for the faint-hearted.
The “Tears of Hope” Anthem stands as a profound testament to the resilience of the human spirit, deeply rooted in the life and advocacy of Aimmee Kodachian. At just 12 years old, she endured the heart-wrenching loss of her older brother, Robert, during a bombing in the 1975 Lebanese Civil War—a tragic event that occurred in the sanctuary of their home and left her family shattered and homeless.
Aimmee is donating 100% of her net profits from her book “Tears of Hope: My Journey of Faith, Courage, and Survival” and its Anthem (above), “A 12-Year-Old Girl’s Message to Humanity,” to the innocent children and loving mothers affected by war. The ‘Tears of Hope Movement firmly believes that by elevating consciousness in the world, we can transform the horrors of war into the enduring embrace of love and peace.
The “Tears of Hope” Movement is more than just a name; it embodies Aimmee’s unwavering commitment to positive change. Her mission is to help God’s children recover from the agony of war, be the voice for those who have no voice, and offer hope and opportunities to those in desperate need.
Adrenaline is my best motivational drug, and it is generated by many things’ excitement, fear, rejection, and many other things. I regularly use it to contribute to my successes. My long experience of “Living by the Split Second” is something that I have enjoyed, and I have to admit to it being very addictive. I do not advocate it because there might be fewer people on the planet! The best example I have of personal value is when I felt that I was going to flunk out of IBM Mainframe School, I began my weekend trips to go skydiving and it helped me gradually regain my confidence and succeed.
I am confident in my ability to defy the societal myth that intellectual value diminishes with age as time ticks away. It’s time to break free from this limiting belief and embrace the full potential of aging. My practical skills now can be instrumental in developing many things that will aid functionality as people age. I plan to help create and fully use the mobility tools being developed if necessary. As my website indicates my “RAIotic Buddy” might Skydive with me into my Hall of Fame induction.
I have decided to write some stories that illustrate the skills that I have and continue to use in real-life situations to resolve problems. I believe that they will aid in the safe rollout of AI. It will also help other people to lead an active life rather than just involvement social and discussion groups. The breadth of situations I have encountered and overcome has equipped me with valuable experience and insight that I can contribute to navigating the AI revolution. From overcoming challenges to capitalizing on transformative opportunities, my diverse background has honed my problem-solving abilities and strategic thinking. I bring a seasoned perspective that can help organizations anticipate and adapt to the profound changes AI will bring, allowing them to stay ahead of the curve and maximize the potential of these disruptive technologies. My wisdom, forged through adversity and success, can be an invaluable asset in charting the course through this uncharted territory.
My revelation today is to persist with my proven methods, adapt by acquiring new ones as needed, and avoid the distraction of craving constant validation and recognition. I aim to embody, with others of similar age and experience the value of the “Total Package,” the depth of understanding that comes from combining age, experience, and wisdom when approaching situations. I remain astounded by the numerous flawed results I encounter from AI queries. The inaccuracies in the responses and subsequent apologies after I correct them are staggering. As I document stories about my multiracial background, places I’ve lived, and solo travels, the reasons behind these mistakes become evident. I’ve led a life quite different than the norm, and those validating the responses simply lack the breadth of experience and knowledge to comprehend what they don’t know. Therein lies the peril.
It is imperative that I shed light on how I have endured, preserving my life and others through practical survival skills honed over a lifetime. Those lacking such capabilities are naively awed by AI whose intelligence pales in comparison to the depths of human cognition. We celebrate incremental strides as “sentient” when vast leaps are required to truly mirror the human mind.
Many business failures have and will stem from a lack of experience and practical knowledge. Mature experience, what I term “adaptive intelligence,” is crucial for success.
I have written about the birth and necessity of the Crisis Management position and why every company should have a position with that functionality. The skills that made me successful in the Crisis management role are the most important right now. I was allowed to create the position by a very forward-thinking CEO and I completed the projects successfully in multiple locations around the world. The sole reason for its termination was the company’s acquisition. After the acquisition, I was allowed to use the same skills in sales to demonstrate that I could resolve sales problems using those skills. By utilizing my skills and resourcefulness, I was able to achieve the title of “Salesperson of the Year.” I truly enjoyed the experience of being featured in the Bell Atlantic Annual Report, wearing my Gold Rolex watch prize until unfortunately, it became too dangerous due to blatant crime.
The COVID-19 Pandemic was a different reality for me than most people. A priceless memory from that experience was when I was busy meticulously explaining all my qualifications on a video call to the person, Dora Regalado, who was interviewing me for a job. She interrupted my lengthy, meticulous explanation and said, “Are you going to take the job or not!” My kind of person! Later, she helped change my position to working more safely in the mobile facilities. For almost 4 years I was outside almost every day, by choice, relating to people who generally wanted to talk, and I was able to make them feel good or help them in some way. Unfortunately depending on the location. too many were combative because of their fear, and I was able to get through those years without any physical altercations but came close many times.
I have enjoyed this opportunity, thanks to Dennis Pitocco, that I have had to write, think, and prepare for the AI Revolution. I have set records in the past and with all the assistance of the remarkable people in BizCatalyst 360°, we are going to enjoy setting more records and continue enhancing and enjoying our Big Dreams … in Vivid Color!
Lud*·dite ˈlədˌīt/noun: Luddite; plural noun: Luddites*
A member of any of the bands of English workers who destroyed machinery, especially in cotton and woolen mills, that they believed was threatening their jobs (1811–16).
A person opposed to increased industrialization or new technology.
Perhaps named after Ned Lud, a participant in the destruction of machinery
What you see above is the encyclopedia definition of a Luddite. I have, more or less, always called myself one. But my self-definition translates more along the lines of preferring to live and work with as little technology as possible.
When I started as a writer, I did not even own a typewriter. That came a little later. Actually several of them, then a word processor, then a personal computer, then an Apple computer, then a whole series of them right up to the MacBook Pro I am writing this piece on and the 24” iMac that is just over my shoulder and kinda gathering dust.
I also have an iPad, which I use for reading articles and checking the weather and a smart phone with no SIM card, (both of which were hand-me-downs from my wife), that I use as a camera. My real phone is a dandy little Alcatel flip phone which suits me just fine.
So I have obviously never been philosophically opposed to technology in and of itself. And I have certainly availed myself of as much as I felt necessary.
Being a communications professional, I have also made it a point to keep up to speed with technology, and I find that process quite enjoyable, although I do not immerse myself in it to the extent that a number of people I know have done.
So I am really a relative Luddite. I have all the tech I need to do my job and pursue my writing, but no more than that.
Up-To-Speed With vs Overwhelmed By TechThere is a very good reason I have chosen this Luddite-like path and that is simply that most of what I need to know about communication I pretty much already know. It’s not my job to show people how to build an SEO program, or how to create an online retail site or create a successful blog site for themselves.
My job is just to know enough about how all this technology works, and what it can theoretically do, to advise people on the best courses of action for their businesses. And then help them get there with good ideas.
If I have to I have at least a dozen people who know all the ins and outs of these various vertical platforms who can advise my client or build them whatever they need to make their businesses go.
So in a way, you could say that my pursuit of Luddite-ness, gives me a kind of objectivity that is very helpful in terms of the advice I give my clients.
And that very objectivity is the thing that businesses need, especially in this day and age when there are literally thousands of digital marketers out there proclaiming that their tech is the answer to the prayers of a client they know virtually nothing about, except the industry they happen to be in.
It Just Does Not Work Like ThatSolving communication challenges, creating strong brands powered by unique selling propositions and all that other good stuff is not, I repeat not, something that should be left in the hands of someone whose vested interest is in a specific vertical silo, be that digital or analog.
It should be left in the hands of the company decision makers and the people they bring on board to strategically connect their business with their prospects.
Because without that critically important step in the process, everybody is simply taking a wild-ass guess. And more often than not just throwing money down the drain.
Being A Luddite Means Projecting A Simple ViewpointBeing unencumbered by technology preferences is not only exhilarating, it’s an absolute necessity for anyone in the communications business.
Because keeping the focus on the business-to-customer relationship always, always, always has to be the first step that every business needs to take in order to ensure any sort of long-term success in the market.
After that has been established, tested and proven, then the choices come into play. Sometimes they are ornate and cutting-edge digital processes. Other times they are something much simpler and more direct.
The Luddite looks at all of this stuff objectively. And that objective point of view is really the element that can be traced directly to smart choices and successful outcomes.
So I’m proud to be an aspiring Luddite, and still be able to create smart, well thought-out solutions for my clients. Because at the end of the day, the decisions you make about communication and the tools you use to make that communication effective are what it’s all about.
There’s no old school or new school, there’s just a right idea in the right place at the right time.
Heere Are Some Quotes By People Who actually Get This
“I’m not a tech guy. I’m looking at the technology with the eyes of my customers, normal people’s eyes.”
~Jack Ma, Creator, Ali Baba
“Our business is about technology, yes. But it’s also about operations and customer relationships.”
~Michael Dell, Dell Computers
“It’s hard to say exactly what it is about face-to-face contact that makes deals happen, but whatever it is, it hasn’t yet been duplicated by technology.”
~Paul Graham
I mean, after you finish the dishes and figuring out what to wear tomorrow.
Priorities, people.
Ask yourself, has this thought ever consciously occurred to you?
Because it does, subconsciously, every day.
You create a new universe every time you meet someone new. Every time you take a trip somewhere. Every time you start a new job. You’re creating a ripple that births its own infinite potentialities. The creative being inside you, the one that can’t truly be named, but only felt, drives this impulse every day.
Back in January, a friend of mine were talking about starting a fictitious football league in second-tier cities, featuring former NFL players and coaches turning up on hilarious redemption tours. The El Paso Chilies vs. the Omaha Steaks featuring guys who were fired and/or kicked out of other leagues.
Then, after realizing I’d be sued up to my eyeballs for using the names of real players and coaches on a podcast about this league, I had a follow-up thought during another conversation with another friend – what if I could invent my own sport?
As I said that, I was in my kitchen, looking at a pair of tongs.
And I immediately started laughing. Tongs as the foundation of a sport? Sure. Why not? We name sports after pickles these days, after all.
Thus, Tonger was born.
And with it, the Tongerverse.
A place where Cthulhu and Poseidon have a longstanding Tonger rivalry. Where our Board of Directors features a puppy name Colonel Cuddlesworth and a Walrus in a soccer jersey. Where we have a Ten Commandments of Tonger to include, “Thou shalt Tonger-crash expo floors with a boombox while playing Partyman ala the Joker in the art museum.”
Most of all, where the core rule is…there are no rules. Grab a tong and create a new sport, and with it, a new universe. Your own custom Tongerverse. Just because you can. That’s literally it.
But you don’t have to create a new sport to create a new universe.
You’re already doing it every day.
But when you remember that you’re doing it…well, that’s where the real fun begins.
And the magic begins to unfold in ways that were previously unimaginable.
Happy creating, my friends.
And tong on.
It’s not that it’s easy
It’s that it matters
It’s both a skill and an art
that raises up all
that we do and say
beyond the ordinariness
of everyday chatter
It’s not so much about sharing
your good ideas or mine
It’s more about listening
to what those reflections
and stories evoke
within ourselves and each other
It’s not just about what we know
It’s paying attention to what
the world around us knows
and evokes in us
when we are quiet
and willing to be humbled
by the wisdom of trees
and all that lives
Amara clutched the worn photo, its edges softened by a thousand touches. It depicted a bustling marketplace in Marrakech, her family laughing amongst the vibrant chaos. Now, the only chaos Amara knew was the relentless symphony of car horns on the streets of Tokyo. Migration, the decision that had tasted like freedom on her tongue, now left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.
Amara was a baker, renowned in Marrakech for her intricate gazelle horn pastries. In Tokyo, her skills were relegated to the back of a cramped convenience store bakery, churning out the identical melon pan, their pale uniformity a stark contrast to the vibrant colours of her homeland. The language barrier was a constant wall, isolating her from customers and colleagues alike. Loneliness gnawed at her like a desert wind.
One evening, a quiet man named Takeshi hesitantly approached her. He pointed at a photo of the gazelle horns on her phone, his eyes wide with curiosity. Amara, surprised, launched into a passionate explanation, her hands mimicking the delicate folds of the pastry. Takeshi listened intently, a small smile playing on his lips. That hesitant exchange sparked a fragile friendship. Takeshi, a widower who ran a traditional Japanese tea shop, was drawn to Amara’s warmth and the stories woven into her pastries. He, in turn, became her bridge to Tokyo, patiently teaching her the language and customs.
One afternoon, Amara presented Takeshi with a gazelle horn, its golden crust dusted with sugar. He took a bite, his eyes closing as the familiar flavours of cardamom and orange blossom filled his mouth. A tear rolled down his cheek. “It reminds me of my grandmother’s baklava,” he whispered.
That simple act of sharing ignited a spark. Amara began experimenting, fusing the rich flavours of Japan with the fragrant spices of Morocco. She created yuzu-infused gazelle horns, matcha-dusted mochi, and Sakura blossom buns. Takeshi, recognizing her talent, proposed a collaboration.
Amara’s creations became a sensation. The tiny tea shop became a haven for those seeking a taste of something new, a bridge between cultures built on flaky pastry and steaming cups of tea. Amara, once adrift, found her place. Migration, the bitter pill she’d swallowed, had blossomed into something beautiful, a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the unifying power of shared experiences over a plate. The photo in her hand, once a symbol of loss, now held a bittersweet joy. It was a reminder of the home she’d left behind, and the new one she’d built, layer by delicious layer.
Memories become stories, a tale when shared opens the mind of the listeners or readers, giving birth to new perspectives and ways of looking at things.
The so-called different worlds reveal the essence of common emotions and doubts, fears, and excitement. We realize we may look different and have unique experiences but we all face the same roller coaster of emotions at different time stamps in life. We are all united in our differences, It’s just a matter of time and intention to understand, that our differences are, what makes our individual journeys special.
The night is quickly approaching.
It is a time when dreams come true and unwritten stories are waiting to be told. They swirl in colors and become as a mist spinning like a color wheel on an artist palette.
The birds go to their nest hoping that the eggs hatch in the morning and we may hear their song.
The night whispers stories hopeful that we hear them, believe in them and Strong Ink will decorate our paper with possibilities, mysteries, and storytelling.
We wait and pause holding on to them for one more moment…. Then we shall unleash them!!!!
What an odd experience
Seeing the familiar face of a stranger
Not a stranger at all
Because you knew me, parts of me.
You saw me younger, emotional,
Undressed, dressed down,
Birthing two babies,
Breastfeeding both our babies,
Nurturing our babies, toddlers,
Children, teens, young adults.
You saw me cooking dinners,
Nursing back to health our children,
Preparing lunches,
Cooking Breakfasts,
Walking dogs,
Scooping dog poo,
Cleaning, bitching,
Crying, weeping, raging,
Reading, apologizing,
Belly laughing,
Learning, healing,
Adapting, loathing,
Loving.
You saw me walk alone towards you,
On a path wearing black slacks,
Cream-colored tuxedo tails on an
August Sunday.
You saw me walk away from you,
and a judge’s bench on a
early day in June.
A friend once said,
You could not actually see me,
Because you could not even
See yourself in the mirror;
Face the truth of your lies,
of what you kept hidden from view
Did you see me today running by you?
Did you hear me say,
“Morning!” into the cold March wind
And your silence?
What an odd experience when a stranger
Becomes a friend, then nakedly an intimate partner,
Who remains emotionally remote,
Then physically absent for longer and longer
Chunks of time.
We had been so close,
And so very far away.
Intimate strangers.
Known, unknown.
Seen, unseen.
Wispy memories
Tainted by all the lies,
Which keep me blind from
Seeing you.
With joy and gratitude,
– Laura
In many respects, the role of a shrink is ticking boxes.
Psychiatrists and psychologists, as their respective functions require, employ the diagnostic criteria of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders towards reductive classification of a specific condition. To wit, Antisocial Personality Disorder, unofficially sociopathy or even psychopathy, requires a minimum of three identified of seven diagnostic criteria, manifesting as “a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others…”
Editor’s Note: Enjoy Part I HERE
Writers, on the other hand… writers who want to invest their story with all the suspense that derives from an intriguingly, appallingly, expectation-confoundingly complex villain or an upping-the-ante anti-hero – they needn’t be so constrained. For them, the DSM provides not a tool for narrowing options, but rather one for creating layer upon layer of intricate entanglement and convoluted entrapment in the detestable and irresistible psyche of evil.
That’s the appeal, to writers, of exploring the psychological underpinnings of psychopathy – genre thriller writers obviously, but no less relevant to writers of literary fiction, and re-fashioners of the criminal outrage de jour into the now-ubiquitous genre of True Crime (so ubiquitous, in fact, that getting the requisite psychological richness should be an imperative to these writers, to differentiate their work from the morass of crap out there)… anyway, the appeal to writers of developing multifaceted and substantiable malevolence is in the anything goes license that psychodynamics allow their “show don’t tell” intentions. This is a freedom that comes with caveats, though – the most important of which is to never do it formulaically. After all, every cack-handed second-to-fifth rate police procedural has had at least one episode in which the suspect is apprehended by the doughty officers, after digging into a past to reveal the so-called serial killer triad… “Ah, bed wetting too, as we just heard from his old nanny… on top of the juvenile arson and the disinterred corpses of seventeen pets in the backyard of his childhood home… yes, we’ve got him now…”
So, let’s look at those seven criteria, as the American Psychiatric Association ordains them, to explore their potential for mosaic-like construction of character history, motives, aspirations and definingly malign peccadilloes:
- Failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors… while, from the writer’s perspective, never ceasing to be mindful of how the deliberately provocative or provocatively deliberate violation of social manners, mores, customs and taboos can be even more shocking, more compelling and repelling to a reader’s sensibilities than transgressions of the law…
- Deceitfulness, as indicated by repeated lying, use of aliases, or conning others for personal profit or pleasure… while the profit motive unquestionably fuels many a plotline, it’s the “pleasure” aspect in which complex character-drawing comes into its own – to bring that pleasure to life in the reader’s mind… through an ambiguous sneer/smile, a gesture of unsuspected and patronizing consolation to the poor oblivious conned mark, a signature phrase of aberrant philosophising or uniquely bizarre sophistry, an idiosyncratic taste to be satisfied before, during or after the successful con, verbal or behavioral quirks that connote inadvertent prickings of conscience, or else the all-encompassing arousal to do it again, better, bigger… any, all and many more are the ways to make the reader infer that pleasure, even feel it themselves, in a visceral way that makes them abhor and perversely admire those manipulative skills as that character has implemented them, with understated subtlety and gracefulness, or overtly romantic dash and a splash of sprezzatura…
- Impulsivity or failure to plan ahead… this is not merely indicative of brutish impatience, but is more enlarging of a sociopathic nature in respect of the malignant narcissism that derives from absolute entitlement, the contempt for the world at large with its plodding predictability, a contempt that the virtuoso-rendered villain will project onto the reader as an intimately embracing and constraining folie a deux…
- Irritability and aggressiveness… it’s true that the formularized thug has their place in genre thrillers, but the compelling narrative exponents of evil eschew cheap ruffianism – it’s beneath them, beneath their literary or cinematic composers, as much as it is beneath the rapt attention of the reader… even unthinking aggression does not need to be represented unthinkingly… the escalating array of triggers, the slow build to explosive release, the physiological markers of emergent unreasonable aggression, how the visual frame of reference narrows, the smell and taste of the uncontrollable urge to cause pain, the particular piquancy of revenge served cold or piping, piping hot…
- Reckless disregard for safety of self and others… criminal masterminds think big in terms of carnage… but the axes of misanthropic unconcern and obliviousness to personal preservation can be algebraically plotted to a myriad of moral complications…
- Consistent irresponsibility… failure to sustain consistent work behavior or honor financial obligations… perhaps the most singular aspect of immersively enthralling villainy is the nature and make-up of their personal moral system… even the irredeemably immoral or amoral possess their own compelling conception of individual morality… in the sociopath, this is frequently tied to their simultaneous persecution complex and delusions of grandeur that make them reject the moral responsibilities that the rest of us observe, the intrinsic grasp of the social contract understood by even the most unversed in moral philosophy, the mutual obligation of one to all and all to one (the sewer of social media notwithstanding)… villainy is the essential rejection of contractarian ethics… character richness deriving from malevolence must exemplify a personal moral code that is cohesive on its possessor’s terms, even if it is loathsome on our own – even the most unreasoning villain must act within the bounds of their own reasons… the extent to which the reader can become inclined to suspend personal moral qualms, or even become stickily enmeshed in the self-vindicating moral casuistry of a character’s malignancy, is testament to the richness of their reading experience.
- Lack of remorse… related to the above, to the distinctly sui generis nature of a private moral framework which does not feel subject to compunctions of regret because its conception of right and wrong, and the right to do wrong, is mis-wired… and more psychologically intriguing, more embracing of human complexity than DSM’s “lack of remorse,” is the exploration of misplaced or misdirected remorse… the villain is not one-dimensionally unfeeling, at least not if they are to sustain the reader’s attachment – the villain is all too feeling, in ways that make us feel exposed, vulnerable, violated and even, perhaps, unsettlingly, culpably involved.
Some of these diagnostic criteria seem, prima facie, antithetical to others. Only, though, through the seductive interpretive lens of attribution theory, whereby we tend to characterize what happens to others as deriving from their innate character flaws, while we conceive of our own circumstances as created by the multifariously complicated dynamics between the external world and our richly intricate inner life. We need to be reminded that we, all of us, contain multitudes. To writers, these diagnostic criteria are not for character diagnosis. They are for character enlargement, narrative enlargement, enlargement of the whole damned imagined world. It’s not a matter to cross each symptom off a list, chapter by chapter, as they’re each sequentially given a guernsey. Rather, it’s to explore what any of them can do, in isolation or jigsaw-like in combination, to intensify characterisation, motivation, and opportunities for facilitating, tightening, or expanding plot resolution and denouement… To be continued
The Philippines, an archipelago nation comprising over 7,000 islands, maintains a profound relationship with the sea. Yet, for certain Filipinos, the ocean represents more than just a lifeline—it embodies their entire existence. These communities, often labelled as sea outcasts or sea nomads, defy conventional living norms, crafting a distinctive lifestyle deeply entrenched in maritime customs. Nonetheless, their way of life faces formidable challenges. These sea nomads, indigenous tribes who have spent centuries residing on boats or in stilt houses erected over water, typify their intimate bond with the ocean. Their traditional abodes, commonly referred to as “vintas,” epitomize their profound connection to the sea. Although the exact enumeration of sea nomads remains elusive due to their nomadic tendencies, estimates suggest tens of thousands reside in the Philippines, with the Badjao tribe emerging as the most renowned.
Life at sea necessitates a unique skill set. Studies indicate that some sea nomads exhibit remarkable adaptations, including exceptional underwater vision comparable to dolphins and the capacity to hold their breath for extended durations—some surpassing seven to thirteen minutes. These adaptations are believed to stem from generations spent hunting and foraging underwater with minimal technological assistance.
Nevertheless, the seafaring lifestyle confronts substantial hurdles. Escalating sea levels imperil the very existence of their domiciles. A 2020 World Bank study projected that by 2100, 20% of the Philippines’ landmass could be submerged, displacing millions. This directly impacts sea nomads residing in low-lying regions or fragile stilt structures.
Discrimination poses another impediment. Sea nomads are occasionally viewed as outsiders, encountering difficulties in accessing fundamental services such as education and healthcare. Moreover, overfishing and pollution jeopardize the fragile marine ecosystems vital for their sustenance.
Despite adversities, sea nomads exhibit resilience. Some communities transition to semi-nomadic lifestyles, alternating between land and sea dwelling. Others innovate by initiating aquaculture ventures like seaweed farming to complement traditional fishing practices.
The future of the Philippines’ sea nomads remains uncertain. Safeguarding their unique culture and lifestyle mandates a multifaceted approach. Government initiatives aimed at providing land ownership, education, and healthcare access are imperative. Additionally, adopting sustainable fishing techniques and prioritizing marine conservation efforts are vital to ensure the vitality of the ecosystems upon which they rely.
The narrative of sea nomads underscores human resilience and adaptability. By comprehending their challenges and bolstering their endeavors to thrive amidst change, we can guarantee that these seafaring experts continue to inhabit the Philippine seas.
In Southeast Asia, particularly in the Philippines, sea nomads have long embraced a life on the waves, traversing vast expanses of ocean and deeming the sea their abode. Indigenous tribes like the Badjao and Sama-Dilaut epitomize this lifestyle, residing on boats or stilt houses constructed over water. Recent statistics indicate that the Badjao and Sama Dilaut communities constitute a significant portion of the Philippine populace, with estimates ranging from 200,000 to 500,000 individuals. However, their marginalized status and restricted access to basic services, such as education and healthcare, heighten their vulnerability. Their way of life faces myriad threats, pushing these resilient communities to the brink.
Discrimination exacerbates their plight. Sea nomads often find themselves marginalized, relegated to the outskirts of society due to their transient lifestyle and distinctive cultural customs. Consequently, they encounter discrimination and exclusion from mainstream opportunities, perpetuating a cycle of impoverishment and marginalization. A 2019 UN study revealed that a troubling 75% of sea nomads in the Philippines reported experiencing discrimination when attempting to access fundamental necessities like education and healthcare. Their nomadic lifestyle complicates governmental efforts to track and register them, leaving them marginalized and susceptible.
Remote coastal villages inhabited by sea nomads frequently lack access to essential services, including education and healthcare. Many children from these communities struggle to attend school regularly, contributing to low literacy rates and restricting avenues for socioeconomic progress. Similarly, inadequate healthcare infrastructure and limited access to medical facilities pose significant health risks for sea nomads, particularly during emergencies.
The transient nature of sea nomad communities renders them vulnerable to exploitation, encompassing human trafficking, forced labor, and illicit fishing practices. Limited legal safeguards and ineffective enforcement mechanisms exacerbate their vulnerability, leaving them susceptible to exploitation by unscrupulous individuals and criminal syndicates.
Unsustainable fishing practices, propelled by commercial interests and unchecked exploitation, deplete marine resources, undermining the food security and livelihoods of sea nomads. Overfishing and pollution wreak havoc on the marine ecosystems that sustain these communities. The FAO estimates that Philippine fisheries are already stretched to their limit, with some commercially valuable fish species nearing depletion. This decline directly impacts the food security of sea nomads, who heavily rely on fishing for sustenance. Plastic pollution, oil spills, and other forms of marine debris degrade marine ecosystems, endangering marine life and livelihoods dependent on healthy oceans.
Rising sea levels, elevated ocean temperatures, and intensifying storms pose existential threats to coastal communities, displacing populations and eroding traditional livelihoods. Climate change exacerbates the issue further. Rising sea temperatures disrupt fish migration patterns, complicating nomads’ quest for sustenance. Additionally, stronger storms and unpredictable weather render traditional seafaring practices more perilous.
Rapid modernization and cultural assimilation jeopardize the rich cultural heritage and traditional knowledge systems of sea nomad communities, imperiling their identity and sense of belonging.
The future of sea nomads hinges on collaborative efforts. Governments must strive to integrate them into mainstream society, granting them access to land ownership, education, and healthcare. Sustainable fishing practices and robust marine conservation efforts are imperative to ensure the health of the ecosystems they rely on. Additionally, raising awareness about their unique culture and the challenges they face is crucial for garnering public support and fostering inclusivity.
Sea nomads represent more than just a cultural curiosity; they epitomize human adaptation and ingenuity. By addressing the threats, they face and supporting their adaptation efforts, we can ensure that these mariners continue to navigate the ever-changing tides and secure a future for their way of life.
Despite the myriad challenges they encounter, Filipino tribes inhabiting treacherous seas showcase remarkable resilience and adaptability in the face of adversity. Their profound connection to the ocean, coupled with their ingenuity and resourcefulness, enables them to navigate the turbulent waters of existence with grace and dignity. However, concerted efforts are indispensable to address the systemic inequalities and structural barriers perpetuating their marginalization and vulnerability. Only through collaborative action and inclusive policies can we ensure the preservation of these unique maritime cultures and the sustainable stewardship of our oceans for generations to come.
Featurd Image coutesy of https://www.aljazeera.com/gallery/2012/10/10/in-pictures-indonesias-nomadic-sea-gypsies
Recently, I celebrated a significant milestone—my 60th birthday! As I reflect on this moment, I’m overwhelmed with immense gratitude. How swiftly the years have flown by!
During the celebrations, I experienced an extraordinary sense of love and connection. It felt as though every cell in my body was infused with unconditional love. This profound feeling of gratitude brought immense joy and peace to my heart, reminding me of the beauty that life holds when we open ourselves to receive it.
I cherished every moment spent with my family—the laughter, the smiles, and the warm embraces. We enjoyed morning walks along the beach, heartfelt conversations under the shade of our umbrella, delightful swims in the Gulf of Mexico, a serene sunset cruise, and shell hunting in the crystal-blue waters. Each experience was a reminder of the breathtaking beauty of God’s creation and the love that surrounds us.
It dawned on me that this connection and joy are not limited to special occasions. They are always available to us if we choose to see and embrace them daily. Living with awareness is the key.
As we move forward, I invite you to join me in this practice of embracing immense gratitude. Close your eyes, recall a moment you cherish, and let that feeling fill you. This mindset of appreciation not only enhances our own lives but also helps us see more positivity in our world.
Take a moment to identify something in your life that you truly appreciate. Foster and nurture this immense gratitude and watch as it inspires you to open your heart to the abundance of love surrounding you.
Let’s continue to support each other in finding and acknowledging beauty every day. Thank you for being a part of my community. Here’s to more mindful moments together!
With love in my heart,
Nancy
• “Why am I not …?• Why am I not supposed to be …?• When did I stop being …?• Who told me that it is not OK to be …?• What would it take for me to think that I can be …?”
I am stealing these questions shamelessly from Pernille Melsted, a Danish coach, who every May dedicates her work to addressing what she calls “the Golden Shadow”: the positive traits that we dare not flaunt, whether they be creativity, sensuality, joy, power, vulnerability…
Mariah Edgington has on her and Byron Edgington’s website Mandate To Elevate an affirmation exercise where you look in the mirror daily and tell yourself some positive things about yourself.
From the list:
“…I am BraveI am ConfidentI am DeterminedI am EnergizedI am Fearless…”
Some people break down crying if they say something positive to themselves. Some people can say something positive but not “just anything” positive.
Can you look in the mirror and say “I love you” out loud to yourself?
Try it, it’s powerful. (If you think this is ridiculous, “who told you that it is not OK” to love yourself? Does somebody have to be perfect to be worthy of your love? Alas, then I will never qualify.)
Sure, there may be some affirmations that are more easily said because we already own that part about ourselves. E.g. I see myself as pretty confident overall even if there may be specific contexts in which this doesn’t apply. Some affirmations don’t apply at all and never did – and I can own that as well. But some affirmations stir up something, a resistance felt in the body, indicating that there is more to the story. That back in time I learned how this way of being was not welcome. At least not for me. There is a feeling of shame attached to them.
This is where a bit of curiosity paired with the questions starting this piece of writing can be helpful.
No, I am not going to go through all the affirmations from the dynamic Edgington-duo and let you into my shadow work (and my list is far longer than the 26 letters of the alphabet.)
I just want to offer these questions to you as tools. Because every time we feel judgmental about somebody, they are probably violating a “rule” that says We/You/I are not supposed to act this way. And wouldn’t it be a relief to understand why you feel so strongly about this before you heap judgment on somebody else?
Here are some examples and their long reaching consequences:
My mother never sported colorful nail polish. She had well-kept and buffed nails but never adorned them with something more attention-grabbing than transparent slightly pinkish polish. Use your imagination about for whom red nails were reserved according to her script. You can imagine my childish confusion when, at my father’s round birthday bash, his cousin showed up with bright red nail polish. My eight-year-old-self stared at this woman the whole evening, trying to square my impression with what I otherwise knew about the world and about my family. It took many years before I stopped at some subconscious level to hold her nails against her. And this despite that I knew she was among my father’s favorite cousins; my sister was even named after her.
To this day I still don’t do much nail polish-wise. But my daughter loves playing with the colors, and I am so relieved that I am not carrying my mother’s old script with me because that would be asking for friction where none needs to exist.
Another story:
My department’s administrative assistant L told me how her mother had been around when she got a drawing from her kindergarten-aged daughter. As one does, she praised the drawing before hanging it on the fridge. When the daughter had left the kitchen, her mother said: “You shouldn’t praise her too much. She risks becoming too full of herself.” “In that moment I knew why, all my life, I have lacked self-confidence” L said. The spell had been broken and soon I heard she was off on a for her more self-affirming career track.
And I have shared this story before:
After MC’ing at a party where everybody – including the waiters – were laughing their heads off, one of the guests I had known for a decade said, “I have never seen you like this before.” I took away some indirect feedback that I had let a goofy side of myself slip into the shadow – and I am reclaiming it.
Although the critical words of a parent, grandparent, sibling (or anybody) can send our talents into hiding, many of these scripts are not brought to us by one single person but by the culture we live in. I can more easily agree or disagree with my mother’s nail polishing script when the culture where I live and in my time doesn’t care one way or the other about colorful polish.
Today I use this learning to keep myself in check when people younger than me sport what is this time’s equivalent to “bright red nail polish” – understanding that the meaning they put into what they do probably is very different from what it would have signified 1-2-3 generations ago. Initially, my reaction may automatically be to distance myself emotionally from the person. But accepting their choice – for them – doesn’t mean that I must adopt something similar for myself. Knowing this, I can instead choose to engage and learn what is behind their choice. Some lovely and meaningful stories have been shared on that account that otherwise would have remained unknown to me.
I think it behooves me, as an adult, to own my shadows, whether I like all of them or not. So, every May, I, too, look in my handbook and see if I can reintegrate one more lovely aspect of younger me that at some point, for whatever reason, moved into the Golden Shadow, by asking these questions:
• Am I …?• “Why am I not …?• Why am I not supposed to be …?• When did I stop being …?• Who told me that it is not OK to be …?• What would it take for me to think that I can be …?”
Hopefully, when I am 180 years old, I will be complete.
Night skies ring with the songs that
sing of one love for all.
Countless stars in their vast array
sing in silence, night and day,
of their love for all.
Our own mother star rains its warmth
on earth with a mighty power,
feeding every speck with life.
Rocked in earth’s green arms,
fed by living rain, all are
braided into one breathing whole.
Sing the song then
you were given on the
first day of the world.
You belong here,
you are part of
one great choir.
Let your light shine as it’s
meant to, loose the songs
that your throat holds.
You can’t hide them,
locked in silence
still they will sing.
Let their laughter drown your terrors–
love will find you if you let it, will
embrace you as your songs fall into place.
(1)It came,
Out of a corner
Wet.
It came,
Unexpectedly
And yet,
I let it roll
Slowly,
Out of the corner,
Of
My
Eye.
And across the bridge
Of
My
Nose.
Down my right cheek,
To drop
Upon
The pillow
In its case.
I felt it go.
It was cold.
You know.
I let it go,
And it was,
Very,
Very
Slow.
(2)And as it rolled
From the corner of
My
Eye,
I realized,
I was going
To
Silently
Cry.
Tear for my Momma B
In a rehab facility.
Tear for more,
Oh, what’s in store?
Tear for you,
Tear for me,
Here for you,
Here for me.
The naysayers who
Told me to stop,
And
The ones who told me
Go find a lane,
And
Those who said
I’m too much,
And
Those who said
You’re out of touch.
(3)Well, that tear
Rolled
And yes,
it felt
Cold.
Yet,
It warmed my heart
To get out of bed
With a place to start.
So, that’s what I did,
And I’ll do it again,
For it is only a matter of time now
And who knows when?
When that tear will embolden me,
For myself, you and others,
Who may not or may
See if we have our druthers.
Hope, a person,
Hope, a feeling,
Hope as a future note
Worthy of seeing and hearing.
(4)It’s that tear, that hope,
That I will carry today,
And it may come calling to you, someday.
You, what will you do with your
Tear
And
Your hope?
May you smile,
May your cry,
May you walk a mile,
May you slowly
Dry your eye.
May you hug,
May I cheer,
May I for each of you
Far and near?
For hope is a tear
That is not to fear.
Thank you now,
Thank you then,
Thank you whoever and wherever,
You need this poem.
He bore the name of the Prophet.We had a little difficulty meeting. I was not in the place he expected me to be and the app-map did not have all the street names. The dealership called him, a service meant to offset labor prices double what I usually pay. There was no charge for the recall, of course, but I understood that the mechanic would “inspect” my six year old vehicle and prescribe further work, which I would verify with my usual mechanic, or not.
“Are you buying a car?” Mohammad asked.
“No, just service.”
“Not something you could not do yourself?”
“A recall. But I don’t do much work myself anymore. I used to work on cars, but not anymore. I don’t understand them – too many computers.”
This seemed not to compute with this old Uber driver. “Not even changing the oil? Or brakes?”
“I figure at 76 I can let someone else do that.”
“We are the same age, but I like to keep my hand in.”
“I understand. Keeping skills up is valuable.” I relayed my recent failure soldering. “It seems I completely forgot how.”
“Soldering? I could never do that.”
We chatted about the weather, as everyone seems to, then he got around to the inevitable “What do you do?” question. I skipped the part where I responded “retirement” and he responded, “but before?”
“I’m a writer.”
“Oh? What do you write?”
“Non-fiction mostly. I just self-published a career advice book for young consultants Traveling the Consulting Road. This didn’t seem to interest him. “I also publish some things from conversations I have with ordinary people I meet.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Well, I often ask people, ‘What is the secret of life?’”
“Oh?’
“Yes, imagine a young person sits before you, asks for your life wisdom. What do you say?”
He seemed intrigued. He missed the next turn the GPS suggested.
“That seems such a simple question, but it is very deep.”
I smiled. Mohammad was thinking. This question always takes people by surprise. Most, not all, feel compelled to answer.
“I can only answer this from my faith. People say that Islam means peace, but that is not quite right. There is a kind of peace in it, but Islam means surrender.”
“I had no choice in my birth. I will have no choice in my death; it will come whenever. . . . But in between I have many choices, far too many choices. This is my test. That is the problem of a life. But if I make one choice, if I choose to surrender to the will of God, other choices get easier.”
“People will say ‘ How can I know the will of God?’ but they know – in here.“ He tapped his chest lightly. If ever they do not know what is the right thing to do, stop . . . listen. It seldom takes longer than three heartbeats. If my action helps me, but hurts another, that is not the will of God. If it helps another, and does not cost me dearly, what would stop me?”
I responded that Christians also talk about the Will of God, Buddhists about the eight-fold path and Taoists speak of about The Way.
“Faith is our connection to God, not any particular faith, but faith, and most of all. . . living it.”
We went on to talk about the nature of people (“99% good”), cars (“simpler is better”), food (“ a little that’s good is better than a lot”). And then, some forty minutes later, we said “nice talking with you,” and he dropped me at home.
I always learn something when I ask this question. I am not a religious person, but people often go to the Golden Rule or say that we shouldn’t be “hung up on materials things” or that “hate is toxic.” A few, like Mohammad I believe, are people who try to live their faith.
I will remember the gentle way he tapped his chest in reference to knowing the Will of God.
“They know – in here. And if not – stop . . . listen. It seldom takes longer than three heartbeats.”
I’ve been known to quote the late Andy Rooney, CBS “Sixty Minutes” curmudgeon, on religion: “I’d be more willing to accept religion, even if I didn’t believe it, which I don’t, if I thought it made people nicer to each other, but I don’t think it does.”
I further opine “too many wars have been fought in the name of a belief in God,” but then I think of someone who lives their faith, like the late Fred Rogers, PBS children’s TV creator, or perhaps this gentle Uber driver and I admire their certainty and the luminous path they describe.
Henceforth, I will endeavor to practice his three heartbeat rule. Will you?
heart broken
wide open
new ground
turned and tilled
seeds take root
future fruit bearing.
It had been a long six months, with relatively few, if any, days off for our entire crew. Yet, we tried to stay warm and keep our minds on the pipeline; which was supposed to be the answer to everyone’s concerns over the soaring cost of fuel, while our need to be home with our families was overpowering. Especially for me, as I had left my wife and children in the lower forty-eight to take this job; hoping the big payout it had promised would once again renew mine and my family’s spirit toward life and allow me to better provide for them.
While almost everyone on my crew was from a local indigenous tribe of people, I had only moved up one week before starting this job; from a little town in Missouri by the name of Doniphan. A town that had a population of about one thousand seven hundred and twelve souls. And it seemed as though each one of them knew of my failures; and how, as a family, we were hurting, but there just wasn’t enough money to go around at the end of the month to make a difference.
Lately, the cold temperatures and shorter daylight hours appeared to be wearing me down more than usual; and with Christmas nearing, my longing to be back home with those I loved made each day that much more wearisome.
But this day had a feeling of excitement about it, as earlier in the day, I and others, those on our crew, and some locals had been invited to a gathering at the home of one of the fellow crewmen for a home-cooked meal and a sampling of a new mead that he had been aging, and I was looking forward to it.
As the workday drew to a close, I was eager to get back to my room, which I had rented from the pipeline company. It wasn’t much, but it had a bed and a small radio, which came in handy for those long nights; when, because of missing my family, sleep would not come, and the silence was deafening. The other crew members living there and I shared a couple of bathrooms with showers, and I was ready for my turn at one of them.
After getting my shower and some clean, warm, dry duds on, I felt as though I could once again conquer the world or at least manage this evening. Pushing back against the loneliness of winter, which had settled in with its long, silent, dark days and nights.
On arrival at my coworker’s home, I was thrown off by the size of the gathering and how well his home accommodated all of us. There were those dressed as I was and others dressed in clothing of another time. A time long ago, but kept alive by folks such as these, who refused to forget their old ways and the stories that were handed down, and that is where this story begins…
As we mingled one with the other while slowly sipping on mead and telling stories, the night slowly perused by us. Many strange tales were told about the job site, including catastrophes, unexplained events, and healings.
According to an old chieftain, his people had passed his story of the Snow Queen down from generation to generation; although it was seldom told in the presence of a white man. Still, as he began to tell his tale, I found myself mesmerized, being drawn in as tight as a bowstring by his every word; while those very words were twisting my logic and understanding into a knot.
And although I knew I hadn’t hit my friend’s mead that hard, his story still took me back to a time shortly after arriving here. While missing my family, I found myself unable to sleep one night, so I got out of bed and, even though very late and in unfamiliar surroundings, I went walking.
After a long while walking and thinking of my family back home in Missouri, I lost track of time. And whether in the body I do not know, or out of the body I do not know, only God knows — I felt as though I was being watched by what I did not know, but it put me on edge, causing the hair both on my neck and arms to stand up as if, by some strange force or power, it had been energized. I walked a bit further before entertaining the thought of turning around, as I thought that I had seen something that I knew, or had at least thought, to be impossible; before it, they vanished.
On my way back, I tried my hardest to reason out what my mind had presumed my eyes to see, but I could not. And I knew I could never speak of it to anyone, lest they think I had lost my mind out in the dark cold of an Arctic night.
But now, listening to the story of this old chieftain, I was beyond perplexed. Had my mind interpreted what my eyes saw correctly? As the thought lingered in my mind, I felt the coldest of chills run down my spine. Was it the Snow Queen riding on her bigger than life lynx that I had seen, after all? Had she appeared as the old man’s story touted to protect me from an unseen or unrecognized danger?
I’ll always wonder and be forever grateful to her.
The wind caressed the trees of the deep forest and it made a sound so soft you would think that it was a whisper that you were hearing.
Olivia leaned in close to Joshua’s ear and said,” The wind, it sounds like Midnight Whispers, a sound that only we can hear.” They could hear the wind unleashing the unwritten stories that rested inside them both.
The stories were about the love that they shared, the love that awakened on a rainy night as they walked down a dark street with only a small umbrella to keep them dry. As the years past The Midnight Whispers gifted them with new stories, beautiful paintings and the community love them and the things they did to give back.
Tonight was their night, a night where their love for each other was powerful and bountiful in its many times they gave back to the community, in abundance and without expectation. It was a time that their love filled them with joy, kindness, and passion. They knew it would be a love that would last forever.
The wind whispered to them of the amazing things that would be unveiled in the coming years, and they knew it would be a love without end. They held each other close, embracing the love they felt with for each other. Angels guided the path they walked, creativity would be what they would share, inspiration would drive the stories and Olivia’s beautiful painting. The future would be filled with abundance, their love without end and their imagination would be unleashed.
The wind became calm and the stories faded, as it was past the midnight whispers. Soon the dawn will awaken them to the new day and new beginning.
I dedicate this story to Raissa Urdiales, my friend, poet, writer, storyteller, and an amazing collaborator. Thank you for your kindness my friend.
A good baddie is hard to findThrillers, especially psychological thrillers, depend upon sociopaths – as formidably shocking antagonists or even, at times, morally compromised protagonists. What they don’t need any more of, given a sigh-inducing surplus, is any more one-dimensional baddies.
One dimensional baddies – typically playing enemy, adversary or nemesis – limit the potential for the story’s hero/ine to distinguish themselves by contrast. So they too are unfortunately rendered one-dimensional. The most involving characterization eschews simplistic Manichean morality – unadulterated good versus irredeemable evil. Even so, the layers of nuance by which a hero or perhaps an ethically blighted anti-hero, is rendered as compellingly as possible, is considerably enriched by an antagonist who defies easy categorization, and so sidesteps suspense-negating predictability – surely the death knell of any kind of thriller.
How frequently, in psychologically complex representations of villainy, does the antagonist manifest what the American Psychiatric Association’s DSM would categorise as diagnostic criteria for Antisocial Personality Disorder… unofficially sociopathy, even psychopathy. How frequently, too, does the richly drawn villain make the hero appear milquetoast by contrast – or challenge his literary creator to strive to avoid that, so making the whole of the story more rewarding in the process.
From the writer’s point of view, and to the reader’s benefit, it should work both ways. Protagonist and antagonist, hero and villain (sometimes even switching roles) are locked in a kind of symbiosis in conflict. Like an evolutionary arms race, fitter predators cull the numbers of prey, leaving those who survive fitter, faster and more elusive, putting pressure in turn on the weaker predators, and so on as it has always been Darwinianly. In this case, of contending characters, the better drawn either hero or villainous counterpart, the more demands are made on the writer to up the ante in relation to the other. Not to do so is to end up with glaringly weak and unengaging characters. On the other hand, an eye on the psychological bases of character enrichment benefits not merely characterization and the hero/villain conflict by deftly fleshing out their inner lives, but also flows to surrounding characters and their reactions, and the potential for greater intricacies of plotting and more subtle or audacious twists in suspense.
Falling for the VillainThe sociopath transcends the moral objections of the reader in the most arresting depictions of evil. The best of them, the most memorable or haunting sociopaths, eclipse virtue in reader fascination. They inspire, in even an unwilling or resistant audience, the breathless thrill of being lured, seduced, courted, or even dared towards the dark side.
Multi award winning sci-fi writer John Varley, in his genre-spanning The Golden Globe – with no small amount of thriller in it – has protagonist actor Sparkie Valentine bemoan losing out to his opposite, when playing the villain to the other actor’s hero. “And by the way, there is no damn justice. Dixon de la Mare won that Alley Award, stole that Alley Award. It’s the same old story. I played the villain so well the voters subconsciously didn’t like me.” Here he puts the blame on the audience’s psychology, in not rewarding the subtlety of his own.
It doesn’t appear so, though, in our own Hollywood system. There, the villains – the more sociopathic the better – are frequently rewarded over dramatic aspirations to virtue. In the Oscars, while they have not positively dominated the gongs, the sheer extent of their representation is testament to the appeal of nefarious characters who embody everything the audience should revile but are perversely titillated to lionize.
Don’t, though, take false comfort from the seeming comprehensiveness of what Hollywood has nailed in the finest depictions of gradations of evil, whether wilful or instinctive.
These examples reflect the crème de la crème. They reflect what a screenwriter can achieve in intricate composition of a character’s problematic morality or motives, given life through an actor’s or actress’ interpretive performance, strategic or intuitive, through character or method acting – the manifestation of maleficence given its fullest, final texture in the director’s imposition of tone and mood.
The following list, this bounty of Hollywood’s most compelling sociopaths, is only a drop in the bucket, exposing just how enriched a story is by richly conceived narcissism and misanthropy. These characters are able to compromise the audience’s, even at times the culture’s, conception of morality, conception of the imperatives of character-identification, conception of how they subsequently see themselves… all deriving from astutely nuanced integration of the underlying psychodynamics of villainy.
This is the level of psychological insight into character and world building to which every novelist and dramatist and screenwriter should aspire. What narrative riches then, for the audience scrolling through book options for something they want to read, or through their streaming platforms for something they want to watch.
Sociopathic HollywoodTake Alec Guiness’ Colonel Nicholson in The Bridge on the River Kwai, whose monomaniacal narcissism rose to the level of the sociopathic. Or Maxamillian Schell in Judgement at Nuremberg, who charismatically twisted moral relativism to self-serving vindication of murderous Nazi collaboration. George C Scott’s Patton was an astonishing application of sociopathic obsessiveness to the arena of war, while the following year Gene Hackman’s Popeye Doyle took the concept of the anti-hero and juiced the “anti” full of steroids while the “hero” just drained away.
Brando’s Don Corleone…? ’nuff said.
Peter Finch took societally destructive sociopathy to the level of advanced psychopathology in Network. F Murray Abram’s archly duplicitous Salieri, in Amadeus, saw him take home the statuette over Tom Hulce’s dissolute but utterly trusting Mozart. Then Michael “Greed is Good” Douglas put the sociopathy on and in Wall Street. Jeremy Irons’ character in Reversal of Fortune, while legally found innocent, wore aristocratic sociopathy on Claus von Bulow’s impeccably tailored sleeve (and some, ourselves included would adhere to the conspiracy theory that his award that year was a make-up for being passed over the year before, for his staggering portrayal of not one but two – twin – sociopaths in Cronenberg’s body-horror Dead Ringers). And a year later, Anthony Hopkins took his bows as Hannibal Lecter, in sixteen minutes of chillingly charismatic iniquity. It was an Edenic time for cinematic sociopaths, until an audience taste for Tom Hanks feel-good took over for a while.
Then a resurgence in the noughts. Denzel Washington for Training Day… Philip Seymour Hoffman as Capote (that literary sociopath given a recent reinvigoration by Tom Hollander)… Forest Whitaker as a bloodcurdlingly realistic Idi Amin… Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood… and on into Joaquin Phoenix as the comic book quintessence of sociopathy, Joker (going one better, in the same role, than Heath Ledger’s Best Supporting nod in Nolan’s The Dark Knight).
As to actresses… a shorter list (with acknowledgement to Margaret Atwood in the next instalment of this article), but performances no less unsettling. Bette Davis putting sociopathy into the femme fatale in Dangerous and Jezebel… Maggie Smith’s Miss Jean Brodie as a sociopathic malignant narcissist in her own little fiefdom… Elizabeth Taylor’s reluctant prostitute in Butterfield 8, Jane Fonda’s dysfunctionally vulnerable prostitute in Klute, and Liza Minelli’s pretty-much-prostitute Sally Bowles, all forced into self-protective self-centred sociopathy by circumstances, as was Julie Christie’s Darling… Liz Taylor again, in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, brilliantly illuminating mutually vituperative malevolence in the folie a deux of a doomed marriage… and Julie Andrews as Mary Poppins (ok, just kidding… nearly).
Louise Fletcher’s Nurse Ratched revelled in sociopathy in Cuckoo’s Nest’s mental institution, Faye Dunaway likewise in Network’s mental institution of broadcast media (the best actress/actor double for a film that in retrospect uncovered the degeneracy of an industry far more degenerate these days). Kathy Bates is the psychopathic manifestation of every writer’s nightmare in Misery, and Charlize Theron uglies-up on the outside and the inside to play the eponymous Monster. Finally, Kate Winslet heartbreakingly evinces the horrifying credulity of Nazi “just following orders” collective sociopathy.
The big gong, the lot of them – deservedly, by dint of the psychological completeness that entranced and transfixed viewers. All of them compelling, in all the shades of malevolence and malignancy.
These characters, in the cinematic context, variously represent the benchmark of wickedness, baseness and criminality, of turpitude and abandonment of scruples. They reveal the narrative heights possible in the depths of depravity. They set an aspirational standard for all writers, in all forms, that depend upon thrilling an audience through suspense. The psychological diagnostic criteria for just being plain bad comprise a suite of symptoms – each one of which is an enhancement of complexity, and all of which together are a guard against reductive under-estimation or expedient simplification of a character who might otherwise be represented on page, or screen, as so much more… To be continued…
It’s amazing how people will play you if given half a chance. As I’ve been played like a flute, I know whereof I speak. Because I’m kind and responsive to people who engage with my work, they believe I’m an easy mark.
I’m not.
Let me give you an example. A recent one as individuals who should know better have tried to entice me to share my screenwriting knowledge with them for Bubkis by using flattery.
Learning to write screenplays and navigate the entertainment industry has taken much of my life, but I wouldn’t have it any other way as that is my passion. For over twenty years, I’ve studied the craft, followed the players, read script after script, and worked my ass off. I’ve experienced triumphs and setbacks yet, at seventy, I’m still at it.
So, when someone approaches me who wants to pick my brain to fast-track the craft much like a side hustle and to satisfy a whim to “try” screenwriting, that lack of sensitivity and commitment infuriates me. Especially when they want to pick it for free.
The other day, I received a glowing review on a Medium story from a young woman who started following me and said that she’d love to connect on Twitter as she wanted to write a documentary, and saw from my profile that I’m a screenwriter. But, she told me she couldn’t find me. I don’t know what she expected me to do for her on Twatter, or X as it’s now called, but that’s what she said.
Now, this part is on me. I told her to feel free to shoot me an email. And then I forgot about it. She, on the other hand, did not. In her email, she asked if we could set up a time for a phone chat. My initial answer was “Sure,” but then, after thinking about it, I sent her another reply.
“What, exactly, do you want to discuss?” I knew it had something to do with screenwriting and it occurred to me that perhaps I was going to do what I’ve done in the past: Waste an hour or so of my time answering questions and getting nothing but a “thanks for your time,” for it.
When I was still employed, the nitwit who became the head of our creative team, and who I’d known for years from other agencies, approached me one day to tell me that she was writing a script. She then asked if I’d give it a read and share my “thoughts.”
Well, my thoughts were that it sucked, and it did, people. But, of course, I couldn’t tell her if I expected to ever get another salary increase. Instead, we went to lunch and I plied her with a shit ton of feedback for her shitty script. And, I provided in-depth notes for that turd. In return, I got f##ked over on Valentine’s Day, 2018 when she laid off me and several of my teammates on a day that we were working remotely. Yes. We got involuntarily separated from our livelihoods over the phone.
Through the years, I’ve helped many would-be writers and screenwriters, out of the goodness of my crusty heart. And here I am. Still struggling. Still writing for cents on the dollar.
Uh-uh. No more. As in no more free coaching.
Now, I’m not saying this young woman from Medium was trying to play me, but unfortunately, that’s how you have to think these days because we’re surrounded by scammers. Disgusting, scum-sucking, bottom-feeders who will do anything, but work for a living. Again, please understand that I’m not talking about this gal as she seems very nice. It’s me, okay? I’m tired of giving my all and getting little in return.
She quickly answered my question by telling me that she hoped that I could “teach her a thing or two,” and provided her calendar so I could set up a time to do just that.
It didn’t take me long to conclude that the “Twelfth of Never” would be the best time for me. No more freebies, for anyone.
I told the wannabe screenwriter that she should read scripts. As many as she could, and beyond that, I’m available for coaching. At a fee.
I didn’t hear back.
heart broken
explodes fragments scattered strewn
the jigsaw picture pieces
shattered lost
no replacements in sight.
The Pleiades’ primary reason for communicating with Billy and supplying the physical evidence was for the purpose of creating an awareness that other intelligent life exists in the universe, both good and bad by our standards, human and nonhuman in form.
~ Shirley MacLaine, award-winning actress
Pleiadian Cosmonaut Semjase told farmer Billy, “We feel duty bound to the citizens of Earth because our forefathers were your forefathers.”
In a UFO case steeped in controversy that began forty-five years ago in Switzerland, before home computers, digital photography, and easily accessible photo enhancement programs, contactee Eduard (Billy) Meier1, described as a humble one-armed Swiss farmer with a 5th-grade education, maintained contact with alien beings and their starships from the star cluster Pleiades.2
During the Dreaming Healing Video Podcast, guest Britt Elders, CEO of ShirleyMacLaine.com, a documentary filmmaker, and an investigative author of UFO…The contact from the Pleiades Volumes I & II shared information on her investigation. It became quite clear that we Earthlings share more in common with the Pleiades than just our physical appearance.
According to Brit Elder’s documented investigative interviews, Billy photographed the spaceships and regularly conversed with Pleades’ cosmonauts. A female cosmonaut named Semjase (pronounced Sem-YA’see) shared profound wisdom that still aligns with our modern-day concepts of the Law of Attraction, Love Never Dies, and the Gestalt Theory of Completeness—Think it-Create it.
This story began with Brit Elders’ “7 Dream.”
Brit’s dream was seven snippets of dreams seven nights a week (7 days) before her journey to Switzerland to investigate the UFO sightings. Seven is an Angelic number, as in Angels on High. The number 7 in dreams may also let you know you are on the right path in life— 777.
But do the Pleiades come in conquest or in peace?
According to recorded conversations between the cosmonauts and the farmer, they are not interested in interfering with Earth. They are simply observing our progress, as they have done since the beginning of our species. If this seems a bit far-fetched, consider how we observe and photograph the animal population’s progress on Earth.
Are we so different?
How long have they visited Earth? And what do they see for us Earthlings in the near future? Host Kat Kanavos asked these questions to Bret Elders, who had asked them to farmer Billy. The answers will astound you.
According to Semjase and my paraphrase, we must learn to play better in our Small Earthly Sandbox and not hit each other over the head with our toys before we are invited to play with “others” in the Big Universal Sandbox. We’re still growing, but according to Semjase, there is still hope for growth for the naughty children of planet Earth.
Many of us may have heard of Project Blue Book or watched the series on Television. Do you remember the ’70s UFO abduction case of Betty & Barney Hill in New Hampshire? Or the documented story Silver Space Ship Aliens Save My Life in Dreams That Can Save Your Life: Early Warning Dreams of Cancer and Other Diseases by survivor Dana Anderson and the drug Interferon that saved her (then still in trial phase for AIDS) handed to her by Aliens in a Silver Space Ship? There are many abduction stories.
But, there have been few places that report constant sightings.
That changes with this V-article. The Dreaming Healing show link is available for your viewing pleasure at the end of this article.
Can other beings from other planets, galaxies, and Universes “out there” visit here? Many humans, including scientists, air traffic controllers, everyday people, and Pleiades cosmonaut Semjase, say “Yes!”
So, where is the UFO proof? It’s printed in Brit Elders’ book!
The evidence— breathtaking images— analyzed in laboratories worldwide— could not be easily dismissed and supported the contactee’s claims, Billy Meier. The extensive investigation spanned seven years, and the UFO information is as relevant today as it was then, as seen by the government’s recent release of UAP (Unidentified Aerial Phenomena &/or Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena) material.
Matter is the embodiment of an idea.”~ Semjase, Pleiadian cosmonaut
The above Pleiades’ quote sounds like modern psychology’s Gestalt Theory- the mental process of configuring entire patterns that can be duplicated and organized as a whole on the physical plane. Earth’s 5th Dimension (5D) visioning brought into the physical 3rd Dimension (3D)- a form of Gestaltism- think it in the whole and create it piece by piece in the physical realm back into the imagined whole.
Here are more profound words of ancient wisdom from Pleiades’ cosmonauts Semjase and Ptaah, quoted in the book, which still rings true today on Earth and may help explain our theories. Where might we have gotten these words of wisdom?
- Answering the timeless Earth questions: Who am I? Where am I from, why am I here, and what is my purpose? “We, too, are still far removed from perfection and have to evolve constantly, just like yourselves. We are neither superior nor superhuman, nor are we missionaries…We feel duty-bound to the citizens of Earth because our forefathers were your forefathers. ~ Semjase, Pleiadian cosmonaut, February 8, 1975 (Volume I, pg. xvv)
- Earth’s Law of Attraction- “When a being is happy, luck appears everywhere in his life because luck is a self-creating state and comes from within the individual. It is a quality of the inner being and an inseparable spark of the spirit, which contains infinite force in its existence. ~Semjase, Pleiadian cosmonaut, 1977 (Volume I, pg.16)
- Love Never Dies- “Love is the instrument with which one may spread the eternal force that can never be extinguished, which overcomes death and spreads light, which embodies the poise of wisdom, peace, and all that exceeds understanding.” ~Semjase, Pleiadian cosmonaut, 1977 (Volume II, pg.116)
- The Big NOW we strive for in Meditation and Zen, and accomplish in Precognitive Dreams that show us the future. “To us, time is nothing but the immediate.”~ Ptaah, Pleiadian cosmonaut, 1977 (Volume II, pg.115)
If the Earth could talk, what a tale it could tell.
~ Anonymous
For the first time—forty-five years after their original publication—the two photo-journal volumes of UFO…Contact from the Pleiades is combined into one book for a modern audience.
Actress Shirley MacLaine writes the new foreword. Mexican UFOlogist Jamie Maussan writes a prologue, and a new introduction and preface are written by Brit Elders.
So, in conclusion, when it comes to other-world visits, if we have been waiting for “true proof” of Alien Contact, we may have it now. But what if…contact has always been happening? What if… yester-years Little Green Men are our beautiful ancestors, family members, or just neighbors saying “HI!” in the sky? When we look up into the night, are “they” looking down at us? Do we dare wave? Are we, as a species, ready to shake hands and break bread with “them,” these alien aspects of ourselves, and accept them as Distant Cousins?
When we can finally embrace “different” as neighbor rather than judge it as alien, perhaps we will be invited to gather up our toys and play with “them.”
Check out the pictures and photos in UFO…Contact from the Pleiades Vol 1&2 in the video podcast below and decide if we’re ready to play. And, according to farmer Billy, Pleiades’ beings are not little green men or women. They are beautiful… just like us!
About the guest: Brit Elders is an investigative author and documentary filmmaker who has traveled the world exploring various topics, including the mysterious world of UFOs. She has participated in several in-depth investigations, including the Billy Meier case and the waves of UFO sightings in Mexico, which began in 1991 and continue today. Brit, the CEO of ShirleyMacLaine.com, continues to research and write for herself and others. https://britelders.com https://www.facebook.com/BritEldersAuthor
Please enjoy your Dreaming Healing show below:
References:
- Billy Meier | Cosmic Paradigm. https://www.cosmicparadigm.com/ets-nonphysicals/billy-meier/
- ..Contact from the Pleiades (45th Anniversary Edition) Volumes I & – Beyond Words Publishing. https://beyondword.com/products/ufo-contact-from-the-pleiades-45th-anniversary-edition-volumes-i-ii
sunset requires notice
whether on fire, windswept, clouds that darken early,
sunset requires payment
evening rituals, meals, entertainment,
the goddess of night demands her due
in order to keep moving on
many solitary hours left till dawn
sunrise requires notice
whether anticipation, dread, breathless un-named fear,
sunrise requires payment
daily rituals, work, remorseful thoughts,
the exchange of anxieties demand its due
in order to keep moving on
I have been ‘retired’ for about seven years now. But by no means have I stopped writing. No. Writing is a blessing and a curse and it’s something, I am finding out, that doesn’t get time off once you have committed to it.
For the better part of my life, I was an advertising writer. This was back in the day when advertising was a truly creative process and not the endless show-and-tell crap it is these days. I spent twenty years working in ad agencies and that equipped me for another 25 or so on my own, where I also became and strategist, producer and art director.
The bottom line is that it was lucrative enough to finance a worry-free retirement.
So the question became ‘Now that you can do pretty much anything you want (within reason), what do you want to do?’
That question is a lot harder to answer than it would appear. But for me, it was fairly simple. My wife, Heather, had gone back to work in the school system after the kids were grown, after spending a more than decade in the music business. What she wanted, more than anything, having been born and raised in Toronto, was to get the hell out of there.
So that was the first thing. Fortunately, when we decided to do that it was at the pinnacle of the housing insanity in Toronto and other cities in the country. We ended up getting an obscene amount of money for our house, and we found another house in a small city on the other side of the lake, (Ontario) called St Catharines where the real estate insanity hadn’t hit. So we were able to buy our new house outright and still have a ton left over for our investment people to play with.
The Reality Of No Longer Working
When we got here, I have to admit that it took about a year and a half before I got it through my rather thick skull that I did not need to work. I think a lot of people, especially the self-employed, have a good deal of trouble understanding when they have actually crossed the finish line work-wise. Maybe it’s because they loved their work, which was the case with me. Or maybe it’s because they are terrified by the question of ‘what will I do now?”
In my case, even after we had relocated, I will still in the worker bee headspace, Then I met someone who was thinking pretty seriously about starting a boutique agency here in St Catharines, so, of course, I jumped in.
But, and that was very revealing, because while my head was all for it, my heart was not. And in my business, at least, if you don’t have both things firing on all cylinders you can run into trouble.
The Much Needed Intervention
One day my wife and my sister ganged up on me. Sat me down and told me to just stop working. And gave me a few good reasons why. Sometimes it takes an intervention. But it worked, and slowly but surely I started to feel like I didn’t need to work.
For the next couple of months, I rode my bike around and thought a lot about how I would fill my time. I used to be a big TV watcher. In fact, for many years I wrote an email column called The Couch Potato Chronicles and sent out all kinds of reviews to a mailing list of about 1200 people. So when Netflix and Prime and Apple TV etc. came along and sucked up all the good talent off the network, I decided to revive that column. So that was one thing.
The next thing that happened was that I got ill and had to have spinal surgery, for an ecoli infection, so recuperating from all of that became Job #1 for the better part of a year and a half. But I eventually got back on my feet. I bought myself a three-wheeled bike because my ability to balance was something that the surgery took away. Slowly but surely I got back into most of whatever groove I was in before all that happened.
The Retirement Solution
Then one day, for no reason that made any real sense at the time. I started to write a story. I didn’t plan it out consciously. In fact, the only motive I had was to see if the surgery had affected my mind. Much to my delight it had not.
So I spent the better part of two months working on this story and as I continued to write, it grew, almost organically into a small novel. I have never written anything quite like this before. It was a completely fabricated story about a girl who wanted to be a writer and slowly but surely became one. I suppose I identified with the character I was creating. There’s a little bit of ourselves in everything we write.
When I finished that, I realized that I enjoyed the writing of it immensely so, almost immediately, I started another story. And I realized that, for the first time since I was a teenager, I was writing stuff for myself. Not for money. Not for other people. Not for big corporations or small independent businesses. Not for government ministries. Not for some film producers. But just for me.
It felt like I was building a road. Every day I would lay a few feet of pavement, then go for a swim, or watch a movie or walk or ride. After a while, writing the stories became an ingrained part of my daily routine. I never thought of it as work. All it was what what I was now doing.
After a year and a half or so. I had written one novel. And close to thirty stories, several of which were adapted and updated from screenplays I had written while I was freelancing and messing around in the movie business. Biz Catalyst was kind enough to publish a couple of these stories recently.
What was interesting was that having the writing to do allowed me to organize and not overdo the walking and exercises I needed to do to get back on my feet. So today, except for some minor balance and stamina issues, I’m pretty much back to normal, no longer an advertising guy, but still very much a writer guy.
I have a huge inventory of stories, several of which I am adapting to screenplays, which I will then start sending out to production companies in Toronto since most of them are set there.
But the best part of all is that I can help my wife do a lot of the outside stuff that needs to be done, which, in turn, keeps me on my feet, which in turn helps improve my stamina and balance. Because now we have a house we have grown to love in a city we love, the last thing we want to do is give it up and move into one of those little boxes where they stick old people.
Retirement Isn’t The End Of Anything
I guess the moral of this story is that retirement is not something that needs to be feared. I know I feared it when it became obvious that I could retire. The key to a good retirement is having something to do that gives you joy and pleasure. Because the last thing you want to feel is that your retirement is the beginning of the end of your life. Oh yeah, I also wrote a bunch of new poems and am in the process of making a little book out of them. This is one of my favorites.
WHATEVER & WHAT FOR
At the end of the day
My thoughts drift away
Through a sky so blue
Through the clouds so grey
And they travel forever
With no rhyme or reason
To a far distant place
To a fine summer season
And as I watch them fly
So free and so light
As the end of the day
Just turns into night
Then my thoughts, they return
To people my dreams
They are the strong stitches
That sew my loose seams
And I wake the next morning
With ideas galore
And a whole day to make them
Whatever and what for
Author’s Note: This post isn’t intended to be how-to. Rather, it’s intended to be a why-not. The stunts we can pull — and the trouble we can get into — are limited only by our imaginations. And if you’d known Grandpa O’Brien, none of what you’re about to read would surprise you.
To the south of us, between our home and the next one down the street, there are two empty building lots. Across the field behind our home, running east, and on the hill that rises up from the field, there’s a street that runs parallel to ours. Two new houses have been built on that street. The sewer lines from those houses are going to run west, through the building lots to our south, and connect to the main sewer line on our street.
When the excavators came to start digging the trench for the west-running sewer line, they encountered the shale that comprises so much of the ground where we live. (We encountered that when the foundation was dug for our sunroom 18 months ago and when we make any attempts to plant anything in the yard.) As a result, I imagine there was a conversation that might have gone something like this one between all the contractors involved. (Fast forward to 10:25 for the conversation.) And, so, the decision was made to blast.
For days afterward, there was a bulldozer out on the empty lot, dozing away the earth to expose the shale. The bulldozer was followed by an enormous rig that drilled holes in the shale, west to east, in which the explosive charges were to be placed. During the morning of the day the charges were to be detonated, someone called Anne to say they’d be blasting that afternoon, and she’d get another call 15 minutes before they were to be detonated. When she let me know she’d received that call, I went outside and walked up to a member of the explosives crew.
“Hi,” I said. “Can I help?”
“Help?”
“You know. Help. Lend a hand, be of assistance, hold up my end, pitch in.”
“What the hell are you doing here?!” he asked incredulously. “We’re about to set off a series of explosive charges!”
“Yeah. I know,” I said. “I already have my earplugs in. But don’t you need somebody to yell, ‘Fire in the hole!?’ I want to do that.”
What?!” he asked again.
“Dude,” I said. “Don’t you watch TV? There’s always a guy on TV who yells, ‘Fire in the hole!’ when somebody’s about to blast. I just want to be that guy.”
I have to give that guy from the explosives crew credit. There was no swearing at me. No threats were made. No guns were brandished. Then again, I’m an astute enough reader of death stares that I opted to scram of my own volition.
Put the Shove in Shovel
After the blasting concluded, the excavation resumed. A backhoe showed up on the lot. As the backhoe dug and dumped mounds of earth aside the trench, the bulldozer that had remained onsite pushed it out of the way to make room for more earth as it was dug.
I went into our garage, took my trusty Contractors Choice shovel from its hook on the wall, slung it jauntily over my shoulder, and marched across the lot like the good soldier I am to where the backhoe and bulldozer operators were working. When they saw me walking toward them, they turned off their machines.
“Do you guys need any help?” I asked with deadly earnestness.
“Who the hell are you?” one of them asked me.
“I’m the guy next door,” I said. “My wife and I bought that house …”
“Are you nuts?” the other one asked me.
“Well, I haven’t been certified … yet,” I said. “Neither has it been officially ruled out.”
They shook their heads and turned their machines back on.
Before I went to talk to them, I’d worked out the fact that I could move about a half a cubic foot to one-and-a-half cubic feet of dirt per shovelful versus the 27 to 54 cubic feet per shovelful the backhoe could move. And I was fully prepared to tell them I didn’t presume to compete with heavy earth-moving equipment. I just wanted to do my part. But they didn’t seem as if they’d be receptive to the idea or that information just then. Besides, they wouldn’t have heard me over the noise from their machines. So, I took my shovel and went home with a hangdog expression on my face, doing my level best to look somewhere between crestfallen and despondent. Anne, to her credit, didn’t even hint at divorce.
The Morals of the Story
Unlike most stories, which typically have one moral, this one has two: First, to master the fine art of idiocy, it’s generally best to administer some sort of test to determine if people have senses of humor before you pull any weird shit on them. Second, not all shovels — or the people who operate them — are created equal. But I think that one may be self-evident.
And for safety’s sake, regardless of what Moe said to Curly, remember dynamite does not always blow down.
Fire in the hole!
Some days, you need to remind yourself about what’s truly important in life. So sit back with a cup of your favorite beverage and give yourself a few minutes to savor this sweet video, which gives you a prescription for happiness in two minutes, starting with “show up.”
In the sunset of life it isn’t fun to suddenly realize, that you never had the life you wanted. That things never went the way you thought they should, and even if you generally think that your life has been mostly fine — the day will come when you realize, the “somedays” you dreamed about aren’t coming.
It can happen when you are watching an old show on TV, that show you watched in your formative years, the one that made you laugh, the one you all talked about the next day, the one that seemed to describe your forward path — but it never did. And that is because life is not a sitcom. There is no team of writers plotting all the twists and turns. No one to type up the happy ending.
They say that you are responsible for writing your own story. But no one tells you that you may carry one story in your head, while you live out another. And even if that life is full of love and laughter, the day will come where a snippet of music, a mention of a movie or the title of a book will open up a dark hole under your feet. And if you aren’t careful, you will fall into this hole, tumbling over and over like Alice, watching all the souvenirs of your life cascading around you, and as hard as you try to catch them, you can’t.
Tokens of you childhood streak by like shooting stars, the puffs of smoke that were your dreams, from the days when all seemed possible. And as you plummet you are joined by fleeting ghostly shadows of lovers and friends who swirled in and out of your life. They whisper as they pass by, but you cannot catch what they say, you’ve forgotten the sound of their voices. From deep inside you, memories flicker, what were those plans we had? The promises made to each other, the song you promised to sing at her funeral, but by then you had lost touch.
Soon you are wrapped in swirling clouds of motherhood — diapers and first teeth and the leftover equipment of their childhood activities, photos and toys and high school rings: the music of a thousand performances. Then comes the rising of a deepening ache as one by one they leave home, and the feeling of loss, of “never again” threatens to drown you. There are points of light that fill you full of warmth, and again your head fills up with dreams, this time you will get things right. The circle will re-form itself with everyone reachable, touchable, lovable and the next generation running in and out, calling for you.
However, the hole continues to widen and as hard as your try to hold their hands, to encircle them with your arms, they drift away, smiling as they go, their own dreams covering them like fog.
And you wake up one day to realize, you are living in a house that no one will visit, in a place where no one will return, and the vision of your sunset years reveals itself to be just more smoke.
You wonder what was the turning point, where was that bend in the road that took you in the wrong direction.
No amount of turning around will get you back to that place, you have no choice but to continue falling, holding on to the new life where there is still love and laughter, no longer trying to catch the things that are falling away, trying as best as you can to quiet the heartache, accepting that you have reached to part of the journey where losses mount.
With an understanding nod (after so many years denying it) to Judith Viorst’s “Necessary Losses.”
Think of the ripple effect that can be created when we nourish someone. One kind empathetic word has a wonderful way of turning into many.
~ Fred Rogers (a.k.a. Mr. Rogers)
When was the last time you considered the impact your words and actions make on others? We seldom take time to sit with this question. If more of us did perhaps the world would be a healthier, happier place for us all. Most of us are aware of the “ripple effect” and how one human being can affect others downstream for generations to follow. Are you ready for a “flash back”? Knowing we all live downstream from those who have come before us I would like to share one such person with you who affected my life profoundly. Depending on your current age, you may or may not remember Mr. Rogers; a television personality whose program was solely dedicated to children, spanning three decades. What put Mr. Rogers in a class all by himself was that he was not on the air just to entertain children but to assist them in becoming better human beings.
One of the greatest dignities of humankind is that each successive generation is invested in the welfare of each new generation.
~ Fred Rogers
A movie starring Tom Hanks was released in 2019, Won’t You Be My Neighbor?, documenting the impact (or ripple effect) of Mr. Rogers. Recently, as I watched the movie on Netflix, I had an instant flashback to how Mr. Rogers affected my life and my daughter’s as well. I thought back to 1986 and remembered how Merritt and I would begin each morning together by watching Mister Roger’s Neighborhood on television. We continued this practice until she was about seven years old. We also watched Sesame Street, which was great for learning unfamiliar words and simple math skills, but what Fred Rogers could convey to children went far beyond proper grammar and addition. He taught his TV family of children (and a few of us older kids) how to experience our emotions and feelings. He ignited a spark of joy in children’s hearts, empowering them to experience happiness and teaching them the art of expressing emotions affirmatively.
It’s Always About Love
Love is at the root of everything; love, or the lack of it.
~ Fred Rogers
What hooked my attention most was his willingness to live and teach from his own sense of connectedness to life and others; by example, he showed us the true meaning of friendship, generosity, kindness, respect, compassion and, most importantly, unconditional love. His message consistently centered on love. By his example, he reminded us love is the genuine root of everything good, everything that connects us and makes us better human beings. That was a lesson I have never forgotten. What better legacy could he leave to future generations?
Fred Rogers passed in 2003. Wherever it may be, the neighborhood in which he now lives is a better place because of his presence there. I know that my grown daughter, who is now 39 years old and has two children of her own, carries a piece of Mister Rogers within her heart and soul. I have confidence that as a wholistic physician specializing in womens reproductive health, those whom she will serve for many years to come will reap the benefits from the time she spent hanging out in a particular neighborhood so many years ago. That is the power of the ripple effect, the difference one person can make. Here’s to Mister Rogers. Because, as I have learned, healthy and happy kids grow into healthy, happy, and compassionate adults, and that’s what our world can always use more of—especially now.
Featured Image courses of Terry Arthur (given in “eBay (v1)”), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
The azaleas are getting buds of red, white and some seem almost pink. Working in the garden, digging in the soil, raking out the leaves and weeding the intrusion weeds.
The garden gives me a sense of doing something that has healing properties.
I watched the birds as they scratch the new soil finding worms and insects. Time seems to slow down when I am in the garden.
Perhaps the calming work done in the garden does relax us with feelings of contentment and wellbeing.
The midday sun chases me from the garden where I sit in the shade of an ancient oak tree drinking sweet tea and reflecting on the morning s work.
Soon spring will gift me with flowers of all colors and reward my digging in the soil with breathtaking beauty.
I recently saw a Facebook post where the meme said “When I am driving in a rain storm, I carefully watch other people’s wiper speed to make sure I am not being too dramatic.” At first, I chuckled at the sentiment. We all have probably had the experience of having the speed of our wipers being either too slow or too fast. It can be hard to get it just right!
As I thought about the post, I found myself wondering how often we look to others for what we should or should not be doing. I believe that two potentially dangerous things happen when we compare ourselves to others. When we focus on other people’s wiper speed, we risk judging ourselves and judging others.
Judging OurselvesComparing ourselves to others is a dangerous thing to do. It is a flawed process that rarely leaves us in a good position. When we measure ourselves up against someone else, we most often compare our liabilities to their assets. Think about this for a minute!
When we look to others to measure how well we are doing, we are looking at their outsides. This is all we can see.
So, we look at their appearance, their clothes, their muscles, their speech, their behavior and more. We also may look at their possessions and all the things they have accumulated.
Then, we take that information and compare ourselves and what we have and are to that outward measure. However, we cannot help but add what we know about our “insides” to the equation. So, we compare only what we outwardly observe in others to what we are inward and outward. This is not a fair comparison.
I remember counseling with a friend as she told me about how inadequate and frustrated and overwhelmed she was. As part of her story, she began to tell me about another friend of ours who she wanted to be more like. She told me how much she admired her because she was so this and so that. She was saying her wiper blades were not moving at the right speed and this other woman had it figured all out.
Imagine my experience just a week later being in the home of that other woman. Her house was a mess, her hair was frazzled, and she vented about how hard her life was and how she was struggling to keep it together. Then, she did the most interesting thing. She brought up the first woman. What did she do? She admired and praised her while she delivered lashing to herself. She believed her wipers were moving at the wrong speed and the first woman had it all right.
What an ironic and instructive experience for me. I learned dramatically how painful we can make it for ourselves when we compare ourselves to others. It is rarely ever fair or rational to us or them. It hardly ever results in a positive feeling or self-improvement. Comparing our wiper speed to others rarely results in good and reliable data or feelings.
Judging OthersWatching what others do can also be quite problematic because it may lead to criticism, contempt, and even harsh treatment. What happens to us when we get so focused on what other people are doing? We can too easily lose perspective and become condemning and inappropriately judgmental. We are rarely good judges of what is going on. In fact, we may even be dramatic.
Watching what others do creates problems because we have to watch them through our windshield. We are limited by the lenses we look through. Our vision is likely clouded by our own storms and rain drops and bug guts! So, when we look out at others, we are highly likely to see ourselves as better than them. This is dangerous.
When we judge others we naturally become myopic or near-sighted. Let’s face it! It is quite easy to point out the bugs on someone else’s windshield and self-righteously condemn them for their lack of attention or knowledge or whatever. We tend to take out a magnifying glass when we look at others, not recognizing how we may not accurately see the whole. When we zero in on the behavior of others, we may see the proverbial tree and miss the forest.
The truth is, we simply do not know what other people are thinking, what they are going through, and what they may need. Often we do not know anything about their challenges, upbringing, and more. Simply, we do not know what storms they are driving through. So, we better judge carefully. Or better yet, we could resist the temptation to judge at all.
This is my New Year’s Resolution. I am going to get so focused on driving my own car that I don’t pay attention to what is going on in the car next to me. I am going to set my wiper speed at the best one I can find for me and let others do the same. There is great happiness in choosing to focus on what I know, need, and can do and let others do the same. I don’t need to look to anyone else for how I should be. Even more, I never need to judge someone else.
This may be a good measure of our happiness. Can you drive through that rainstorm without once looking to someone else’s wiper speed? When you are more concerned about your speed and the road you are on, then, you are really getting somewhere!
So, I might re-word that post to say something like “I am too busy focusing on getting through my own storms and challenges and blessings to be worried about the speed by which you are getting through yours.”
Right now the world seems somewhat bleak, we are fearful and angry, living in unprecedented times and life is desperate and unfair for many, all of which means that it is difficult to remain hopeful and to have faith that our actions, our words, our thoughts can make a difference.
But we must remember that they can.
The reality is, that since the beginning of modern history, most of our challenges have been unprecedented, humanity has suffered enormously, life is unfair and random and often cruel, but yet the human race is still here, we have evolved beyond all imagination and the lives of many have improved immeasurably.
So, during these difficult times, I thought it would be good to remind ourselves of what us mere mortals are actually capable of by looking to the past for inspiration.
It was 1993, Andrew Sullivan, a journalist was diagnosed with AIDs. It was a truly terrible time – there was no cure, the deaths were desperate and lonely and prejudice was rampant.
So, Andrew took himself off to die. But he decided that it was important for him to leave some kind of legacy, a note that he had been here and his parting birdsong, was to write a book and that book was called ‘Virtually Normal’. And that book suggested a totally unthinkable thing at that time, that gay people should be able to get married. Andrew was acutely aware of the shame and subsequent self-hatred that so many gay people were unfairly and inhumanely forced to live with and could see no other way, in which gay people could be freed.
When the book came out, it was harshly criticised, by both right wing parties and the gay community. Andrew thought his work had all been for nothing and he would die not having made a difference.
It is now 27 years since that book was published, Andrew is alive, his book sparked a movement and was quoted in a key supreme court ruling in the US, declaring marriage equality for gay people. Andrew also received a letter from the president of the USA, telling him that the fight for gay marriage, succeeded in part because of him. He was invited to the Whitehouse for dinner and that President was black.
Enormous changes happen because seemingly ordinary people think the unthinkable and then have the courage, faith and passion to do something about it.
So, today and every day, please think the unthinkable and keep the faith that your actions, your thoughts and your words will make a difference to someone, somewhere.
P.S. I read this story in Johan Hari’s book ‘Lost Connections’ one of the few books I would say was definitely life changing for me as is his new book ‘Stolen Focus’.
With love
Nik x
Sitting,
listening,
a word bubbles,
pops–
“beloved.”
Many have washed over me
as I listened to the guide;
all have floated away now
but this.
Night rain has spent its
hoarded coin to the last minim,
fog parts, burns into blue,
earth exhales the excess of mist,
flowers unfurl their faces to the sun,
roots strike deeper into soil,
mountain ash get gloriously drunk,
braid daylight with emeralds.*
Summer’s gifts unfold, all of us
gathering on the shore of morning
to harvest and heap them on the day’s doorstep–
rainbows culled from the hummingbird’s wings,
raspberry rubies my darling plumped on our breakfast,
chortles and trills spilling from the mockingbird
who’s been in training for the past week,
Liberation Day and the school bands’ lively outbursts,
blue saturating the sky like ink on cotton–
so many jewels sparkling in the sand.
Floods have begun, scouring me of darkness,
filling me with liquid light while
“Beloved”
drums in my ears as if spoken,
ignites my soles to leap, soar and prance,
presses my throat to explode into song,
nothing to be left of me but shreds of
prismatic silk adrift on the velvet breeze.
Living in a dream where time weaves its tale,
A garden of wisdom, whispered, unveiled.
No need to chase those butterflies, so bright,
Let your essence shine, a radiant light.
Butterflies flutter, wild and free,
Yet in your haven, they choose to be.
The fragrance of growth, colors of care,
Draw them in, on the soft summer air.
Chasing shadows, a quest that won’t tire,
In self-cultivation, find your heart’s desire.
Reflect in the mirror, embrace what’s true,
For what you are, is what you will pursue.
A symphony of whispers, the universe sings,
Your authenticity, a melody that brings
The dreams you envision, the love you seek,
Not in chasing but in the soul’s mystique.
Let your heart be a compass, spirit a guide,
In the tranquil orchard, where dreams coincide.
In the stillness of self-love’s refrain,
All you long for, gently, will reign.
Don’t chase the echoes, the transient flight,
Build a haven of wonder, bathe in its light.
Butterflies, captivated, linger and stay,
In the garden of your being, where dreams find their way.
In the dance of desires, let patience unfold,
Life’s tapestry is woven, a story told.
Each bloom you nurture, a promise grown,
A haven of presence, your seeds are sown.
In the twilight of dreams, where time weaves its tale,
A garden of wisdom, whispered, unveiled.
No longer chase those elusive butterflies so bright,
Let your essence blaze, a radiant light.
In the dance of desires, let patience unfold,
Life’s tapestry woven, a story untold.
Each bloom you nurture, a promise grown,
A sanctuary of presence, your seeds are bravely sown.
Butterflies flutter, wild and free,
Yet, in your haven, they choose to be.
The fragrance of growth, colors of care,
Draw them in on the soft summer air.
Cease chasing shadows, a quest that won’t tire,
In self-cultivation, fuel your heart’s fire.
Reflect in the mirror, embrace what’s true,
For what you are is what you will pursue.
A symphony of whispers, the universe sings,
Your authenticity, a melody that stings
The dreams you envision, the love you seek,
Not in chasing but in the soul’s mystique.
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Let your heart be a compass, spirit a guide,
In the tranquil orchard, where dreams coincide.
In the stillness of self-love’s refrain,
All you long for, forcefully, will reign.
Don’t chase the echoes, the transient flight,
Build a fortress of wonder, bathe in its light.
Butterflies, captivated, linger and stay,
In the fortress of your being, where dreams find their way.
– Kim
Author’s Note: I was once asked by a devotee of Simon Sinek if could state my why in five words. Because I’m a writer, I cheated; that is, I hyphenated. My response was, “I write to restore self-faith.” When I said that, I didn’t mean my self-faith. I meant I write to restore the self-faith of all those who’ve abandoned theirs, surrendered theirs, or had theirs stolen.
I seem to be developing a morbid case of FOMO (fear of missing out). It stems from my increasingly empirical sense that I may be one of the very few people on the planet who’s not on a spiritual journey.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I understand a spiritual journey is a deeply personal and often transformative experience. I understand it means to explore, to understand, and to connect with our inner selves, our higher powers, and to attain a sense of transcendence. I understand it involves questioning the meaning and purpose of life (or at least our own lives), examining the nature of existence, and trying to comprehend our relationships with the universe or with the divine.
But I have questions: To what, to whom, or by whom do we need to be transformed? Why do we believe it requires exploration, understanding, and connection with inner selves and higher powers to be transcendent? What are we trying to transcend? Why do we imagine we’re not already transcendent? What if we connect with our inner selves and discover we are the higher power?
I’m in no position whatsoever to knock or to take lightly the practices of religion, philosophy, meditation, prayer, contemplation, self-reflection, pilgrimages, rituals, or ceremonies. But I can’t help wondering why we abandon self-faith, only to seek peace, harmony, fulfillment, and happiness outside ourselves.
And I have no intentions of being — or being perceived as being — blasphemous. But in the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, I worked in an appliance-distribution warehouse. It was the last job I had before I went to college. One day, one of my coworkers, Andy, told me Jesus paid his bills. I astutely deduced from the way Andy pronounced the name he wasn’t talking about my Puerto Rican buddy who ran the bodega down the street. I asked Andy if Jesus paid his bills by cash or check. He didn’t answer me. I suspect he’s no closer to finding himself now than he was then, and I can only hope he still knows the whereabouts of his wallet and his checkbook.
What Price Adherence?
I also wonder why we might be tempted to abandon curiosity. Unless we accept the notion that a spiritual journey is a lifelong undertaking, what is it we’re journeying toward? If we get there — if we find what we were looking for when we get there — what’s the source of our certainty that our destination and what we found there is it? And if we adopt that it as the culmination and fulfillment of our journey and live our lives in adherence to it to the point at which we’d defend it, don’t we run the risk of being dogmatic?
The fine line between faith and dogma is illustrated by their definitions:
faith: noun 1. confidence or trust in a person or thing
2. belief that is not based on proof
3. a system of religious belief
dogma: noun 1. an official system of principles or tenets concerning faith, morals, behavior, etc.
2. a specific tenet or doctrine authoritatively laid down
3. prescribed doctrine proclaimed as unquestionably true by a particular group
It seems to fair to say not all faith is dogmatic. But all dogma is based on faith in something.
Genius, Indeed
Maybe, instead of saying we’re on spiritual journeys, we should say we’re on journeys to find our genius. The Oxford English Dictionary contains this definition of the word:
genius: noun attendant spirit present from one’s birth
If we say we’re on journeys to find our genius, we’ll be acknowledging that attendant spirit within us. We’ll be recognizing we’re on journeys to find it, to appreciate the uniqueness of it, to nurture it to its fullest potential. Then we’ll be better able to read these words from Ralph Waldo Emerson literally and take them directly to heart:
To believe your own thought, to think that what is true for you in your private heart is true for all men — that is genius. Speak your latent conviction, and it shall be the universal sense … Great works of art have no more affecting lessons for us than this. They teach us to abide by our spontaneous impression with good-humored inflexibility, then most when the whole cry of voices is on the other side. Else, tomorrow a stranger will say with masterly good sense precisely what we have thought and felt all the time, and we shall be forced to take with shame our own opinion from another. (“Self-Reliance”)
And while the genius of each of us is, indeed, unique, the journeys we’re on are remarkably the same. In the words of Joseph Campbell from The Hero with a Thousand Faces:
Looking back at what had promised to be our own unique, unpredictable, and dangerous adventure, all we find in the end is such a series of standard metamorphoses as men and woman have undergone in every quarter of the world, in all recorded centuries, and under every odd disguise of civilization.
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.So, here’s to our genius journeys. The measure of our success will be the extent to which we find and express ourselves.
Being taught Latin at school in 1956 and sometimes wondering why. Essentially to learn the past-origins of English. Danish, Saxon and Norman French.
Learning Latin these days provides a vivid link naturally to Italian. French and Spanish are also derived from Latin.
Latin was not an easy language for a ten year old to learn.
Latin could be painful (not the language itself!) especially if a mistake was made; for example, a verb.
In those days a ruler would be smacked on the hands of the individual who made mistakes Not delivered in a sadistic way by a teacher, but painful all the same.
There used to be a phrase quoted by fellow pupils:
Latin is a language, as dead as dead can be. It used to kill the Romans and now killing me!
Why Latin? The Romans dominated much of England from AD 43 until AD 410. There are many similarities with English and Latin. Place a page of Latin and English side by side and the similarities are notable. Especially having be taught Latin at school.
Some examples of English Latin translations:
English: cold weather
Latin: frigus tempestas
English: walk
Latin: ambulare
English: writing
Latin: scripturam
A very humorous quote is located in Amsterdam’s Max Eeuwelein near the Leidseplein. On a classical looking façade, on a freeze supported by columns, is an inscription in Latin:
‘Homo sapiens non urinat in ventum’.
In enhanced English:
“A wise man doesn’t pee against the wind.”
Or to attempt something that can’t be achieved!
Latinesque is a lovely word!
William Shakespeare’s plays include Latin/Italian characters for example Julius Caesar.
My all time favorite is Romeo and Juliet and reading this tragedy brings a lump in my throat.
Has Latin visited you? If so, in what way?
An Owl can be heard in the distant forest, the only sound heard in this darkness.
I sit by the window choosing a book to read, perhaps Edgar Allan Poe, and surrender myself to the mood of the night.
Sleep doesn’t come easy tonight and I see shadows in the darkness and yet I do not fear the night. I know that dreams come to us after midnight and often I give in and write the stories they bring.
Morning is near, the spirits hide in the shadows and I can see the light coming across the fields and forest. I put down my pencil and ponder the words that I have written. I do know they are stories of the night!!!
You can have more than one home. You can carry your roots with you and decide where they grow.
~ Henning Mankell
I was born and raised in Houston Texas in turn calling it my home for 59 years.
As you can imagine I have lived in several spaces during that time: apartments, condos, several homes and one penthouse for good measure.
These include the house I was born in and 3 homes where I raised my children and everything in-between.
I recall each space that I inhabited as an adult being filled with a diverse mixture of fabrics, textures, colors, styles, and smells. There was something intoxicating about surrounding myself with the little things I loved the most.
Soft blankets, original artwork, elegant vases, colored rugs, music from all genres, lavender oil spray, scented candles, fresh herbs, and fresh flowers just to name a few.
These elements have never left me and live with me today.
Although each different space I considered my home, it was never the physical structure, it was the energy and the people with whom I shared these spaces.
All these memories were in my hometown where most neighborhoods, landmarks and eateries were in my sandbox of familiar and comfortable.
Some iconic places have been closed or torn down, but their footprint can never be removed.
The Shamrock Hotel (synchronized swimming team), The Astrodome (Elvis Presley), Astroworld (teenage summers), Foley’s Department Store Downtown (worked for 25 years).
And there are so many places that remained intact along with new venues that were a part of my hometown experience:
Ninfa’s on Navigation, Mrs. Baird’s Bakery, Herman Park, Houston Zoo, Alley Theatre, James Coney Island, The Coliseum, and Minute Maid Park.
It was a natural expansion of a booming city changing like a raging river leaving the best and creating more of the best.
I felt like I was in the heart of every evolution of change for my generation.
This was my city – from the inside out.
They say that nobody leaves TEXAS. I did.
We moved to Portugal 3 years ago and now I look in the rear-view mirror with great admiration and respect for the memories made in every home I shared with my family.
I breathe in what ‘was’ and breathe out what is ‘new’, giving space for new areas of my life to explore.
On our last visit back to the United States, it felt familiar and foreign all in the same breath. There was an eerie sense of holding on and letting go.
Did I leave home? Or am I creating home?
I would guess there is an odd sense of nostalgia when going back to the place you used to live, but chances are those places have changed just as you have.
Or maybe they are nothing like you remember.
Can you ever really go back HOME?
I am learning that HOME is not a place but a feeling.
HOME is where I feel safe, loved, and understood without judgement.
HOME is being with those I love deeply wherever we are.
HOME is where I feel emotionally connected with a true sense of belonging.
HOME is opening my eyes in the morning to a life of humility and gratitude.
HOME is the smell of fresh flowers, lavender on my pillowcases and a home cooked meal.
HOME is where you make it.
The idea of home is clearly a multifaceted concept that holds different meanings for different people. There is no right or wrong here.
Just curious – what does HOME mean to you?
One of my students was recently impressed by the answers of three young children who were asked “What is love to you?” and asked me about whether we could learn from these kids’ answers in our expressions of love as adults.
What did these kids say?* One of the kids answered, “Love is when you give someone most of your candies without forcing them to give you anything back.” In other words, giving what we like for the benefit of others is an expression of love. * The second child answered, “Love is what makes you smile at the other kids when you’re tired.” That is also an expression of love, the intent to raise others’ spirits despite our own feelings of resistance. * The third child answered, “Love is when you wear a shirt all day long that a friend told you was beautiful and that they liked to see.” That is another expression of love, i.e., wishing to please others by doing something for them that you know they like.
Indeed, as adults, we would be wise to learn from these simple expressions of love and implement them in society. However, we have grown up to become people who often demonstrate opposite traits of hatred, belligerence, divisiveness, and indifference, which breed much hardship and suffering in our lives.
The reason for this is the continual growth of our ego—the desire to enjoy for self-benefit at the expense of others—that wishes to devour everything for itself. However, the aforementioned expressions of love do not leave us entirely. They remain as inner potential and an opportunity for us to start developing selflessly, to tread on the overblown ego and realize these simple expressions of love similarly to the children’s explanations, the difference being that as adults, we do so out of awareness and overcoming.
Against the backdrop of myriad struggles and conflicts we find ourselves in today, many of which inflame hatred between us, let us hope that we hurry to find in us the simple innocence of exercising expressions of love to each other and that we seek to create new connections fueled by supporting, encouraging and caring for love to lift us all up above our divisions, i.e., to achieve what is written, that “love will cover all crimes.”
The fogwalker searches for clues in the moist darkness of early morning, the mist feels its way through empty alleys and vacant lots, cautious footsteps crackle from the gravel pathway lined with broken glass and dry leaves, evidence the Autumn Equinox has smothered the last breath of summer.
Gangways between decaying brick buildings echo from dogs sounding an alarm with menacing Baskerville howls and barks, a garden of flickering street lights blossom under the black canopy of darkness, like twilight flowers reaching for a lazy moon with the dim enthusiasm of jaundice fluorescence.
The Diogenestic odyssey by the twilight straggler is an exercise clothed in failure, honesty dressed in shabby clothes is disguised as a fictitious conviction, this quality that supposedly measures the value of character is a virtue that few possess and is rarely practiced, who does this best policy of honesty benefit, is it the one divulging the truth or the recipient of honesty, the best part of this said truth is the lies.
The fogwalker becomes witness to another exchange of darkness into daylight, a greedy sky collects all colors of dawn, Time takes a brief moment to rest from its perpetual responsibility and is allowed a short pause in between the next tic and toc. The morning’s stillness dances on a renegade wind, while long thin wispy Cirrus fingers scratch at the sky, as though angels were keying the paint on God’s celestial blue Buick.
Standing at the edge of twilight peering over the ledge into dawn,
The Gargoyle yawns.
Out of the blue, I got a handwritten letter from a skydiving buddy. It was weird because we had never exchanged letters. Inside the envelope was a short note that read: “Ed, you gotta try this, it’s for real! It’s an eye-opener!” There was also a brochure featuring a woman in a flowing dress, arms outstretched, walking across what looked like white pebbles. The brochure title screamed: “Transformation through Fire” and “Turn Your Fear and Limitations into Power and Success.” Turns out, she was firewalking! My first thought? My brother had gone off the deep end. What crazy drug did he find? We both had tons of skydives under our belts and even helped develop new techniques for the sport. We weren’t strangers to conquering fear. So, for him to say this firewalking thing was life-changing, well, that definitely piqued my curiosity. I stashed the letter away, but a week later, I found myself calling the woman on the brochure. We had a nice chat, and she told me the next firewalking session was happening in San Francisco in a week, with a limit of only 20 participants. I should book right away, she said.
The timing worked because my family would be away on a trip, so I booked it. Immediately after, major buyer’s remorse kicked in! “What did you just do?” was my first thought. I didn’t tell anyone about my firewalking commitment just in case I chickened out.
All week, I wavered but finally decided to at least attend the seminar and see it firsthand before making a final call.
The seminar started at sunset, around 6 PM. The leader and everyone else seemed super nice and supportive. Over the next 3 hours, we stacked firewood, lit it up, raked the ashes into a 4×10-foot rectangle, took breaks, and shared our reasons for being there. Most were first-timers, all wanting to conquer a huge challenge, prove their inner strength, and face even bigger obstacles. Two women had walked before, gotten burned, and were back to prove themselves. Then there was this one guy who set off alarm bells for me. He spoke in a barely audible whisper and said he “never seemed to do anything right.” He looked totally out of place. Having taught many people to skydive, jumping out of a plane solo with a static line parachute opening (before the current tandem method), I would’ve been worried about this guy’s ability to function safely during a jump.
As the firewalking began, everyone cheered and chanted encouragement. I was third in line. Stepping up to the fire pit, the wind shifted, blowing the heat right at me. It was HOT. For a fleeting moment, doubt flickered, but I took a step, focusing on pushing fear aside. Four steps later, my feet were splashing in the small pool of water at the end of the 10-foot pit. It happened so quickly, so smoothly. With each step, I could feel my feet firmly pushing me forward. I felt heat, but no pain.
Emerging from the water, the first thing I did was check my feet. Shockingly, there were no burn marks! I cheered and chanted along with everyone until there was a lull, and I figured everyone had walked. Still in disbelief, I walked back to the starting point and did it again! This time, it was effortless, almost gliding. Euphoria washed over me as I inspected my miraculously unburnt (just a bit red) feet. I wasn’t sure if anyone else went for a second round; I was too busy marveling at my perfectly fine feet.
The mood suddenly shifted to confusion. Then I saw why. The quiet guy hadn’t walked, and people were urging him on. The cheering and chanting resumed, but he just stood there at the edge of the ashes, hesitant to take that first step. I couldn’t just stand by. It mirrored a situation I’d faced many times as a jumpmaster – putting a student on the jump step for their first solo jump. If they shook their head no or froze at the “go” command, I’d pull them back in, talk it out, rebuild their confidence, and get them committed while circling for another try.
I walked over, took his left hand firmly in my right, looked him in the eyes, and said in a friendly but firm voice, “On Three.” We faced the pit together, and I slowly counted aloud: “One, Two…” On “Three,” we both stepped off. Four steps later, we were sharing a splash in the water at the other end! We hugged tightly, the positive energy around us signaling the end of the seminar.
Writing this now, years later, new realizations about that experience keep popping up. I believe that it wasn’t just me who helped him across those coals, it was the collective group energy that propelled us both, and allowed us to be successful.
"We can look into the rearview mirror and smile with a grateful heart, knowing old age is not a slow march into enemy territory; it’s a necessary glide path to the next great “yet to be” and that is a beautiful thing." ...
"You can keep pondering on which thing to do first or which path to take or by simply taking action now of most any kind, you may just find yourself on the way to where you most needed to go." ...
"I suppose writing my heart out consistently for almost a year has brought me here - to this place of reflection. In doing so, I’ve been able to wade through the current as it forces me to stop and take stock." ...
To see the flight of the Snowy egret this Late summer morning. Gifted this abundance ...
Beauty,
"This is an episode that will make evident that is not about what happens to us, is about how we react to what happens to us." ...
"My love for performing, language and linguistics, listening to lots of audiobooks, and meeting a voiceover artist all led me to voiceovers." ...
"Tree leaves wave goodbye in the breeze presenting the most awesome colors. Truly amazing. The most colorful time of year." ...
"In spite of the doom and gloom that reaches us through the internet, there’s an enormous wave of progress and goodness underway, hidden under the noise of our digital lives." ...
"The question remains, however: Why are people so consistently drawn to Buffett’s special brand of escapism? Or to escapism in general?" ...
"Journaling is possibly one of the simplest yet most profound tools to enhance well-being on all levels." ...
"It’s as though the windows of my heart have been thrown wide open, where once they were closed, though not latched; only to be opened when my heart sensed a need to." ...
"Future walks in paradise, Magic thoughts, celebrate Nature. Who can ask for more?" ...
"Homeless individuals belong to a ‘population’ teetering on the edge of an abyss filled with pain and poverty." ...
"Work hard. Add value to yourself. Your time will come when you are ready to give from your abundance." ...
"Please never allow one little mistake to cause you to believe that nothing is good. Correct what you need to correct and cherish and nurture all that is still good."
"There is a “River of YES” ** of dreams and possibilities and imaginings and experiences of joy and love and tender messes ..."
"Compared with a composition of songs where an idea comes to me instantly, this incremental approach is an interesting way to build creativity slowly rather than the instant rush of blood to the head." ...
"Intelligence, education, and theory are important. After all, those who choose to ignore history will often make the same mistakes over and over." ...
"If there was ever a time to live in a more kind, loving, and connected world, with faith in the God of our understanding, it is now ... "
"Bumblebees do seem to have their own individual character. On being approached to be rescued, a raised leg may indicate caution, or of course in fantasy, a wave of welcome." ...
Barry Schwartz makes a passionate call for “practical wisdom” as an antidote to a society gone mad with bureaucracy. He argues powerfully that rules often fail us, incentives often backfire, and practical, everyday wisdom will help rebuild our world.
The way we’re taught to live has got to change, says author Casey Gerald. Too often, we hide parts of ourselves in order to fit in, win praise, and be accepted. But at what cost? In this inspiring talk, Gerald shares the personal sacrifices he made to attain success in the upper echelons of American society — and shows why it’s time for us to have the courage to live in the raw, strange magic of ourselves.
"Bruce runs an enterprise called "Cancer Interviews". I love talking sports with Bruce, and in this interview, we tie the cancer world to the world of Major League Baseball." ...
Safe words are a tool used by people who enjoy play-acting danger. In such scenarios, words like no, stop, or help might just be a part of the scene as the naughty butler tries to evade the licentious baroness (or what have you).
And so a duo needs a safe word, something that wouldn’t naturally occur in such a scenario. For example, a naughty butler is unlikely to randomly shout, “Pineapple!” but a person who just got slapped too hard most certainly would, if it was their safe word.
At that point, all play stops. I would imagine a debrief would be helpful, too – what went too far? How could the scene be safer in the future? Is any repair needed between the two? This is one of the ways trust is built and maintained among duos who enjoy this kind of dangerous make-believe.
Also dangerous, though in a very different way, are all the rest of the iterations of interpersonal relationships.
Outside of the role-play, the danger lives in the emotional vulnerability of the connection, the way the more we open ourselves to emotionally intimate connection, the more we inevitably also open ourselves to painful fissures in those connections.
Recently, I was talking with a friend of indigenous Hawaiian lineage who also lives in Hawaii. People had been reaching out to her about the Maui fires, intending to be solicitous and kind. Statements like, “But you don’t live on that island, do you?” only added to her emotional strain, though, as she navigated how to respond to these texts on top of her grief around the fires.
As she shared this with me, she also shared that in the wake of George Floyd’s murder, as she reached out to Black friends in Minnesota (where she then lived), she received back some texts that suggested that they were feeling that same kind of exhaustion, as if to say, “I recognize you’re attempting kindness but really you’re adding to the emotional burden for me.”
I recall feeling a related form of conflict when George Floyd was murdered. Do I reach out or is that part of the performance of being a Good White Person? I did reach out some; some folks responded with moments of connection with me and some chose not to respond at all, presumably as each individual navigated their unique relationship with the moment and my outreach.
The day after my conversation with my Hawaiian friend, I sent a text with the suggestion of a safe word.
She loved the idea as much as I did… and it’s inherently flawed. Here’s the problem:
In the role-play, the licentious baroness-player has to be fully willing to own her responsibility in the scene. If she hears “Pineapple!” she has to be willing to stop immediately* and own her over-exuberance.
This might be hard for her. Really hard.
She might be wrapped up in thinking she’s great at this kind of role play or embarrassed that she got swept up in the moment, or feel shame that she was taken to task when she was intending to create something fun and sexy.
Her job – what allows the relationship to move forward – is to take responsibility and be willing to regroup with the naughty butler with openness and curiosity.
If she instead protests, “I didn’t hit you too hard!” or, worse yet, “I didn’t mean to hit you too hard!” she’s breaking the trust that allowed for the setup in the first place.
I say this to all of my fellow white folks who are reading: Same, same.
If you are a white person who cares about making positive world change on the interpersonal front, it starts with being willing to be uncomfortable.
That means being committed to owning your own responsibility so that you can bring openness and curiosity instead of staying in defensiveness or embarrassment or shame.
To recognize the problematic and long-standing racial dynamics in America is an important start. And it’s only that: a start. Awareness doesn’t make a person a Good White Person.
Truthfully, there is no such thing, not with the implications of having crossed a finish line of awareness, introspection, and full responsibility.
Instead, there is only continual learning…
…ever-expanding curiosity…
…and practicing managing our reactions so that we can be in it with the people we care about.
So! Ask your friends if they, too, would like what my friend and I now call a White Lady Safe Word… but be sure you’re up to owning your role in it first.
Be the best licentious baroness you can be, friend.
* I asked my friend to read this and give her edits and/or blessing and/or veto. That’s when she told me that “pineapple” – a word I chose with intention to be as random a word as possible and thus fit the bill for a solid safe word – has actually been historically used as a slur against native Hawaiians by colonizers. Happily, she found this coincidence mighty amusing.
As I slowly walk along, shuffling through the dry and crunching leaves, I spot one I shall call my own. And bending down, I gently pick it up, rescuing it from the others for fear of it being lost.
And as I hold it up close, marveling at its beauty, it slowly crumbles in front of my eyes; while a gentle breeze takes what had remained and lifts it to lofty skies. Seeing this, I feel saddened and cannot help but wonder if the same fate awaits me.
With so many leaves having fallen to the ground, this one leaf represents me, my life, amongst all the other children of this world. Will anyone find me and hold me as I have held this leaf? Is there anyone interested in my story or my demise?
Would there be anyone who would miss me? Or even notice my absence. Should the wind take me away? Will anyone care if I am no longer there?
Oh, that my prayer might be answered, and just one kind soul finds me beautiful and cares for me as I’ve cared for this lovely leaf.
One Child Matters
A dear friend who is both a poet and a contemplative shares his insights about what the external world reveals through the lens of the internal world. This inner world is a heart-space. For it is when we go within that we begin to see what is without with new eyes. He shared a recent unpublished poem titled, “This Day,” that opened my heart in stark realization about what normal is. The poem detailed the remarkable aspects of a normal day that starts with the unremarkable head lifting from pillow. It caused me to ask what is normal, what is remarkable or unremarkable, what is ordinary as opposed to extraordinary?
I cannot help but conclude that normal is breathtakingly extraordinary, and that sets the stage for a paradox—the ordinary is extraordinary, and that makes the extraordinary ordinary. Poet and mystic William Blake saw the world in a grain of sand. A simple and unremarkable grain of sand, totally ordinary and indistinguishable amidst the trillions of other grains shows us all we need to know about the deepest wonders and mysteries of creation.
When we awaken to the depth and meaning of the seemingly innocuous, the ordinary, and normal that surrounds us, it is an awakening within.
What presents around us is the ocean in which we swim without realizing all that the ocean represents. It is easy to notice the beauty of a majestic sunset or be swept away by watching a child comforting another child. These are moments of awareness when we are watching from the heart and noticing what the moment reveals. We are often struck with wonder and appreciation at these times when something breaks through and we are overtaken by our heart. We take note of the moment with a sense of awe, joy, or gratitude.
Yet, the sun rises and sets throughout the day, children play and interact all the time.
Is there anything less remarkable about the sun overhead right at this moment? At a dewdrop, or raindrop, or people riding in a bus, or the sidewalk that lies beneath our feet?
In mindful awareness, when we open up to how incredible everything around us is, the normal becomes extraordinary. We see everything with new eyes. In some ways, this is the heart of contemplation as we come to recognize the wonder that surrounds us.
When we begin to recognize and appreciate that we are both observing and participating in this incredible experience we call life, it is transformative. This opening to depth is present and available at any time in all circumstances. My fingers typing on this keyboard—who designed it, how many people helped produce its many component parts, transport it, market it? How many people handled it prior to it being delivered to me so that I can type this message? Who are these people and what are their stories? I could go deeper and deeper into all the incredible things that went into this moment of creation when I am sharing my thoughts with you. Or I can overlook, fail to appreciate, ignore this depth as I type. In so doing, I have failed to notice the extraordinary hidden in plain sight, literally at my fingertips.
It just rained and now the sun is shining. How remarkable is that? Just a simple rain shower at first glance. But at depth, it’s absolutely astonishing and reflects millions of years of planetary evolution, the water cycle on this planet, cloud formation, rain that nourishes the plants, sun, and water that give life to us, and all the living things around me. I don’t see a rainbow at this moment, but I don’t need one to break through to the contemplative heart within. I see the extraordinary in the ordinary and it’s a normal day to be alive and aware, to see the remarkable in the unremarkable, to recognize the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower. With this recognition, I drop into the moment, struck with awe, wonder, gratitude, and appreciation. And so as not to disrupt the contemplation, I halt my typing. Words are inadequate…
I‘ve joined our local YMCA. I’ve joined because my physio is getting frustrated with me and he’s a really nice guy trying to do the right thing and I don’t want to let him or myself down.
I had an operation to repair a torn Achilles tendon last year and whilst the operation was a success, my rehab is proving difficult and that’s because I don’t do the work that I need to. But I do want to fully recover and I do want to be able to wear high heels again and I simply cannot face turning up and bullsh*tting my physio anymore.
So, I joined the YMCA because it has a gym and strengthening classes and I like the welcoming, easygoing vibe there, as well as the great cafe, vast array of activities, and fab value for money – but most of all I like the people who remembered my name from the first day I turned up and make me feel seen and wanted.
And after I joined, I noticed that in addition to all of the sport-based classes, there were also community-based classes and one of those was ballroom dancing.
Now, many years ago, when I was a very young child maybe 7/8 years old, I used to go to ballroom dancing lessons every week with one of my older sisters and I remember really liking them because I got to spend time with my sister and the teacher said we were good. So, I signed up and persuaded my sister to come along with me, so we could re-live those precious times in spite of the passing of years.
And yesterday was our first class.
And we loved it.
We learnt the basic steps to the ‘cha cha cha’ along with a little ‘New York’ move as it’s known in the trade and we got very excited about learning the whole ‘cha cha cha’ routine over the coming weeks. The class was just one hour of our time at a cost of £3, but the return on this investment was simply priceless. In fact, it was one of the most fulfilling and productive hours I think I’ve ever spent – we laughed, we learned something new and we remembered who we were before we succumbed to the narrative that life imposed on us.
And the point of this post is to say that we will always have to face challenges in life, very often unfair, random, and wounding, but that does not mean we need to be defined by them.
We can always choose to return to a more genuine state, to remind ourselves of who we really are, to re-visit what brings us genuine joy and therefore freedom. And it does not matter if we can only do this for a short while, because it is not the duration or even frequency that matters, it is the awareness that we have this ability, this choice, that no matter what life dictates, our minds belong to us and us alone and no matter how rough the storm is, we will always enjoy the calm of the sunshine, as long as we know where to find it.
And that is what ballroom dancing gave to me and my sister yesterday – our very own sunshine.
So, please have a think about your ‘ballroom dancing’ equivalent and do it, just as soon as you can.
With love
Nik x
Episode DescriptionI changed the name of my podcast this year to View From the Roof because I wanted to go deeper with my conversations. I believe that’s a vast understatement of what I explore in this episode with my guest Zen Benefiel.
When I met Zen at the beginning of this year, I had an experience of nothing other than pure love. He was leading a discussion and it seemed with every syllable he spoke, the room allowed for just a little bit more vulnerability and flow than they did before. The space between those syllables was the sacred, the space of a harmonious being.
As we got to know one another, I found him remarkably adept at tying big concepts together, which is something human beings are hungry for right now.
In the old paradigm, we viewed aspects of our lives in a state of separateness. Science, spirituality, religion, our careers, our bodies, our friendships, etc were things that we viewed as, for the most part, seemingly unrelated.
Even now, as society intellectually explores things like AI and UFOs – many of these concepts are filed away in our minds as “other.” And yet, what if it’s all part of the infinite intelligence?
Zen has been talking about consciousness deeply since the 70s and 80s, when his message could hardly be heard, never mind understood. I’ve been a voracious consumer of his content for a few months, and I’m honored to have him as my guest on View From the Roof. The pandemic facilitated a phenomenal opportunity for us as points of consciousness to become more aware of who we truly are. As Zen says,
We all have a perfected form, fit, and function. It’s a genetic and solar blueprint that we carry, that we have not been paying attention to because we didn’t understand the intricacies of how well-designed we are. That comes from acquiescing to allowing that flow to come, and not using the same thinking that caused our problems to solve them.
Maybe it’s time we start connecting the missing links.
I hope you’ll take an opportunity to explore some big shit with us in this episode. I find that so many of us share that deep inner knowing of who we are, and we allow whatever we think we should be to take over and keep us from ourselves. This podcast is just one more step in putting all of the things together and having it make sense. As Zen would say, “Then make sense common, so we can all rise to that level of love that we’ve been living in, that we’ve been denying for millennia.”
You can learn more about Zen by checking out all of his links below. If you don’t know where to start, I’d say check out his primary website and his show One World in a New World on YouTube.
Zen’s Links:Primary Website: https://ZenBenefiel.com
Coaching: https://BeTheDream.com
Partnering: https://TeamPartnering.com
Facebook: https://facebook.com/zenbenefiel
LinkedIn: https://linkedin.com/in/zenbenefiel
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bethedreamllc
Medium: https://medium.com/@zenbenefiel
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Be_The_Dream
YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/c/zenbenefiel
YouTube: https://youtube.com/c/OneWorldinaNewWorld
Substack: https://zendorphines.substack.com
**If you liked this episode and want to support View From the Roof, you can do so by leaving a tip in the tip jar.
Our lives are sometimes held together by masking tape. No, not the kind you buy in the hardware store. This kind of tape is built thread by thread, incident by incident, decision after decision; taped over abandonment, unworthiness, guilt, shame, fear, or any other variety of demon. Given enough time, it is strong enough to hold all our cards in the game of adulthood. Every day we are in this game, playing with our deck held together by that masking tape. Of course, our masking tape is undetectable, even beautiful in an odd sort of way never noticed by others. It comes in many shapes, sizes, colors, and expressions. And, on its surface, it holds any mask you want and sticks you together. Pretty cool don’t ya think?
Original painting by Anne O’BrienWe can seem invincible in our craft of hiding, stretch after stretch after stretch. But deep down, under the persona of the mask, under the threads we so carefully weave together, lie open wounds that never get enough air and sunlight to breathe. They grow and grow, seeping and festering in the dark, past corners where no one is allowed to go, not even you.
I wonder in a fleeting moment: why doesn’t this ick just go away? But I know, and I can tape a good game. My masking tape is so strong it can hold me together. Words like, “I’ve got this. I’ll keep on going. I just can’t worry about being so tired. This game is exhausting,” swirl like funnel clouds in the demanding murk.
It’s a beautiful day. The air waltzes with the sun on the dance floor of that mask, moving with the utmost grace and tenderness. Feeling? What’s that? Feeling? Why would the mask cry at such an incredible tender feeling? Why is the tape softening? Fear oozes out from behind the mask, grabbing hold of all that darkness.
“Don’t melt my persona!” the mask cries. “I’ve been friends with those demons I hide for a real long time and they don’t want to go!” But the dance continues, reaching for the light of the sky with all the goodness it beholds. The mask cries and melts to the change of the game. A strange little whisper comes in:
“Help me,” it whispers.” Help me”.
Music is one of those careers that is viewed by many as not “a real job.” However, for the creative who has a passion for music and brings the element of a message related to life to the listener, music is indeed a valuable career.
Meet Bruce Coughlan, a lifelong musician who picked up a guitar at age 14 and never looked back. He is a career songwriter and recording artist residing in British Columbia with over four decades in the music industry. Bruce is a storyteller, with timeless messages and a flair for intrigue and mystery. His newest release, Waiting for Rain, is soulful Retro-esque Roots, Rhythm & Blues music. He has many accolades, most recently having won the Bronze International Male Emerging Artist 2023 ISSA award.
In this interview, Bruce shares his beginnings, how he has stayed in music as a career, and sage advice for others in the industry.
Eileen: You are a career performer, having been in the Music Industry for over four decades. That is a long time! What got you started, at what age, and what has kept your interest?
Bruce: I suppose I’ve always known. I can’t remember a time in my life when Music wasn’t a motivating factor. By my fourteenth summer, I was busking full-time on Vancouver’s Granville Street, while haunting all the “Hippy Havens” of the day: Wreck Beach, Kitsilano & Gastown, where song circles, and drum circles were commonplace, and Folk Clubs of the day were a valuable learning ground for a fledgling Roots artist.
Eileen: You play an array of Roots music genres. This is a unique path to take, please share the moment you knew this is what you wanted to focus on and how it has formed who you are as a musician.
Bruce: When I was six years old, my father took me to the Queen Elizabeth Theatre to see the Irish Folk group Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. They bounded onto the stage, and from five rows back my world was forever changed. In a heartbeat, I knew how I was to spend my life; as a balladeer.
The Clancy Brothers & Tommy performed a spell-binding set of song and story. After the show, I was allowed backstage to meet them. Somehow, I’ve never outgrown that wide-eyed enthusiasm.
Eileen: You play at festivals, concerts, arts presentations, community and corporate events. What is your favorite, if you have one, and why?
Bruce: I like festivals because I get to enjoy the music and the comradery of my own kind. Kindred spirits. I enjoy engaging other performers away from the lights and sound. I’ve made so many friends at after-parties and side sessions.
From a strictly performance standpoint, I love a concert setting. In the absence of life’s distractions, a concert setting allows a story-telling songwriter to engage the audience on a very personal level. Watching the response of people painting pictures in their own mind’s eye, based on their own experiences, is possibly the most rewarding aspect of what I do.
Eileen: You have recorded 100’s of songs and recorded 15 albums. That is quite an achievement! What has kept you motivated to keep writing, recording, performing, and being a lifelong musician?
Bruce: It’s the process itself that keeps me motivated artistically. For me, it’s become a cycle of discovery, analysis, engagement, immersion & expression. I discover a style or genre of music, I break it down into components of content, structure, and nuance. I then engage practitioners of that style or genre. Once I have immersed myself sufficiently in music and its culture, I endeavor to find my own voice within those constructs. I strive always to express myself in an authentic manner. If you hear me sing the Blues, it’s because I’ve lived them and because it comes from the heart.
Eileen: Everyone has a story about their life’s journey. What is the most memorable part of your music journey to date and why?
Bruce: So many memorable legs to my journey. The term “Life’s Rich Pageantry” comes to mind. I set off at fourteen with a guitar to take on life as a balladeer. It’s been nearly a half-century and life is still an adventure novel, and every song is a new chapter.
Eileen: There are lessons learned to grow both personally and professionally. What has been the most profound lesson that has taught you to keep going forward and do what you love to do?
Bruce: A life in music can be a humbling experience. You first must realize that the true power of music is not in its ability to generate revenue.
The true value of music stretches far beyond rhythm and melody, it expresses elements of culture and identity.
No other art form can truly express the depth and breadth of the human experience. For music to be authentic and true, it cannot be about ego. Music has the potential to unite.
Eileen: Have you had any mentors along the way of your long music career? What has been their best advice that has enabled you to be successful?
Bruce: I’ve had many mentors (whether they realized it or not) and so many teachers (so to speak). Having never been a studied musician, everything I know, I’ve learned from observing and engaging other musicians. The best advice I’ve received has been the product of observation. Those who are meaningfully, productively, and remarkedly engaged in a life of music are those for whom life is art.
Eileen: If you are not writing songs, recording or performing what do you like to do, any hobbies?
Bruce: I like to explore, geographically and culturally. I like history, which allows us to view culture with a deeper understanding. I always find inspiration in discovery.
Eileen: Words of advice for life, up-and-coming artists, and what to focus on for fulfillment, joy, and happiness.
Bruce: Music is the toughest way to make an easy living, especially these days with music being so monetarily undervalued. It takes a lot of work, and it takes a team. The process itself can be daunting, but the rewards can be immeasurable. Music is a noble craft and a timeless one.
Editor’s Note: Visit Bruce’s Website Here
I remember calling my father many years ago and asking him about the time change (Daylight Savings Time).
I wasn’t sure whether I needed to set my clock forward an hour or back an hour. After he confidently gave me his answer, I questioned him, “Are you sure?” Being the subtle character that he was, my dad said to me, “Why did you call me if you did not plan to believe the answer I gave to you?” This experience has stayed with me most of my adult life, for I reflect about it in a deeper way now. He was right, of course. Why would I call upon him if I did not have faith and trust in his answer? From various experiences with him in my youth, my father had rarely witnessed my total trust in him. I had seen him respond to so many events in such a reactive and insane way that I could never completely relax, let go, or be myself around him.
It took his death to open my heart and fully engage in the gifts he had offered me. He gave me the ability to communicate with anyone, to connect immediately with strangers (this is definitely a skill), the openness to always seek a solution, the strength to persevere, and the ability to move beyond “no” as the final answer to bravely and confidently discover what was before me. This experience with my father touched me, yet I was guided to apply the lesson to a deep spiritual level. What about my Creator, Spirit, God? Why do I similarly call upon this amazing presence if I am unwilling to believe in the answers that I receive?
Why do we take time to pray if we do not trust our answers? And why would we not totally trust the same energy which we are made of? Why are we so willing to listen so quickly to the opinion of anyone else, even though he or she may not model the answers we are seeking?
An Enlightened Rebel understands the immense value of trusting the inner core and wisdom which comes from a power greater than themselves. It is time for a TIME change, and we are the ones to move it forward.
We’ve all experienced our own highs and lows through life. I wrote this song as a reminder that all of it helps shape who we are. We should try to embrace all aspects of our journey. “So go laugh, live and love, give and grow, all the above. Make the most of this time in your life.”
Celebrate the power of unity with “Better Together” Song Around The World, featuring Jack Johnson, Paula Fuga, Lee Oskar, and talented musicians from around the globe. This beautiful, feel-good song was a single, released in February 2006 from Jack Johnson’s third studio album, “In Between Dreams,” and was inspired by his love for his wife. “Better Together” has a universal message that “it’s always better together” when we lead with love as the answer.
None of us, including me, ever do great things. But we can all do small things, with great love, and together we can do something wonderful.
~Mother Teresa
Join us on Our Friendship Bench any Thursday or every Thursday at 11:30 AM Eastern if you’re ready to do small things with great love and create something wonderful while making new friends along the way. Click below for more︎
Discovering Magic: At The Middle of a Bench
Because it’s ALWAYS better when we’re together …
Jose Hernandez’s ambition to become a doctor in Cuba was thwarted. Hear how he came to the US and planted seeds that revived his grandfather’s business. Jose has grown it into a firm with international reach.
In January 2008, New York Mayor Michael Bloomberg proposed a sweeping plan to ease Manhattan’s desperate traffic problems. At the time, according to U. S. News and World Report, the number of vehicles entering downtown had been growing annually by an average of 8000 per day since the 1920s, resulting in an unsustainable critical mass.
The mayor’s plan would encourage – or coerce – commuters to rely on public transportation by imposing a daytime tax of $8 per car and $21 per truck traveling onto the island. City officials believed that this “congestion pricing” would ultimately reduce traffic by as much as 12 ½ percent.
At first, the plan seemed a sure bet. A broad coalition of civic, business, labor, health, and environmental organizations endorsed the plan, together with state senators, representatives, and councilmen. “Congestion pricing,” they claimed, would increase revenues, expand regional rapid transit, reduce air pollution, create jobs and, of course, ease traffic. The U.S. Department of Transportation was so enthusiastic that it had already awarded $354 million to New York to kick-start the project. The planning commission approved the project by a vote of 13 – 2.
But the proposal generated equally passionate opposition, so much so that the state assembly failed to hold a vote by the April 7 deadline. Opponents argued that drivers seeking to avoid the pricing zone would cause traffic to spill over into adjacent communities, that added fees would place undue burden on the middle class, that not all neighborhoods would benefit equally, and that enforcement cameras threatened civil liberties. Despite the success of similar programs in London, Stockholm, and Singapore, the proposal died.
Would it have worked? Probably, yes; and here’s the evidence:
Only three months later, gas prices spiked to nearly four dollars a gallon. Simultaneously, traffic into Manhattan dropped by 5 percent, the initial target figure for Mayor Bloomberg’s plan. A significant number of people who had fought the government’s plan willingly traded their cars for public transportation when the cost of driving became too high.
More than any other nationality, Americans love their cars. This comes as no surprise if we consider the car as an allegory for personal autonomy. In a very real sense, nearly all of us are control freaks; we want to feel our hands firmly on the wheel of destiny, steering our own course into the future.
But when we come to life’s crossroads, we often choose one road over the other without adequate knowledge of where either may lead. And as we embark down the path of unanticipated danger, we may only discover much later how fortunate we were that obstacles appeared in our way to stop us in our course. The problems, frustrations, and inconveniences we curse when they arise often prove our greatest benefactors in the end.
A young man from the country traveled to the big city to buy supplies for his father’s store. In the city, he stayed with his uncle, on whom he relied to guide him in his business dealings.
Upon hearing of his nephew’s excited plans to sample the nightlife of the city, the uncle feared that the inexperienced young man might fall prey to unscrupulous characters and come to harm through all manner of unsavory activities. The uncle made a number of calls to contacts throughout the city, and immediately the young man found himself so preoccupied with business that he had not a spare minute to indulge his curiosity.
At the end of his trip, the boy complained to his uncle that he had been unable to experience the city. On the other hand, he confessed, he had done more business than he could have anticipated so that his father would surely be proud of him and give him more responsibilities in running the family store. The uncle smiled and expressed delight that his nephew’s business had turned out so well.
Only long after the young man had returned home did it occur to him that maybe his uncle had had something to do with the remarkable success of his trip.
Some call it karma. Some talk about destiny, or fate, or kismet. In Solomon’s tradition, it is the hand of Providence that causes obstacles to spring up before us and make the paths of personal autonomy increasingly difficult to travel. We feel stifled in our jobs, unhappy with our families, and discontented with the direction of our lives. We perceive the natural ebb and flow of life as a continual series of roadblocks and dead ends.
So we seek out “detours,” looking for fulfillment in the least likely places: alcohol, drugs, gambling, or adulterous affairs. We think change will make us feel better, but we usually find ourselves worse off than before.
And even when we get it right, even when we find fulfillment in our careers, families, and communities, the paths of life are rarely without potholes; holding a straight course poses a never-ending challenge.
With every step forward, we need to weigh our options and calculate the costs and benefits, evaluate which detours are necessary and which are more hazardous than keeping to a straight but tortuous main road.
If we hit a brick wall, we have to decide whether to go under, over, around, or through it – or turn back and seek a different course altogether.
Even if we are willing to reevaluate our course constantly, we may find that repeated obstacles seem to be telling us that we should give up, when in fact we are on the verge of a breakthrough; or we may try to conquer obstacles before us again and again when in fact we have no chance of success.
But if we keep our eye on the distant goal of living our lives according to moral principles and moral discipline, then whatever detours we have to traverse and however much backtracking we have to endure, we can be confident that our efforts have not been wasted and will not be in vain. By keeping our objective in sight and our eyes on every step, we cannot fail.
From Proverbial Beauty: Secrets for Success and Happiness from the Wisdom of the Ages, just released in audio format. For information, please click here.
We live in a world of endless contradictions. Work vs. family. Money vs. fulfillment. Desires vs. obligations. The body vs. the spirit. We rely on conventional wisdom to point us forward. But conventional wisdom gets it wrong more often than we imagine. Open this book and celebrate the marriage between the greatest collection of verbal images in history — King Solomon’s Book of Proverbs — and the most famous visual image in the world — Leonardo Da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.
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Researchers have no explanation why people, when blindfolded, can’t walk a straight line; but what is it about human nature that makes us wander in circles? What does former NYC Mayor Bloomberg’s plan to ease Manhattan traffic with “congestion pricing” reveal about the way we make decisions? What can fig harvesting, migraine headaches, and two Miss America titleholders teach us about the underpinnings of emotional well-being?
The answers to 3000 years of questions are here, revealed for every seeker of truth and self-awareness in the language of our modern era. Guided by the wisdom of Solomon and the mysteries of the Mona Lisa, learn how to find tranquility in the midst of chaos, how to savor the moments of everyday life, and how to resolve the paradoxes of the human heart.
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Now available in audiobook format as well. Click here for information.
New Rising Sun is about life, love, and accepting change. My wife and I were living in Placitas New Mexico between Santa Fe and Albuquerque when our daughter was born. We are both from “back east” and we had to make a very tough decision on whether we should try to build a life in the desert or head back closer to home. After much soul searching and deliberation, we decided that for the greater good, we would move back east to be closer to our families hence the song chorus: “I’m ready to face distant horizons and stare into space at the New Rising Sun”. The “New Rising Sun” is my way of saying we were open to accepting change and what life had to offer us. It was a pivotal moment in our lives.
What does it mean to be old? Older? Elderly?
What does it do to our options for getting out, finding others to interact with, and living a full life?
What does it do for the choices we might (have to) make?
I just read an article in a local newspaper about a woman who’s 84 (just a few years older than I am), who’s lonely and hoping to find a special man to be with. She had a partner for nearly 30 years who died a couple of years ago, and she’d like to have someone in her life again.
I can understand that. Most of us enjoy at least some contact with others, right? And many do want a life partner to live with.
But for many seniors, life has changed over the years.
Many friends and family members are gone, leaving us behind. While we’re usually happy to be alive, it certainly can get lonely without those who used to be such an important part of our life.
Our health may present challenges that we hadn’t expected, imposing limits on our activity.
Driving might not be as easy as it was; actually, driving at night might not be a great idea at all. So getting out might seem more difficult – may be more difficult – than it was even 10 years earlier.
She mentioned finding a dating service online, so clearly she has some ability with the internet and the gumption to try. Sad to say, it didn’t work out for her. The service had no men in her age range to suggest.
In her self-description, she mentioned she “spends most days alone reading and watching TV in her condo.”
You know what idea struck me?
Choices.
You know what word struck me?
Condo.
If she lived way out in the country, I could see how restricted her life might be. Even in some towns or cities, getting around might not be too easy for her.
But a condo suggests something else: A community with opportunities to meet others who live right around her. Possibly a condo BOD that can/does plan activities for its residents. Or other residents who do.
I currently live in my third condo community, and it has a very lively group of residents who do plan activities of all sorts. I don’t join in too many, but that isn’t the point. Events are always happening, and they are great opportunities for many who live here to meet others. There’s a real village vibe here!
The article didn’t say if this woman’s condo community was for all ages or for seniors, but so what? Age doesn’t always have to be the determining factor for activity.
Her ability to use the internet could still help her to find others to chat with around the world, even in countries she’s not familiar with. If she doesn’t already know how to use Zoom or another face-to-face platform, maybe someone she knows could help. It’s not as good as in-person meetups, but it’s surely one way to stay connected with others.
Someone who’s lonely could also realize that others might be, too, and see if there would be ways to start groups – card games (bridge/canasta/other), health-related activities like yoga or other forms of exercise. (Here in my village a friend started an outside “Chair Yoga” group twice a week in a field right next to several homes for as long as the good weather holds. It’s HUGELY popular!)
Even just walking around the community can give many a physical, emotional, and mental health boost.
I know nothing about this woman – her physical, monetary, or emotional limitations – other than what the article mentioned, but it seems she’s narrowed her focus so much to finding a life partner that she’s missing out on other excellent options for her life. I hope she can see that it’s still possible to meet others, and it could start with a choice to open her door and leave her apartment.
Walk down the hall.
Open the front door to the outside in this gorgeous weather and interact with those who are also outside.
Widen her focus from a life partner to different kinds of connections.
Take full advantage of what that condo community might offer.
Choose to make her life full and interesting.
What are your thoughts, folks? What might you suggest for others who are aging but still want to live a full life?
What do we do when the world is on fire? I imagine you, like me, are feeling the heartbreak of recent world disasters: fires, floods, extreme heat…the many many misfortunes that have upended people’s lives around the globe this year.
The Maui fires were especially close to my heart, and I’m still reaching out to friends on the islands to see if there’s any way I can support them from afar. As I write, friends are also being evacuated from several East Washington/North Idaho towns due to fires and high winds.
Even if the weather in your part of the world is mild in comparison, you are unlikely to remain untouched by the heartbreak.
Yet every time one of these intensely challenging situations rises, we hear inspiring stories of helping hands, innovative solutions, and people rising to the occasion to be there for one another.
In Maui, a few friends are packing food containers, others are finding solutions for missing & wandering animals, and people from around the world are joining in prayer to send healing energy toward the land.
Sometimes, that’s what we can do.
I was moved to tears when I read about historic Lahaina’s banyan tree, which has become a symbol of hope for all of Maui. Many years ago, I was standing beneath this magnificent tree, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and awe, when I was suddenly flooded with such a great wash of love that I knew it was the tree returning the compliment. It was one of the most profound experiences of connection with nature I’ve ever had.
Apparently, the 150-year-old tree is in a ‘coma-like state’ but with live tissue under the singed bark. The state arborists are caring for it, expecting the tree to show signs of recovery in 3-4 months.
Amazing.
I know this news may not be comforting for those who have lost family, friends, homes, and all of their belongings. As the arborist says: ‘It’s just a tree’ and our main attention needs to go to the rebuilding of homes and lives. But the banyan tree is a symbol of hope, and the life it holds carries a message of restoration that applies beyond the natural world.
We are a species of resounding resilience.
And what fuels resilience more than anything is not just hope, but positive action. The best thing we can do when feeling hopeless or fearful is to choose one small (or big) action to move our brains into compassion.
How do we choose which act to take among the many world needs?
Let your heart choose.
Your heartbreak is Love Calling.
Your answer is exactly what the world needs.
Listen carefully. Love deeply.
Be a Light for our world.
-Sor’a
We were born with innate curiosity and creativity. And in actuality, those capabilities were behind every advancement we’ve ever made (excepting fortuitous accidents)! While we get busy with work and life, it’s important we continue developing our creativity – even reigniting it when necessary. Our best capabilities are necessary for addressing problems and creating a better tomorrow for everyone. “Creativity involves breaking out of expected patterns in order to look at things in a different way.” – Edward de Bono How do you maintain your creativity? How do you remain enthusiastic?
I have a friend I will call David. He loves to tell the story of his early courtship with his wife whom I will call Jenny. He talks of his joy in getting her in his pickup truck to go out for a wonderful date night. What he loved the most was when she would slide over and sit right next to him.
Well, David and Jenny’s courtship blossomed into a wonderfully strong marriage with equally remarkable children. They truly loved each other. They kept the old truck for some time and David continued to take Jenny out on drives and romantic dates in that truck.
One day while David drove on in that old truck, Jenny said to him, “How come we don’t sit next to each other anymore?” David looked at her sitting on the far side of the bench seat holding on to the door handle. He then looked down at himself sitting at his usual place behind the steering wheel. After a careful pause, he calmly said “Well, I have not moved.”
What is it about us that causes us to be more focused on the movements of others that we miss, like Jenny, that we are the ones who have moved?
You see it all of the time on the road. Drivers get so focused on what another driver is doing and they miss what they are doing. I have ridden in the car with drivers who one minute complain about someone cutting them off or not using their blinker, and then moments later they do the exact same thing!
It is such a simple thing to see what others are doing and point it out. Too many of us are nearsighted when it comes to the movements of others and way to far- sighted when it comes to our own movements. This myopic view can cause heartbreak and struggle, especially in our most important relationships.
To see only what others are doing (or not doing) and not notice our contribution (or lack thereof) can be so terribly hurtful to our most important relationships. We need to combat this natural tendency and move closer to each other by paying attention to ourselves more than the movements of others.
In my work as a marriage educator and relationship coach, we often talk of turning toward instead of turning away. Those happiest with their relationships have this wonderful habit of moving closer or turning toward each other—even during times of struggle and conflict. Moving closer is so much better.
So, how can we make sure we are not sliding away from others and be certain we are turning toward them? Here are three tips to make that happen:
First, please remember you are on same team. We enter relationships with such a desire to help, love, and support each other. We start out committed to the same ideals and gain great satisfaction out of really seeking to lift and build each other. Working together in a relationship can be one of the most satisfying things this life has to offer.
Yet, sometimes we forget our desire was to complete each other and then we begin to compete with each other. Instead of striving to build up, we begin to tear down. Rather than generous words of affirmation, we destroy with harsh words and criticism. If we are not careful, we slide all too quickly from love and unity, to distance and hurt.
We must turn toward each other and always strive to remember what brought us close together to begin with. Remembering we are on the same team brings a greater desire to pull close and stay close.
Second, please look in the mirror instead of the magnifying glass. Michael Jackson taught us to start with “the man in the mirror.” It is all too easy to magnify other people’s weaknesses while downplaying and minimizing our own. However, that distorted view rarely produces anything meaningful or helpful.
We are all quick to say, “you cannot change other people,” but then speedily point out all that is wrong with another. Perhaps, we need to adapt the message of the side mirrors on our car and admit that our view may be distorted. When it comes to measuring the traits of others, objects are likely larger in appearance than they really are.
Let’s face it! We have no business focusing on others when there is so much we need to do for ourselves. Let’s be so busy watering (and even weeding) our own grass that we do not have time to see if someone’s else’s is greener or not!
Third, please cultivate gratitude and the ability to see good in others. There is so much to be thankful for each day. We live in a wonderful world with so many wonderful things and people all around us. One does not have to look very far to find something good! It is truly all around for those who have nurtured the ability to see it.
I honestly believe that most people are doing the very best they can with what they have at the time.
What happens if we gave people the benefit of the doubt? What if we believe in the best in people even when it may not seem completely obvious? What if we simply refused to find fault, but only offered praise?
We can begin with my simple motto: Think to thank! Make it a deliberate thing to find the blessing and comment on it! Thank everyone you meet! Better yet, thank those who are around you all the time. Cultivate an attitude of gratitude. Learn to see and speak the best in everyone around you.
Let’s all strive to stay closer and connected to the people in our lives. Let’s focus on turning toward each other in positive ways! Let’s get close together and take this ride of life pulling together! It is more fun that way!
Swamp Water was actually written when there were at least 9 kids running around my house while I was having a cowrite. The eerie story song came about because the kids were going to play in our garden pond that hadn’t been cleaned out. I hollered at them “Stay out of that swamp water!” they laughed and we laughed and said, “Hey that sounds like a good song.” My guitarist started playing a hook and I had him just keep playing and wallah- Swamp Water was born in a few minutes.
Life is something that’s full of ups and downs so you have to embrace it because that is the law of nature. As a human being, your expectation is that life should be sweet and full of good memories without pain. But the thing is that even happiness has a price and you must pay the price to get the prize.
Challenges are there to make us better and the best version of ourselves not to destroy us. It all depends on your mindset and how you see the world because when you look at the earth, there are things that happen to make you understand things about life.
All the natural disasters signify the difficult times the earth is having while the calmness of the seas and rays of the sun to bring light to the earth signifies the good times. That’s why when you want to understand why some things are happening in life you have to study nature. But everything doesn’t have to be the way it is as far as you take some actionable steps which I will explain below.
Cultivate a growth mindset: Our mindset does matter when we’re in difficult times because it is going to determine whether we will get out of the situation or not. You don’t have to look at the negative side but the positive side. That’s why we should train our minds to see things from different perspectives. When you have a closed mindset and one that isn’t willing to learn, you will miss a lot of things in life.
Difficult times are seen as learning times because each pain you experience is teaching you. But that pain is a gift because it becomes wisdom you’ve acquired through learning. As you learn from each experience you will make sure you don’t commit the same mistakes to make sure you don’t experience the same pain. The mind is something you use to achieve anything in life only when you’re ready to stretch it and bring it out of its comfort zone.
Develop focus: Developing focus is about putting your concentration on a certain goal until you achieve it. You have to avoid all kinds of distractions that come your way to disrupt you from achieving your goals. Distractions can come from family members, peer pressure, and unnecessary pleasures of life which you’ll only enjoy for a short period of time.
All these things come to you as obstacles to achieving your goals. Focus isn’t something that is easy because it deals with a lot of sacrifices. You need discipline to develop focus because you can lose motivation on the way but discipline makes you stay focused. You’re making progress each day you apply focus to your life because it makes the forces of the universe bring you your heart desires. Focused people achieve great things.
Live your values: Your values are things that guide you to make decisions in life. It is what gives you direction on where you want to go. You’ll think you’ve to go out of the norm to overcome those challenges but you’re actually putting yourself into more trouble by doing that. The more you deviate from your values the longer the journey to be successful. By living your values you become stronger to face any challenge that comes your way.
Resilience: All great things are achieved when you become resilient. No one is born a resilient person. It is the difficult times that make you resilient. All successful people are resilient people. Do you know that you need strength to sustain success? If you don’t follow these steps of resilience to develop that strength you’ll lose your ground when you become successful because you won’t be able to sustain it.
Patience: Patience is the revealer of things. It is another way of getting strength. When you lack patience you’re losing the game because each thing that happens serves a purpose. You know your strengths and weaknesses and also the character of people. You develop great character traits which you would be proud of and it will also mold you to become the best version of yourself. Which of the steps resonates with you the most during your difficult times?
"What about you, my friend? Are your kites going to be found in your cupboard, or do they fly in the sky?" ...
Winchester never ceases to amaze me. Each ancient building is awesome and projects a unique atmosphere.
"There is good karma in every cup of tea and shared stories of appreciation and celebration of the special people in our lives who have touched us through love and learning." ...
"What is undeniable is that over the past 50 years, hip-hop has evolved, grown, and influenced nearly every aspect of modern U.S. culture – from dance, theater, and literature to visual arts and fashion." ...
"In our new world, our New Reality, having a balanced, steady, inner focus, gives evolving humans a new perspective on humility which is now an important part of our spiritual life for contemplation and integration." ...
"While each generation faces challenges, it truly seems that children today face far more challenges than previous generations during the years I have been alive." ...
"Can you pen a link of madness in a space of five minutes time? As I have penned this string, yes, string of pearls." ...
"The transformational leader must transcend the bounds of ego and old culture and bring unity to the change they lead." ...
"There was not only a lack of a smile from me in these photos but also a presence of sadness. One that I couldn't understand at the time." ...
"Thanks to all of those who touched my life and allowed me to touch theirs. This isn’t a requiem, because I’m not planning to check out anytime soon. But it is a thank you. All of you." ...
"Most importantly, he reminds us all that “the knot at the end of the rope is hope.” ...
"Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here." ...
"The magic of stories is also in the sharing. If you wish share your story with someone or something. All that matters is you have a story." ...
"We expect the world to operate in a predictable, orderly way. It usually does; except when it doesn't. ... What do you have to be grateful for?" ...
"How to go with the flow without giving up or hunkering down? How to flex and bend with the newness of every twist and turn?" ...
"You don’t recognize the humanity we share. You don’t recognize or are afraid of the responsibility that comes with your humanity. But make no mistake: I am you." ...
"Could such a structure be built today? I am usually a positive person, but in this case, highly skeptical." ...
"Hear the words that silence whispers to our hearts and to find a quiet space in the busyness of life, wherever we live." ...
Every law enforcement officer has experienced their on-duty “Haceldana”. What is a “Haceldana” you may ask? It is an Ancient Greek term meaning “a field of blood”. The story attributed to the term, “Haceldana”, is the name of a potter’s field. This potter’s field was purchased with the thirty pieces of silver that Judas threw […]
"This sort of love is cosmic, and I only know I feel it when I do… There for a moment, gone in an instant." ...
"They face joy, sadness, and struggles in life just like us and they have hopes of a better day and better tomorrow just like us." ...
"One day, as they were driving back from Boston after dinner with Shawna’s parents, Shawna was unusually quiet. " ...
"Is modern science finally catching up to ancient spirituality and prophecies as seen in the works Quantum Spirituality and the Celestine Prophecy?" ...
"When my grandmother came visiting, my sister and I were each given a yellow 2 crown – the equivalent of about a quarter – and we put them in our piggy banks." ...
"Are you bogged down with too much to do? Are you living life distracted from what really matters? Are you standing on the sidelines distracted by the latest Buzz Feed that you are missing out on the dance? Are you trying to fit it all in anywhere you can and really missing out on enjoying your life?" ...
"How can you create a psychological fog of sorts in your distracted, busy world to allow you the focus you need to be productive and in the flow?" ...
"Historically, people have always strived to make a better life for themselves and their families. Many, however, have succumbed to the "three strikes and your out” mindset." ...
"Comparisons are often inexact, but I am a student of history, and I can’t help but compare the book burning to the book banning, curriculum censorship, and the outright attempts to rewrite history flourishing in the U.S. today." ...
"Re-entering the river, a look of keenness and a gentle bow of the head she took to the sky as if a supersonic Concord." ...
"Peace is our priority and it is only Nature that can ensure a peaceful co-existence." ...
"Do you believe that what you see influences how you feel? You experience the world through affect-colored glasses." ...
"Terry and Shawna had been thinking along the same lines. It was reassuring that someone they both respected was giving them the same advice." ...
"Nature's floor enables me to breathe ... My lungs inflate to get rid of an intriguing writhe ..."
"For those hours, we weren't just orphans. It felt as if we were superheroes, explorers, and more." ...
"If you find yourself as a parent at odds with your Neurodifferent child, with lots of tension, disagreement, and frequent battles, it may be time to consider your own diagnosis." ...
"The new Third Age is about the reinvention of oneself. It’s about continuing to grow, learn, meet new people, try new things, and even discover new purpose." ...
"Being good trumps being right. Search for goodness in a person. There is goodness in us all. Goodness leads to happiness." ...
"What if the time has come to unite with every one of gods creatures and choose to see the beauty in each of our teachings and cultures around the globe, if anything to just live a more peaceful existence and overall have a more positive experience every single day? " ...
In every walk, in every art, "The key to growth, a vital part, In unity, we'll play our part, As we respond, "Yes, open your heart!" ...
"Why did we change? Why did we leave the magic behind? Will we ever revisit it, I wonder." ...
"I may have been beaten up throughout this super cool journey thus far, but I am still going like an energizer bunny whose batteries never die." ...
"Flexibility is an essential requirement as we age. The best example is that our forever-changing technology requires us to remain current to live fully." ...
Gumshoe has in his past posts mentioned some incidents back when he worked as a uniform “blue suiter” while patrolling the mean streets of Santa Ana, California. Santa Ana was definitively a microcosm of East LA, Compton, East LA, and the Southside of Chicago all rolled into one rip-roaring place for street cops who wanted […]
"Building trust in yourself is a process that requires self-reflection, self-awareness, and consistent effort." ...
"Terry and Shawna met him in the lounge of the Pierre Hotel where they were staying on their way back home to New England." ...
"Unexpected turns, unforeseen struggles - they're part and parcel of life, springing up when we least expect them. It's essential not to ignore these moments or turn a blind eye." ...
"When we rise in our level of Consciousness, we realize that all of the apparent sources of power actually subsist within the One, which is Infinite Living Mind, or God." ...
"At the heart of it all, real conversations are human. They embody our humanity by encompassing the sharing of emotions, a willingness to be vulnerable, and a receptiveness to fresh and different ideas." ...
"It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences." ...
"Rabbit holes are our creation. They slowly squeeze in and grow on us as poison ivy. They can put us on a path that slides and it is difficult to crawl back out." ...
"There's no such thing as no. NO just means New Option. NO just means Next Opportunity. I never believe that no is something that can hold you back. Someone's no is just their no; it’s not your no." ...
"In our adulthoods, Sam and I seemed to free ourselves in certain ways from the hurt and pain of the primitive wound of being despised and abused by our own mothers." ...
"Pathway of Awakening (to Joy:) Slipping through the net of our own illusions Seeking Redemption and Liberation" ...
“We're seeing opportunities for education where conversation and dialogue are being stifled. And that has to be part of the work that we're doing.” ...
"Stand in the theatre where history happened, and you can’t help but feel the presence of those who were its actors." ...
"We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep." ...
"Valuing one's depression does not prevent a relapse, but it may make the prospect of relapse and even relapse itself easier to tolerate." ...
"All of these resources can only offer guidelines for the guy or gal behind the badge with a firearm on their duty belt who sometimes are called upon to make the on-scene, split-second decisions." ...
"If we do not use our voices to reach out to others, we may become numb to our own inner voice and our conscience." ...
“The day you speak to someone who has their head held down and when they lift it up and smile, you realize how powerful it is just to open your mouth and say, "Hello." ...
"I feel within me sky It triggers me to go high I do possess a downward pull Sometimes it becomes a subject of ridicule ..."
"What if we replaced responsible with respond-able? Our ability to respond. What would be the new skills required to be fully respond-able?" ...
"Words tumbling from otherwhere pen gliding across icy white terrain disturbing the pristine surface ..."
"Words hold great power, impacting our lives and relationships. They can foster growth or cause harm." ...
"What did you face? With no paper upon which to trace ... Your features, Your face, I can only stand here, Alone, Yet, not alone any longer. ..."
"When we use an external solution repetitively so that it becomes a habit for us, a need, then we’re developing an addiction." ...
"The greatest relationship, the greatest one you will ever have is with yourself. Believe me. Have faith in yourself. Believing that faith can make broken wings fly." ...
"Here’s a possibly controversial idea: we are NOT all thought leaders… and that is a GOOD THING." ...
"Why is it that expressing caring thoughts for a man more often than not sends him into an emotional tailspin? " ...
"For very many of the youngsters of today will never believe that this sort of life was possible and these kinds of people ever lived." ...
"A seemingly insignificant event on one side of the world may produce events of titanic proportions on the other." ...
"Life is a singular event, and if I’m to make a contribution to the great collective message board I must of necessity get after it and be shameless about sharing what I’ve discovered." ...
"What will happen next, you might wonder? How will life love you all the way with or without your shaker of salt? What kind of human being are you becoming?" ...
"To explore new horizons the basic traits that are needed are flexibility to change for the better, being open to new people and surroundings, being open to new perspectives, interacting with respect and kindness, and acknowledging the presence of all beings with respect."
"Grace and mystery abound in encounters between people across racial and socioeconomic differences where they meet and love each other." ...
"As I'm in the midst of my deep dive, I realize I had to learn how to let paint dry. I have to stop and take a break, because if I don't, my yellows and my blues will make green, even if that's not what I really, really want. " ...
"Let’s keep hot as a description for fast food or the car outside in the summer. Let’s use more respectful and creative vocabulary for the people in our lives. Let’s jump off the hot bandwagon and get on the road to something so much better." ...
"Because Terry was a real measure twice, cut once kind of guy, he had one more thing to do before they would take it down to Washington and unleash the Bloodhound program on the world." ...
"The Camino asked only that I walk, be the walking, and be the road that led to me. ... How have you been called to find out who you are?" ...
"My signals of expressions are too unique, I am human, truly supreme out of my configuration and I express it by my jive!" ...
"My kindred spirit, my better half, and my best friend. I AM forever grateful to have this kind, wonderful, wise man in my life. So today, join me in this brief Byron Edgington tribute and add your accolade here too." ...
"What kinds of hacks are you using to help you remember people’s names, or other things in your life? How are YOU adapting to aging successfully?" ...
"Such a simple instrument, objects in the wind hitting against each other; their vibrating sound creating tantalizing music ... "
"Real conversations are human. They embody our humanity by encompassing the sharing of emotions, a willingness to be vulnerable, and a receptiveness to fresh and different ideas." ...
"It's the "deliberate practice" studied by psychologist Anders Ericsson, and noted by Abraham Lincoln when he said, "I'm a slow walker, but I never walk back." ...
"I’m lost in an echo chamber, physically, digitally, spiritually. In the morning, I ache for quiet. I used to love you so." ...
"As humans, we are continuously creating our own lives, consciously or unconsciously. We each create the movie of our life and our view of reality." ...
"When in doubt of what to share; presence is enough to be there. Words may sift through air of time, but once you were a friend of mine." ...
"Animals grow old, grow tired, can’t move as quickly, can’t move as well, get injured, can’t get at whatever seed or bread or foodstuffs they can find and, in the end, even predators become prey." ...
"What do you do when something profound and impactful happens in your life? Do you dig deeper into its truth, or keep it at a distance for future reference or reflection?" ...
"People who think Irish pubs and grills are a dime a dozen are most likely correct. But they probably don’t know why there are so many or why they’re called pubs and grills." ...
"Butterflies fluttering around, greeting each other and spiraling up together exchanging looks of happiness as they descend upon a chosen bloom." ...
"Resilient people are really good at choosing carefully where they select their attention. They have a habit of realistically appraising situations, and typically, managing to focus on the things that they can change, and somehow accept the things that they can't."
"The ability to laugh stands as a vital protection of sanity and a mighty form of resistance to inhumanity." ...
"He called Shawna just to say hi. But he was pretty wrecked from all the driving so. Ten minutes later he was asleep." ...
"As we began preparing for this cruise, we made a list of everything that we had thought that we would need or could inadvertently use, and either purchased it or gathered it all up, before loading everything and more into our vessel last week, just to be sure there were no hic-ups." ...
"Buried deep within each of us, there is worth beyond definition, a glorious dimension that “is” us." ...
"Do we hesitate to put in the effort if we don’t think we will live in a community for more than a few years? And is that why people leave, because they don’t feel they belong and haven’t gotten any friends, and feel unrecognized?" ...
"Are you free to say what you think, feel what you feel, do what fulfills your heart and soul, and be the person your dog loves?" ...
"like a flower that blooms against all odds in the crack of the prison wall I too can turn my face to a sliver of light and find what I need to sustain my soul as I summon the courage to offer my own invisible gesture to the world ..."
"Today I bedazzle - radiate - glimmer- scintillate, deflect – rejecting senses of injury for the injury itself to disappear – dispel doom to rise above gloom - Inject a bright glow of hope." ...
"Get to know the people you have the privilege to lead. Find out more about them than just their life at work. Take an interest in them and show them you care about them as a person, not just as an employee." ...
"We need diversity to create necessary change. Those who will help to create this much-needed change are those who are willing to speak out about the patterns of thought that no longer serve us." ...
"I flirt with mine regularly. When is the last time that “you” teased your sensory-scapes?" ...
"Are you carrying a package of past memories that you cannot change? Alternatively, future worries that what you do might not work? Are you trying then to change or control what you have no power to change or control?" ...
"The decisions we make today will make the difference on whether or not our descendants will have all the warps in place to weave their own basket, to collect new knowledge and stories in." ...
"As you head down the roads of your life, please enjoy those green lights and your forward progress. Will you also prepare for any red lights that may come? " ...
"The shortest distance between two points is a straight line. This is how Shawna’s mind worked." ...
"Reach out to those (especially the elderly) who we suspect might be feeling lonely or isolated. Just a phone call, a message, or an email can engage those who are feeling desolate." ...
"Who else has been to a Weekend 3-day event with multiple presenters, each offering, “Once in a lifetime” deals on their products and services?" ...
"Should you feel like ghosting somebody - for being an ultracrepidarian, negative, meddlesome - just send them this prayer instead." ...
"The medical community pathetically doesn’t address the problem or the solutions for menopause. They simply want to treat the symptoms leaving the woman with lifelong weight problems." ...
"Can You Define Spirituality in One Sentence? What Are Some Practical Examples of It in Our Daily Lives?' ...
"Let us make ourselves a proud race that even the possibly smarter species can learn from. Let us course correct now. We need to live in peace with ourselves and let others live." ...
"While I’m working out the details, if you see something that seems to have better than even odds of going sideways, call me before you go for it." ...
"I am in awe of those who are walking their path with a laser that fuels their enthusiasm and life force. Have you found your niche?" ...
"If we're going to find our way back to each other, we have to understand and know empathy, because empathy's the antidote to shame." ...
"Self-Forgiveness illuminates your true purpose-opening doors to healing your past while replacing regret with gratitude." ...
"Gratitude fosters empathy, promotes positive relationships, counters entitlement, and enhances overall well-being." ...
"Being in our power is key if we want to impact the world around us and yet many of us have experienced the abuse of power and perhaps shy away from shining our light." ...
"Would it not be more valuable to focus on all of the little things that make up the key areas all people need to navigate daily?" ...
"How can we expect to appreciate those moments where everything seems right or is going the way we want if we never experience the opposite?" ...
"Financial abuse often goes hand in hand with other forms of abuse such as emotional and physical abuse." ...
"The time and the company we keep are to feel safe for sharing our secrets and, quite possibly, what leads us to realize our life purpose." ...
"When you see something you don’t like about someone, immediately make yourself look for something good about that same person. The more you look for good, the more you will find." ...
"What if there’s no evidence to prove zodiac signs actually correlate with personality because we haven’t perceived — thought or sought to perceive — that correlation yet?" ...
"The feelings, stories, and dreams of the women are stitched onto this spectacular dress." ...
"Each of us is accountable for how we view our world. Nobody else has the power to change the internal workings of our minds and hearts. However, surrounding ourselves with people who support and encourage our evolving perspective can be enormously powerful." ...
"To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment." ...
"The three important tenets of the Baha'i Faith Bahai.org are; Oneness of God, all true religions come from the same one God, and oneness of the human race." ...
"We're so adept at searching for stuff and ascribing models to try and make sense of creation, and sometimes we're so close, yet we forget to include the basics... numbers." ...
"Do you ever do that? Resist things that are good for you because of some underlying story. Maybe it’s a toughness story. Maybe it’s shame. Maybe it’s an insistence to let the world know you’ve “got this” when it’s something you do not, in fact, got?" ...
"I am one witness but not the only witness against intolerance, injustice, and hate ... "
"Congress was not set to resume for another two weeks, so Shawna and Terry had a bit of time to decide what exactly they wanted to do with the resources they had at their disposal." ...
"One of the earmarks of truth is its applicability in contexts beyond that truth's initial setting. The more often a thing remains true regardless of its context, the more true that thing is." ...
"Using very simple language and images, this book helps children ... and adults too ... understand how thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations are driven by needs that we all share. ... " ...
"Take a deep breath and pick up a volume and read. It will take you on a journey that you will never forget." ...
"The recognition that the body-mind has imperfections can lead to the false conclusion that it is not divine unto itself. Yet, it is a unique expression of creation and thus an expression of divinity." ...
"Being negative has been made into a full-contact, no-holds-barred sport where gossiping gladiators fight to the death with sharp tongues as their weapons. It is brutal! Why not try a little kindness instead?" ...
"From the human perspective, we often directly or indirectly ask the following question of our family, friends, and peers: “Are you with me?” ...
"Oh, how I long for those days of old when her warm smile from across the table would make my coffee and the start of my day so much better when her presence would brighten those gray days and warm those chilly mornings." ...
"For the past 70 years, scientists in Britain have been studying thousands of children through their lives to find out why some end up happy and healthy while others struggle." ...
"Perhaps I will stay here a while, walking my dog along the shore and maybe I will finish Grandfather’s painting." ...
"It's time to reclaim our humanity and dignity through deliberate action, not just words, and with a heightened sense of urgency demanded by the atrocities witnessed. True dignity is expressed by acknowledging the human condition, the suffering, the imperfection; the missteps, and the potential for real change. ...
"In this life unfortunately we will have to do things we don't want to for the betterment of someone else, whether placing someone on Hospice Care or cooking Okra." ...
"Olivia arrived home just in time for dinner, which Terry had ordered from Bark Barbecue." ...
Introduction: These articles are part of Intercultural dialogues, to celebrate, leverage and chronicle diverse stories, narratives, voices, and cultural identities of inspirational Indian women achievers.
As an Indian-born woman, my life has been enriched by a colorful spectrum and cultural impact of the 9 Indian cities I grew up in, and the 8 international cities I lived in thereafter, giving me an in-depth understanding of overall internal and cross-cultural diversities that are perceived through life’s unique and everchanging emotional and psychological lenses.
With the power of the written word, I hope to address the relevance of a woman in India’s emerging economy, as she prepares to face conflicting issues of social division vs cohesion, and, discrimination vs reconciliation, across cultural divides. With dreams, desires, and circumstances reflective of many women across all corners of our world, these shared stories seek to ignite, inspire, and empower another sister with one aim – creating a virtuous circle to uplift the overall human spirit through the coming decades.
Women in IndiaA wise man of great intellect and power once said, “The best measure of a nation’s progress is the way it treats its women.”
From times immemorial, legends and cultural metaphors of India, have allowed the subtle expressions of patriarchy’s regulated sexuality, reproduction, and social productions, to become part of an accepted social fabric. The role of women has been emphasized as faithful wives and devout mothers, who are trained since childhood to sacrifice their aspirations and individualism, and never challenge discrimination, subordination, exploitation, and subjugation.
Till the 13th century, India was a country that shunned widows and allowed the Hindu practice of “Sati” (burning to death of a recent widow; self-immolation or by force or coercion, and deemed as an act of peerless piety that would purge her of all her sins, release her from the cycle of birth and rebirth and ensure salvation for her dead husband and the seven generations that followed her), till it was abolished in1827, during British Raj, by the Governor-General of India, Lord Bentinck, claiming it had no sound theological basis.
In this age of ascending feminism and focus on equality and human rights, the contemporary modern Indian woman is switching between multiple roles successfully, but still struggles to find a balancing act between being respected, feared, insulted, sidelined, and is constantly being defined and re-defined by contradictions and comparisons to a “traditional woman”. She forges ahead irrespective…leaving behind her legacy of fearlessness.
Meet one such woman, Jija Madhavan Harisingh, first lady IPS officer in South India, who is an epitome of an “Officer and a Gentle Woman”, uniquely striking a “rare” balance of logic, calm and collected, on one hand; and creative, intuitive, sensitive, flexible, adaptable, with an adventurous and relentless “never say never” attitude, on the other. Her mantra: “Never stop exploring, never settle, as a curious mind knows there is more to life than existing, so keep expecting bigger things from life”!
A Thought Leader, Visionary, Catalyst for change, Mentor for Women and Youth, Philanthropist, Humanitarian, Artist of repute and an art connoisseur, Spiritual Seeker, a multifaceted icon with strength & simplicity, Singh was the first woman to join the premier Indian Police Service ( IPS), Karnataka, in 1975, and who at the young age of 24, after three years of tough physical and professional training, was posted to the conservative state of Karnataka (post of Assistant Superintendent of Police – Research), where a strong patriarchal mindset was to confront her at every step. But the warrior that she was …her brilliant career spanned three and half decades, earning her the highest rank of Director General of Police (DGP). She retired in 2011.
Her early life was influenced by her father, T.K. Madhavan, and later, she blossomed under her mentor Madhukar Rao (with whom she shared her love for Shakespeare, poets of the romantic era, like Keats, Shelley, and Wordsworth, and modern poets like GM Hopkins and TS Eliot), and learnt live model studies under the well-known artist M.V. Devan at Kalapeetom, (helping her establish as an artist of refute in traditional figurative gold paintings of Mysore and Tanjore, abstracts, painting color fields in oil and acrylic).
She finished her graduation and post-graduation in English literature from University College, a Journalism course at Press Club, a short working stint at the Indian space Research organization, followed by a brief English teaching phase at Maharaja’s College, Ernakulam. Her enthusiasm, eagerness, and insatiable curiosity about life enabled her to balance a challenging career, and competent motherhood, and she went on to gain another MA Degree in Sociology from Mysore University, followed by a Ph.D. in Development Studies on the topic of her special interest, women’s empowerment. Her research study with title ‘Gender status in Karnataka police, a study of entry-level cadres in women police’.
In just four years, Jija rose to be a force to be reckoned with and was handed tough assignments like Asst.
Superintendent of Police of a strife-ridden subdivision of Bangalore and Madhugiri. Her tough and meticulous handling of confronting unruly crowds and hardened criminals in this area was acknowledged by higher authorities, and she was soon picked to head a district as the Superintendent of Police, a district with 30-plus police stations and 1000 personnel, becoming the first woman ever to be allowed such an onerous responsibility in the country. Her other successful career stints were Airports Authority of India, Nuclear Power Corporation Limited, National Textiles Corporation, Karnataka State Police Housing Corporation and Mysore Minerals Ltd., and Jungle Lodges & Resorts Ltd (Corporates under the Government of Karnataka).
Inspired by Nehru’s words ‘I am not interested in excuses; I am interested in work done”, Jija’s positive and diligent mindset, and spirited quest to perform against all odds, helped her establish herself as the only woman DGP (Director General of Police) in the state, in spite of the challenges of gender power dynamics, and the Indian patriarchal/conventional style of bureaucracy (“I convert even the dullest assignment into a “glorious lake of lotuses”, she says).
Never allowing a dull moment in creativity, her solo exhibitions in India and abroad, the establishment of a Trust called “Art Mantram” (that has organized over 500 events, online Art souks, camps, and workshops that address burning social issues, promotes patronage, awareness, and accessibility of Art), won her the “Indira Priyadarshini National Award”, for Contribution to Art.
Today, she has chosen to retire in Bangalore (also spelled Bengaluru), the capital city, (since 1830), of Karnataka state, southern India, which lies 3,113 feet (949 meters) above sea level, atop an east-west ridge in the Karnataka Plateau in the southeastern part of the state. According to an early 2023 survey, and has an estimated population of 11,644,000, an average literacy rate of 88.71 percent (of which male and female literacy is 91.71 and 85.44 percent), and the sex ratio of Bangalore city is 923 per 1000 males.
I reached out to Jija Hari Singh, to talk about what it takes for a woman to break the glass ceiling in one of the toughest professions, handle insensitive gender environments, deal with Bigotry and gender bias, and still leave her mark as a leader; and how a heightened EQ (Emotional Quotient) in a woman can fuel progress, and art of thriving in life through self-mastery, curiosity, and creativity. Excerpts from the Interview…
Q. Jija, is it true that the Indian police culture is characterized by gender inequalities and hegemonic masculinity?
A: Of course! Women police officers face greater organizational, psychological, and physiological stress and distress than men officers. Especially with the bias and gender-related work stressors like perceptions of sexually offensive behaviors, vulgar/offensive language around them, and sexual and racial harassment. Police forces across the world (not just in India), have been strongly patriarchal and also adversarial towards women who “dared” to join their ranks. Especially, 40 years ago, it was almost unheard of.
Q: What about you personally? Did you also find yourself dealing with bigotry, rude and supercilious behavior, or a disparaging attitude from your men colleagues that made you feel less influential than your men colleagues? How did you handle it?
A: Indeed, it was a rough time. Difficulties of confronting and overcoming prejudice, rude and supercilious behavior, and bigotry were tougher than the actual policing duties. How did I handle it? A combination of strategies, I could say. A meticulous and flawless working style, a thorough knowledge of the job, a lot of homework, and thinking through SOPs and Emergency plans, combined with assertiveness and a sensible, common-sense, often compassionate approach cannot go wrong. When it is untiringly repeated, the adversaries back off, noise levels come down and you emerge victorious, again and again. Results in policing, positive or negative cannot be hidden. Crime prevention and investigation or law and order maintenance or security administration are all in the public eye and quickly bring laurels and public appreciation or condemnation. Good work is seen! And acknowledged.
Q. As someone who has been a catalyst for change, and a Thought leader, do you think that Indian patriarchal masculinity is being challenged in contemporary times? What will it take to change the long-standing patriarchal values to be more inclusive of women?
A. If we look at India’s rich cultural heritage, during the Vedic period, women enjoyed equal status with men in all aspects of life, and this is actually documented by ancient Indian saints like Patanjali and Katayana too. Moving through the “Medieval period, and the late medieval period” (from the 13th to the 16th century, ending with the start of the Mughal Empire in 1526), women’s image became a self-sacrificing, self-effacing pure image, trained only as faithful wives and devout mothers, as you rightfully said. Let’s face it, like many Asian, Hispanic, and Latino cultures, Indian society too, is still patriarchal, and gender inequalities in patriarchal societies favor men with the gender norms constructed around masculinity and a man’s sense of self, that hinges on his ability to control and protect his daughter (and her chastity), till she’s married.
However, let me share some interesting data I came across. Apparently, Thailand and Cambodia are the only two countries, which have more women running companies than men, and it’s also true that, when the top manager of a firm is a woman, that firm usually tends to have a larger share of permanent female workers. Amazing. Maybe we should study this more to understand why this is manageable there and not in other parts of the world.
Perhaps, the answer lies in bringing in attitudinal changes in both men and women – a collective social effort, an awareness, to build gender equity, to empower, encourage, and welcome more women in any male-dominated profession. We need to encourage men and educate them to take responsibility as responsible sexual partners, husbands, and fathers, and willingly work towards removing stereotypical attitudes, socio-cultural barriers, violence against women, and gender injustice, and increasing women’s workforce.
In 1979, Mylinh Luong left communist Vietnam with her father, mother, and four siblings in a crowded fishing boat. She was six years old. She vividly recalls the deprivation, squalor, and brutality of the journey and life in a Malaysian refugee camp. She knows what it is to be without resources, education, family, and friends. In the US, she experienced acts of kindness that helped her overcome the lack of these things. Now a successful businesswoman, she puts her knowledge into practice by helping and supporting other immigrants in a big way.
Every month of the year has pet awareness events. For instance, June is National Adopt a cat month, it is National Zoo and Aquarium Month, and National pet preparedness month. June also has National hug your cat day, International Corgi Day, World Pet Memorial Day, National take your cat to work day, Ugliest dog day and take your dog to work day. Why do we care about animals to give them so much attention?
According to Forbes, 65.1 million U.S. households own a dog, 46.5 million households own cats and 11.1 million households own fish. 66% of US households (2/3) own pets. Americans spent $136.8 billion on their pets, up 10.7% from just last year, which turns out to be an average of $730 a year just on each dog. 38% of dog owners and 40% of cat owners got their pets from an animal shelter or rescue.
Web MD tells us that pets are natural mood enhancers where in only a few minutes with a dog, cat, or watching fish swim, we become less anxious and less stressed. Pets help keep blood pressure in check in adults, and blood pressure of children with hypertension decreases while petting their dog. Playing and petting with an animal increases levels of serotonin and dopamine (nerve transmitters known to have calming effects) and these transmitters help reduce not only depression but stress. If you own a dog, you tend to be more physically active, and being forced to walk your dog daily may be one of the main reasons animals help with our heart and stress. Dog owners walk 300 minutes a week compared to 168 minutes for non-pet owners while walking a dog leads to a 28% increase in walking speed. Web MD also reports that when children grow up in a home with a dog or cat, they are 33% less likely to develop allergies; and the same is true for kids living on a farm with large animals. So maybe pets are truly the miracle drug we have been waiting for!
We know the medical reasons for a pet, but what about the psychological advantages?
The American Psychological Association did a study, done at Miami University of Ohio and St. Louis University, where they concluded that people with pets were actually closer to other important people in their lives and received more support, not less from their friends and family. The study concluded that pets complement other forms of social support rather than compete with them, indicating there was no evidence that relationships with pets came at the expense of relationships with other people. The study also concluded that owning a pet can teach children valuable life lessons. Kids with dogs have a higher level of empathy and self-esteem, and learning to take care of an animal teaches the value of routine, accountability, nurturing, and good habits. Interacting with pets stimulates cognitive development in children. Caring for and training pets improves problem-solving skills, memory retention, and concentration in both children and adults. Being outside in a public setting with your animal increases social interaction because pets are great icebreakers and can help ease people out of social isolation and shyness.
But with all these reasons to own a pet, we still have homeless animals, and what really happens to these poor creatures? According to PetKeen, there are 3,500 brick-and-mortar animal shelters across the USA. Entering these shelters each year are 7.6 million animals- 4.2 million dogs and 3.4 million cats. 2.7 million are euthanized.
Even though every month we celebrate days honoring our pets, there is no celebration for the 2.7 million animals America euthanizes each year. We as taxpayers spend $2 billion annually to round up, house, and dispose of homeless animals, but that is not enough to keep our animal shelters running in a humane manner. You would think that such a large profitable industry like the pet industry would step in to help these rescue shelters and these poor animals in need, but we have not seen that happen as the pet industry sales and profits are increasing every year. It falls back on all of us to have the heart to help defenseless animals that can’t speak for themselves. For anyone who has ever looked into the eyes of their pet and felt that unconditional love looking back, we cannot continue letting animal shelters go underfunded and undermanned. All of us need to reach deep into our pockets to help these shelters find homes for these innocent animals; and if we don’t have the dollars to help, we should be volunteering.
Pets provide healing benefits for many of life’s invisible scars. They help us emotionally and socially. The unconditional love pets give us transcends work issues, family conflicts, death, and divorce.
Our pets don’t care if you can read or not, they don’t care about the color of your skin or if you are missing a limb. This country has a lot to fix in not only solving homelessness for our fellow citizens but taking care of the homeless animals in our lives. Volunteer at your local shelter to help these powerless animals cope with being alone. None of us want to be alone, and your simple act of kindness goes a long way for animals who can’t speak for themselves.
Sometimes, whether it be while sitting in my yard swing as a gentle breeze blows the fresh scent of the newly opened blossoms my way or while standing on the shoreline of my favorite lake, taking in the beauty and serenity of the view before me, as a crisp fresh scent wafts across the surface of the water in my direction, filling my senses with a renewed energy as I inhale deeply, or setting in my living room with the lights low while listening to the soft instrumental music of my favorite artists play, their music allowing me to close my eyes and drift away as if a piece of me leaves riding away on each note or chord played; I feel as though I never want to leave the moment.
Sometimes to stay and let life pass me by as I hide beneath the layers of each moment would seem the best place for me to be. Safe from a world of sadness and regret. One where people no longer care for each other but look for what value they can get from one another. A world of loud intrusive noise and confusion.
But upon further pondering, I realize that by leaving this world behind, I would also leave behind many of the wonderful things I find beauty and joy in, like watching my children make their way in this world and visiting with those of kindred spirit: or watching the surrounding wildlife happily play while listening to the music of the birds as they sing in chorus each day: or viewing a magnificent sunrise and the calming beauty of a sunset: or the joy I find in working amongst the flowers scattered throughout my yard, and the memories found within the walls of this house, which once made it a home.
And soon I realize that there is still much here for me to enjoy and love and that if I were to leave, staying in one of those sometimes moments, I would miss everything that means so much to me. So I will instead treat myself occasionally with a visit to one of those moments, knowing that what makes them so special is I can visit them anytime I want to.
As I’ve written previously, I have a very difficult time separating hate from ignorance. I take hate to be a subset or a symptom of ignorance. Ignorance can scale, of course. It can be as small as one Hibernophobe burning down my house. It can be as large as one power-mongering lunatic attempting to create a master race, or as large as another power-mongering lunatic attempting to create a collectivist Utopia.
But hate and ignorance possess a corrosive energy that eventually causes them to decay from within. Kenneth Burke called man the symbol-using animal. And so it is, that symbol-using lunatics adopted symbols for their misguided causes.
In his book, Language as Symbolic Action, Burke also alluded to the self-destructive power of hate and ignorance when he wrote this:
Man is/the symbol-using (symbol-making, symbol-misusing) animal/inventor of the negative (or moralized by the negative)/separated from his natural condition by instruments of his own making/goaded by the spirit of hierarchy (or moved by the sense of order)/and rotten with perfection.
Likewise, Carlos Fuentes hinted at the rottenness of that perfection when he wrote this:
Perfect order is the forerunner of perfect horror.
Germany’s National Socialist Party, China’s Communist Party — history is rife with examples of attempts at perfection that yielded otherwise inconceivable horror, brutality, cruelty, carnage, and suffering. If you’re up for a little light reading, here are some books on the subject:
Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin
The Killing Wind: A Chinese County’s Descent into Madness during the Cultural Revolution
A State of Blood
Pol Pot: Anatomy of a Nightmare
The Butcher’s Trail
Or if you’d like a broader view, you might skim through Blood and Soil: A World History of Genocide and Extermination from Sparta to Darfur. Here’s an excerpt from the book’s description:
This new book—the first global history of genocide and extermination from ancient times … examines outbreaks of mass violence from the classical era to the present, focusing on worldwide colonial exterminations and twentieth-century case studies including the Armenian genocide, the Nazi Holocaust, Stalin’s mass murders, and the Cambodian and Rwandan genocides. He identifies connections, patterns, and features that in nearly every case gave early warning of the catastrophe to come: racism or religious prejudice, territorial expansionism, and cults of antiquity and agrarianism. The ideologies that have motivated perpetrators of mass killings in the past persist in our new century.
We create new things, new people, and new ways to hate with every generation, across all nationalities and geographies. The evidence piles up, right along with the bodies. Yet, on we hate.
Using the word, stupidity, rather than the word, ignorance, Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote this:
Stupidity is a more dangerous enemy of the good than malice. One may protest against evil; it can be exposed and, if need be, prevented by use of force. Evil always carries within itself the germ of its own subversion in that it leaves behind in human beings at least a sense of unease. Against stupidity we are defenseless. Neither protests nor the use of force accomplishes anything here; reasons fall on deaf ears; facts that contradict one’s prejudgment simply need not be believed – in such moments the stupid person even becomes critical – and when facts are irrefutable, they are just pushed aside as inconsequential, as incidental. In all this the stupid person, in contrast to the malicious one, is utterly self-satisfied and, being easily irritated, becomes dangerous by going on the attack. For that reason, greater caution is called for when dealing with a stupid person than with a malicious one.
A fascinating contemplation that.
We’ll begin to push back against hate, malice, ignorance, and/or stupidity on Tuesday of this week at 1:00 p.m. Eastern time, in a critically important Salon 360˚ session. How much we accomplish will be determined, in part, by the number of people who participate in the conversation.
To join us, please click here to reserve your seat in our Zoom room. Registration is free.
If we don’t stop hate, we’ll be paying the price forever.
Author’s Note: As I was creating the video that appears at the end of this post, I was recalling a piece I’d written some years ago, inspired by something I’d witnessed in a gym. Thanks to a portable floppy-disc drive and my pack-rat compulsion to hang on to my old floppy discs, I was able to find the piece. I had no idea it was almost 30 years old. But, as we know, time flies ….
While the video I created is intended to commemorate Memorial Day 2023, the sacrifices we honor on Memorial Day are ultimate manifestations of giving without season. The only way we can repay our debt to those who’ve given their lives is to honor the freedom they died to preserve.
On Saturday, December 18, 1993, with anticipation of Christmas at its warmest, fuzziest, and most superficial pitch, I happened to be in Gold’s Gym in Manchester, indulging my vanity in the selfish preoccupation of another in an endless series of workouts, when Chapter 120 of the Vietnam Veterans of America interrupted my self-absorption by holding a ceremony — curiously moving, quietly disarming in its deliberate yet humble solemnity — in honor of some other spirit of giving with which I am not entirely familiar, a spirit of sacrifice without season, artifice, or pretense.
These survivors, anonymous in their uniform camouflage fatigues as they were in their trials in Southeast Asia, as they remain in their efforts to reconcile themselves to those trials, had come to recognize Gold’s Gyms for participating in the holiday food drive the Veterans annually conduct for the benefit of their homeless and otherwise needy peers. They had also come to honor the service of members of the state and local police forces and to present commemorative gifts to wives and mothers of their fallen police and military brethren.
All of those assembled, veteran and active soldiers and police officers, widows, and childless mothers, shared this singular bond: No matter how compelled — by self, family, government, or ideology — they have given of themselves and their families in service to people other than themselves, in service to institutions other and larger than their families. They continue to give in ways more painful and profound than most of us will ever have to know. And it occurred to me in watching this ceremony that the least I could do is understand that.
But this is not a lecture on moral obligation. It is not (intended to be) a pedantic diatribe on duty; on the morbid and mortal price paid by others for our freedom; on the guilt we might feel for never having been asked to pay so dear a price ourselves, thereby earning our right to enjoy that freedom. Rather, this is intended to be as sincere and focused an expression of gratitude as I can muster.
To each of the men and women I saw that December afternoon, I wish to say thank you. But my gratitude is not limited to their having given of themselves so profoundly, for sacrificing in ways I can only feebly imagine with horror and hope that neither I nor my children may ever be asked to give the same. More fully and purposefully, I say thank you for their having penetrated my sarcastic cynicism for a meaningful, reflective moment, for reminding me that it’s only by the sweat and blood of selfless souls such as theirs that, once the blush of the Christmas spirit has faded for another year, I have the inestimable freedom to remain detached, sarcastic, and cynical of all that frightens or mystifies me.
Yes, dubious as its value might seem, that is the freedom exercised most frequently by many of us. It is the product of too much abundance, too much freedom to choose among options too numerous to fully evaluate, too much opportunity to take that freedom for granted, too many chances to benefit from the sacrifices of others without thought, acknowledgment, or reciprocity.
For these reasons, I must say to that group of men and women I am frightened and mystified by their sacrifices. But, thanks to that public demonstration of their commitment to giving, I know I am deeply and forever grateful for what they’ve given, and for their having reached me on one, cold winter afternoon, while I, as always, was deep in self-absorption.
In this season and all others, as they have given of themselves so others might not have to, and for helping to purchase the very liberty by which I might write this opinion, God bless them, every one.
Neurodiversity and innovation often go hand in hand, but does that mean visionary entrepreneurs get a free pass to say and do anything they want? Bonobos founder and mental health advocate Andy Dunn shares his experience navigating bipolar I in the midst of running a successful startup, offering lessons learned on his journey to wellness and steps to create a future where everyone is able to “dream crazy dreams” — while being held accountable.
EDITOR’S NOTE: ENJOY PART 1 HERE
Olivia wasn’t at the house when they arrived.So Terry showed her around. Eventually, they ended up on the second floor, where Shawna was given her choice of bedrooms.
Then they hauled her bags up and Terry left her to unpack and have a shower.
“My Gram has gone to a shareholder meeting in Boston. She’ll be back sometime tomorrow. Come down to the pool-house when you‘re hungry and I’ll take you to dinner.”
When she came down Terry was sitting at a table beside the pool reading something on his Kindle.
She sat down beside him and looked out at the ocean. An hour later, they were sitting at a table in a restaurant called Martini’s, in downtown Plymouth. Terry was drinking a beer and Shawna was sipping a Long Island Iced Tea.
“Your house is pretty amazing. Have you lived in it all your life?”
“Yeah. When I lost my parents, Gram sold her condo in Boston and came to live with me until I left for MIT. She commuted for a while, but then we had a chat and I set up and networked her computer here to her businesses. It wasn’t long before she got to love working remotely. Gave her a chance to spend more time in the garden, which is really where her heart is.”
“She did everything I saw? I mean. It’s a showpiece.”
“Yep. She had a landscaper named Mel Thorpe, who helped her design the whole garden, but she takes care of it pretty much by herself. Gram is a very high achiever,” Terry said. “But what about you, Shawna?”
“Pretty ordinary by comparison. My mom is a public school teacher and my dad works on the docks. He’s some kind of foreman. Spends his days unloading ships. I have one brother, Shane, also a nerd. He fell in love with girl from Canada and moved to Quebec City. I got interested in computers watching him. He’s a wizard. World-class hacker, but doesn’t really take advantage of it. Just wanted to learn how to do it because he was curious. Guess I’m a lot like him in that regard.”
“So you’ve done some hacking.”
“Little bit. Just peeking though. No stealing. No sabotage.”
“How do you feel about hacking?”
“Well, it would depend on the reason.”
“How about saving the world?”
Shawna just laughed. Not too loud. But she definitely thought it was funny.
“Well, you’re gonna have to quantify that somehow, because that’s a pretty big statement.”
Terry leaned back in his chair. He took a deep breath. “Look, what we have starting in the AI world is kind of like a wild west show. It’s a free for all. Everybody’s trying to carve out the biggest slice of the pie possible. And they’re doing it with absolutely no regard for the consequences.’
“I don’t disagree. The number of people who are going to be displaced as a result of a lot of this stuff is staggering.”
“Right. And the reason this is going to happen is because governments all over the world are just sitting back and letting it happen because nobody has lit a fire underneath their butts.”
Shawna stared at Terry for several seconds. “So are you talking about hacking the government, you know, to send them a message about how vulnerable they are? And using AI to do it?”
“Not quite. When my grandfather established this trust for me. I was only about fourteen at the time, he told me that when I got older, I should use this money to do something good. Well, I’ve got fifty-four million and what I want to do is wake the government up. And if the US government wakes up the rest of them will surely follow suit…at least that’s the theory.”
“And you think we can do this, you and me?”
“Yeah, I do with a little help from some friends.”
Just then the waiter came with their dinners.
“Just think about it, Shawna. That’s all I’m asking.” Terry said.
____________________
Later that night they sat at the table beside the pool. The air was cool and salty. They started to talk. And they talked until about three in the morning.
The next afternoon, they went to the Rockland Trust Bank on Court Street and met with a lady named Gloria Rose, who was the personal banker for the Moorehouse family. She added Shawna to the payroll of Moorehouse Digital and arranged for a direct deposit to Shawna’s BankAmerica in Boston.
They then walked down the street. They walked past all kinds of shops and restaurants. The street was bustling because it was summer and filled with tourists and residents just enjoying the warm weather. As they walked Shawna noticed that Court Street had changed to Main Street. They stopped at a large, beautiful white frame house on the corner of Brewster and Main.
They climbed onto the massive front porch and Terry used a thumb-print to open the front door. Inside was a small reception area, a wide staircase and, behind the partial wall of the reception area, a large open space, held up by pillars. There were eight multi-screen workstations, all managed by people Shawna and Terry’s age.
“This is the bullpen where most of the day-to-day stuff gets done.’ Terry said. “These people are dealing with the two hundred-odd websites we maintain. There’s a green screen studio in the basement for shooting stills or making video.”
They then climbed the stairs to the second floor, which was also an open lounge area with comfortable furniture and coffee tables. There was a line of glass-walled offices along two of the outside walls. At the far end was a large counter with a couple of coffee machines, two fridges, a stove, a microwave and cupboards. A couple of people were sitting at the counter, drinking coffee and looking at something on an iPad.
A older lady, dressed in a stylish business suit walked out of the corner office. She and Terry hugged affectionately. Then Terry turned to Shawna and said. “Shawna Lennox, this is Jamie Goldman, she runs the joint.”
Shawna and Jamie shook hands.
“Welcome, Shawna.”
“Thank you. This quite the going concern you have here., How many people in all?”
“Well there’s the eight sloggers downstairs, who deal with website creation and maintenance. There’s me, up here coordinating, I have two site designers and two app designers, but they work mostly at home. And we have three sales people, who are on the road most of the time. Hence all the empty offices up here.”
“That’s quite an operation.”
“ Yeah, we try and have as much fun as we can. And keep the days contained to eight hours.”
“OK, so you and I,” Terry said to Shawna. “Will be working separately from the rest of Moorehouse Digital. Jamie has even given us our own separate server, which we can cloak.”
“So Jamie knows what you’re planning.”
“Yeah, Jamie’s part of the family. She was Gram’s executive assistant in Boston and Gram gave her this company to run after she decided to be more hands off. Jamie’s president. Gram is the CEO.”
“So what are you? I mean what are we?”
“You can call yourself anything you want. Tell Jamie and she’ll put it in your business card. Mine just says, Head of Digital Innovation. That would be a good title for you too.”
Terry showed Shawna into one of the offices. There was a large desktop monitor and keyboard on a beautiful oak desk. Terry asked Shawna to sit at the desk. He reached over and activated the monitor. A small logo came up on the screen. Displaying the words ‘The Human League’.
“This is us.” Terry said.
Shawna smiled. Terry clicked on the logo and a page of text came up.
“The Human League is dedicated to helping bring sanity to the digital future. Our mission is to create awareness, in governments around the world, of the threat that unbridled and unregulated AI development poses to humanity. We will do this with skill, cunning and in complete anonymity. The Human League will lobby the government to enact sensible and sane laws governing the use of AI.”
Shawna looked up at Terry. “So this is more than just some idea you’re noodling.”
“A little bit. Yeah.”
Just then a man entered the office. His name was Jackson Freeburgh. He looked to be cut from the same cloth as Terry, but maybe five years older. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored linen suit with a black T-shirt underneath. His hair was long and dark. His sunglasses were perched on his forehead.
“Hey Cisco.” Jackson said.
“Hey Pancho.” Terry replied.
The two man embraced. Then Terry turned to Shawna. “Shawna Lennox, this is Jackson Freeburgh. Jack is the third wheel in our little tricycle.”
Jackson shook hands with Shawna. “Wow, if you’re as smart as you are beautiful, we’ll be in great shape.”
Shawna looked completely puzzled.
“Jack is a lawyer. Harvard Law. He started his own intellectual property practice four years ago. Very well-versed in the AI community. Once we get the attention of the people we need to reach, Jack will do the talking. He knows his way around DC ‘cause his dad’s a Senator and he grew up there. Lots of solid connections. He won’t just be our lawyer though. He will also be our writer and front man with the government.
They moved to a small meeting room in the other corner of the house. Jamie Goldman joined them.”
“Terry has briefed me fully and I’m totally on board.” Jackson said. He put his briefcase on the table and pulled out four sets of documents and distributed them.
“These are non-disclosures agreements. They’ll keep up all safe from each other.” Jack said.
They spent the next few minutes signing documents, which Jack then gathered up and put back in his briefcase. They spent the next few hours talking about the approach they would take. Jack used the whiteboard on the wall to write it all out.
In a surprisingly short span of time, they had a plan of action, and everybody knew what to do. This was accomplished so easily because all four people in the room only had one agenda and were all motivated by the same passion.
After the meeting adjourned, Jack took off, and Jamie headed downstairs to deal with some Moorehouse issues, leaving Terry and Shawna in the meeting room.
“So now you’re in it, Shawna. Right up to your neck. How do you feel?”
“So far so good. Ask me again when the heat gets turned up.”
I visited a bar in St. Augustine Fl a few years back named Dos Gatos (two cats), I really liked the name and began thinking about all the mischief my brother and I would get into growing up. He likes cigars and I like cigars, so I thought about two old guys living on the beach, hanging out at a beach bar all day drinking, smoking cigars, and flirting with the waitress. Solo Dos Gatos (just two cats) came to be a song. The song has done extremely well getting over 150k plays globally, charting #1 on 5 different internet radio stations, and winning several music awards.
Thanks to the Covid-19 pandemic, I’ve had the opportunity to watch many TV series and movies, and one genre I very much enjoy is period pieces. I love to think about times past and how people lived especially in the day-to-day. Not just taking note of the big events but rather the more ordinary experiences of everyday life, in that time.
In a recently watched episode of Outlander (S01, E06, 13Sep2014), there was an exchange between a British Officer and Scottish War Chieftain of Clan MacKenzie, in 1743. In this scene, the War Chieftain is attempting to safeguard an English-woman and “guest” of his clan who has been invited to dine with British officers. From the start, the British insult and demean the Scotsman, most certainly treating him like the “second-class” human Brits believe all Scots to be. As the exchange wraps up, it goes like this:
Brit: Well, it’s been a delight meeting you, but I am afraid the venison is losing its heat.
Brit: I would ask you to join us, but as you can see, no room.
Brit: Beastly sorry.
Scot: You can keep your scraps. They’re still serving good Scottish ale in the taproom.
Scot: I’ll be downstairs.
Brit: How are we ever going to make peace with such ill-mannered people?
It’s easy to see, from this exchange, the Brit has no intention of extending hospitality to the Scot and his sarcasm is a further insult and acknowledgment of how little [value] the Brit regards the Scot. In an attempt to “save face” and not acknowledge the [emotional] pain of being unwanted, unvalued, and not belonging to the “superior” nation, the Scot states he prefers the Scottish tap room downstairs, anyway.
After the Scot leaves, the Brit boasts further his “position of superiority” with a statement about how “ill-mannered” the Scot people are and how peace is not possible with such a [lesser] people.
____________________
I find this exchange fascinating and as true in 2021 as it was 278 years ago. As I see it, humanity will never experience peace if one nation, group, or person, continues to believe they are “superior” to another. Choose your conflict over superiority:
- British — Scottish
- White — Black
- Black — Asian
- Christian — Jew
- Republican — Democrat
- West Coast — East Coast
- Maryland — Virginia
- New York City — Los Angeles
- Heterosexual — Homosexual
- Vegetarian — Carnivore
- Weight Lifter — Endurance Athlete
- Manchester United — Liverpool
- “Hard” Sciences — Humanities
- Boss — Employee
- Teacher — Student
- Parent — Child, etc.
Since the Brit believes himself to be a “superior human” then he expects the inferior Scot to “bow down” and submit to him and when he does not, the Brit believes the Scot is “ill-mannered” and unreasonable which reinforces his belief of superiority because the “low life” Scot won’t agree to his “station”. In other words, “You’ll only be considered valuable, in some regard, if you acknowledge my superiority”.
Meanwhile, the Scot, holding the inferior “status” (or, more likely, less power, army, money, and land) is kept to his “position”, without a shred of offered respect, which reinforces his position. Still, he knows he’s “as good as any Brit” yet he must reconcile that is not the view of those in power who are claiming their superiority. (It’s easy to claim superiority when you hold the power and resources.)
Another example that comes to mind, sadly, is how often police officers take this “superiority” position over citizens and if their position of authority and power is not recognized, immediately and without question, physical violence and even death too often ensues. Heck, even questioning an officer’s actions or comments can get you arrested or shot.
Sadly, no progress toward equality or peace is possible if the “people in power” continue to operate in a way that reinforces this false belief of higher value within the species. By claiming the other peoples’ inferiority (e.g., the Scots’ “ill-mannered” ways) and their superiority, equality simply is not possible. For equality and peace to exist, there is no superiority or inferiority of peoples.
At what point will humanity recognize we are all one species and no sub-group is better or worse than another?
While we each have our strengths and weakness, we are ALL homo sapiens, and there is no superior or inferior sub-group of people. When we perpetuate this myth, by assuming this position, then our species, as a whole, suffers.
“A rising tide lifts all the boats.”
If we continue to assume “we are better” and “they are worse” and we act accordingly then little will improve for humanity, division will grow, relationships will degrade further, and we’ll continue to hurt each and ourselves.
In Outlander, given the Brit assumes his superiority, the only way he will be satisfied [emotionally] and believe peace is possible is if the Scot agrees and concedes his inferiority. Since the Scot knows he is not inferior (and likely takes the position his people are actually superior to the Brits even if they do not have the power, money, land, etc.) then in order to compensate for that emotional attack (i.e., an attack on his peoples’ value as a species) he assumes their own superiority thereby perpetuating the cycle.
It’s simply a “no win” scenario for humanity, at large, when we continue to proclaim our superiority over others. And the more people believe they are superior the more destructive (often by physical force) their behaviors tend to be in order to maintain that “superior” position.
All the while, I submit, it is more likely each person’s own, individual, feelings of inferiority drive them to attach and associate with a group’s perceived superiority, if at all possible.
What if each and every person felt valued because they ARE valuable, as a human being, and all of humanity operated with this simple understanding?
What if we each took it upon ourselves to seek out, understand, recognize, and acknowledge the value each person we interact with has?
What would it take to discover another person’s gifts rather than assume their uselessness and your superiority? What if we operated from a position of “assumed value” and “positive intent”?
How might our world be different? How might you behave differently if equality truly existed within our species?
Yesterday, I was part of an exercise called “if you really knew me,” which took place in a room of about 40 people. The idea was for each of us to, for a few minutes, say “if you really knew me—-” and then allow whatever came out to come out.
When it was my turn, I said to the room “If you really knew me, you’d know I don’t have much ambition…
…and I get irritated when people judge that as a bad thing.”
I saw a few smiles.
“My favorite times of the day,” I continued, “are waking up, and eating. And I like making money, but only to further the pursuit of waking up… and eating.”
In my poorest year of business, I became intimate with how special it is to be able to buy food and have shelter. Truly, I’m blessed. I recognize that as a white woman with an education and a family that makes a comfortable middle-class income, I can only ever enter into elected poverty, not actual poverty. Not to mention, I have a massive assortment of highly successful friends- people who did have ambition in the years when I was gallivanting around New York City as a modern-day Beat.
I likely will never fall into dire straits –my life has not been designed that way. I recognize how truly fortunate this is. Nevertheless, I do not judge my value by my “output,” nor have I ever, really.
The only time I would let myself get down about it was when other people judged my value by my output. Why didn’t they see? All I wanted was love, and quiet. For me, waking up and eating was the definition of sublime. (And running too, eventually.) If I could sit by the water for a few hours every day, even better. Doesn’t even have to be fancy water. Dirty water like the East River suits me just fine.
One time I was meditating by that filthy estuary and I opened my eyes to see several police boats, and a police car approaching with flashing lights. Some cleaners thought they found a human body, which they do from time to time. Not that time, though. Even that water is fine. That water, eating, and waking up. That’s the elite trifecta.
Some of you will not understand this, but here’s the thing…
Ray Kurzweil predicted that in 2029, computers will pass the Turning Test and convince us that they have consciousness. Technology holds massively accelerating returns, and within a little over 15 years, we will expand our intelligence a billion-fold. So as threatening as it might sound to you, you were trained to be a piece of machinery to move a motor. That function will become obsolete.
Is it bad? Absolutely not. You’ll get to be with yourself again like you were when you were young, and you picked blades of grass and were giggly curious about everything you saw.
And I’m just here to help with the transitioning process… to help you see the value you hold as a cell in the organism of Earth.
That’s the view from the roof today.
My partner and I decided we needed to learn, understand, and implement a marketing and promotion program to create and execute campaigns to give our books and those of our clients the best opportunity to become a #1 bestselling new release and/or #1 best seller.
Why did we do this? After writing books that did not achieve what we hoped, we invested time, effort, and money to first understand the publishing/distribution/marketing business and second to develop a sustainable and repeatable program. We interviewed authors who had experienced success and disappointment. We learned how to identify and overcome the landmines, myths, and obstacles that negatively impact authors.
We tested the program on ourselves before offering it to clients. We now have multiple bestselling books. In May of 2021, our Trust the Process – Book Marketing Program was offered to clients. How has that worked?
In the 22-month window from May 2021 to March 2023, our campaigns have produced 11 consecutive Amazon #1 bestselling new releases in multiple categories and two award-winning books.
Our message to authorsSo, you want to write a book. As hard as that is marketing/promoting and selling your book is even harder. The average for book sales is 250 copies. The author makes on average $500. Did you pour your heart and soul into writing a book for this? Don’t you want more? What are you doing to make your book stand out? Do you have a marketing/promotion plan BEFORE your book is finished? The sad fact is most authors do not have any type of marketing/promotion plan.
Let’s look at the facts:* 200 million Americans say they want to publish a book. * Somewhere between 600,000 and 1,000,000 books are published every year in the US alone. That is at least 11,500 books published each week.
Let’s look at the myths:As stated above, the sad fact is that most authors do not have any type of marketing/promotion plan. They mistakenly assume the publisher or editor or illustrator or writing coach will do the marketing. Publishers publish. Their job is to get the book finished and ready to be released. They do not run marketing campaigns. It is up to the author to market their book. Most do not have the expertise or the time to create and execute a comprehensive marketing and promotion campaign.
Most authors do not understand all the steps for a book to go from an idea to a finished product. Initially, I didn’t understand the process and was misled or completely misunderstood the marketing & promotion process. Here are the eight common steps to get a book from idea to a product. Note: none of the eight include marketing and promotion of the book.
- Write the book: Start with an idea or a concept. It is best to start with something you know. Try to visualize how you see the book flowing. Write your thoughts and arrange them in the order according to the flow in your mind. This is the creative part of the process. Most authors think this is the hardest part. It’s not. This is just step one.
- Edit the book: The author makes their best effort to edit the book, but as we all know editing what you wrote does not usually go well. Authors tend to see what they intended to write not what is on the page or computer screen. This is where a publisher usually comes into play. Most books will need a line edit and copy edit.
- Line Editing is focused on the content, style, and language used within the manuscript. A professional line editor may point out sections that can be improved, parts where the style is inconsistent, issues with pacing, or overuse of certain words or phrases throughout the manuscript.
- Copy Editing is focused on making sure a piece of writing is accurate, clear, and correct. For example: checking the facts; checking the math; ensuring that the writing is free from libel, plagiarism and conforms to the ethical standards of the publication and the profession.
- Proofreading: Review the manuscript for corrections. This may require two or more rounds of editing for a manuscript of 60,000 words.
- Final Proofreading: Review the entire manuscript plus interior formatting review and confirm proof. Final edits are made as needed.
- Manuscript Review: Author approval or comments and corrections. This may occur two or more times.
- Book Design and Cover: Design of front and back cover with author’s approval
- Publishing the book: Self-publish or contract publishing
- Distribution of the book: This is order fulfillment not marketing or promotion. The author can do it themselves. Contract with a publisher or use Amazon for order fulfillment.
The publisher will market the book myth:We just went through the eight common steps in the publishing process. None of them include marketing and promotion. The publisher may write a press release or social media post. The burden of marketing a book falls directly on the author, not the publisher. Publishers publish they do not market or promote. We do.
In Penguin Random House/S&S antitrust trial it was revealed that out of 58,000 trade titles published per year, half of those sell fewer than one dozen books. LESS THAN 12 BOOKS!!!
I will post to my social media myth:Large social media alone is not enough. While becoming a published author is a major ego boost, very few receive income or effectively leverage their book to expand their brand and business. Far too many authors equate likes, followers, and social media connections with increased revenue. Nothing is further from the truth. Never confuse activity with results.
“The pop star Billie Eilish, who now has 102 million Instagram followers and 6.7 million on Twitter, sold just 64,000 copies of her self-titled memoir from May 2021 to December, according to the New York Times. Justin Timberlake, who now has 64.5 million followers on Instagram, only managed to sell 100,000 copies of his autobiographical collection of observations, Hindsight, in the first three years. And the media personality Piers Morgan, who has 7.9 million Twitter followers and 1.8 million on Instagram, managed to move just 5,650 U.S. copies of his book, Wake Up: Why the World Has Gone Nuts, from September to December.”
“If being a celebrity with millions of followers does not guarantee high book sales, what does? Is there any hope for the rest of us?”
~ The Enigma of Book Sales May 9, 2022, By Alesha Brown
Trust the Process – Book Marketing ProgramWhile no campaign can guarantee a #1 bestseller, our campaigns dramatically improve the odds. They are a proven layered multi-step process to build a brand that will significantly increase exposure, awareness, authority, credibility and ultimately create multiple streams of revenue.
Consistency and frequency of the message matter. One post, email, letter, or Facebook live is not effective. For example, everyone knows Coca-Cola and Mcdonald’s, yet every day we see ads, commercials, etc. for these products. Our campaigns keep your message in front of the target market.
The key is to surround yourself with people who have been where you want to go. Keep in mind, many people, friends, family, colleagues, associates, etc. will offer their opinions and ideas on how the author should release and or promote their book. Most have never created and executed such campaigns. The secret to walking on water is to know where the rocks are! We will show you where the rocks are!
Executing a successful marketing/promotion strategy requires the cooperation of all parties including but not limited to; the author, writing coach, adviser, and publisher, who must agree to follow the steps listed in the Trust the Process Statement of Work and take subsequent instructions from.
When does a campaign startWe start our campaigns before the book is finished. The best campaigns build a groundswell of demand before the book is released.
Three stage campaignOur base-level campaigns have three stages.
- “Priming the pump” in anticipation of the book(s) launch.
- Launch campaign
- Post-launch follow-up
The investment will vary depending on the level of depth.
Are you ready to take control of your marketing/promotion? Let’s see.* Why are you writing this book? * Have you written a book before? If yes, What were the results? Did it achieve #1 bestselling status in any category? * Are you looking to leverage the book to create multiple revenue streams? * Are you willing to invest in your marketing, and promotion campaign? * Are you willing to be coached? * What genre is your book? * Are you willing and able to commit to and follow the campaign – prelaunch, launch, post-launch – potential multiple-month contract? * Are you willing to invest in your book’s success? * Will you put in the time and effort to do the tasks assigned to the author? * Do you have an email list and an email program (MailChimp, Constant Contact, etc.)? * What organizations do you belong to as a member, adviser, volunteer, etc.? * Who is your publisher? They must be willing to follow our plan (post the book where and when per the plan). We can suggest a publisher if needed. * Do you need someone to assist you with the writing, formatting, and editing?
As you move through the decision process to write a book, you will hear many stories and claims from publishers, editors, illustrators, friends, and associates. Ask yourself this question, who has created and executed marketing and promotional campaigns that have achieved 11 consecutive #1 bestselling titles and two award-winning books in 22 months?
Magic happens when people Trust the Process. Message Melissa Van Oss or Frank Zaccari on LinkedIn. Let’s talk.
Who is She? She is your power, your Feminine source. A Goddess. The Great Mystery. The web-weaver. The life force. She fills your body with ripples of terror and delight”!
This Episode is the most candid and presented in the raw and unadulterated form we women ought to exist in. It speaks to creating our own Realities by following our hearts’ desires – and allowing our Feminine Spirit to lead us to explore and acknowledge the unknown! (Mind you, Feminism is not about protesting against wearing bras and not shaving armpits…. it’s so much more)! Meet my Guest speaker Zoe Bell! (Founder of “Future HuE-man Experience”, Author of self-discovery & sensual healing books, with her best-seller book called ‘Raw’) Watch the Episode to know more:
What do the fear of failing, the fear of making mistakes, and the fear of being criticised have in common? It feels to us that the world will end, and there won’t be any life after, so we stay stuck in our comfort zone and miss opportunities for growth and learning.
Chances are that we will fail, be criticised, and make mistakes; it would be ignorant to think that we will not experience any of these situations in life or that somehow we can prevent them from happening.
In this episode, we explore the fear of failure and questions like; what if it was OK to fail and make mistakes? What if it didn’t mean that life will end, and what if it is just another step in our experience as a human and another step in our personal and professional growth?
Peter also shares one of his significant failures during an important performance at a music showcase and how it became a valuable learning experience and sparked more opportunities in the future.
The name of the four-member band Peter played with was MASS. Tune in to hear the whole story.
Summer time off arrives, and with it arrive new opportunities, chief among them the opportunity to properly understand what leisure ought to mean.
Leisure is not merely time off from labor. Leisure does not just mean sitting around, watching TV, playing games, and giving in to the near mindlessness of clickbait social media and news entertainment. Leisure has a higher purpose. As Josef Pieper’s thesis states, “[I]t is essential to begin by reckoning with the fact that one of the foundations of Western culture is leisure” (Leisure: The Basis of Culture).
“Leisure” has its roots in Latin, specifically the verb licere, which means “to be allowed” and is also the root of the word “license”. In Greek, Pieper notes, “leisure” is skole, which means school. The classical conception of leisure asserts that leisure is a privilege, a time free from the demands of labor performed for the benefit of others which is then used for the benefit of the self.
In short, leisure, properly understood, is time I use to make me better than I am.
Leisure time should be oriented toward self-improvement based on my talents, my interests, and my honest assessment of my deficiencies. C. S. Lewis compared a bad habit to a bent wire. If I want to straighten the wire, I have to bend it in the other direction. For example, if I know I spend too much time reflexively refreshing this or that social media site, then my leisure time should be spent doing something else.
Reflexively refreshing this or that social media site adds little value to my life. It doesn’t make me a better man, a better father, a better teacher, or a better husband. One could argue that it detracts from progress toward those goals. Odds are really good that if I stopped posting on social media that few people would notice. Social media sites don’t do much other than feed morsels to my ego. The likes, shares, and comments, no matter how superficial, reinforce the illusion that I’ve connected in a meaningful way to another person.
The truth is this: Just about all I’ve really done is continue to provide data to be sold to advertisers, who are then better able to target me with solicitations for products that algorithms indicate I might purchase. Surely I can do better, and so, little by little, I must strive to straighten a few bent wires.
Holding on to anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.
~Buddha quote
Life constantly presents us with difficult situations and I am constantly thinking about how I can better deal with them and not become embroiled in a vicious circle of angst, fear, and hurt and therefore ultimately extending the amount of suffering I subject myself and others to – because it’s just not very nice and I get sick of lying awake at night going over and over things in my mind, with no obvious resolution in sight, very often because there isn’t one.
So, what is it that we can do when faced with seemingly unfair, hurtful, and insensitive events/circumstances, over which it feels like we have absolutely no control and are often blind-sided by them in the first place?
The first thing I’ve decided to try and do is not to take it personally. When we come up against negative circumstances, comments, or actions, we generally assume it is because of something we have done or said, or it is because we believe there is something wrong or lacking in us.
The reality is often quite the opposite. The actions we are encountering are generally about the person or environment that they are coming from – fear, angst, pain, which is ultimately being passed on to others because there is neither the awareness or availability of emotional tools, to deal with the root causes which have driven the situation in the first place – which is hardly surprising, as an emotional education is sadly lacking in our modern-day society.
Secondly, I have decided not to respond in the moment but to step back and force myself to pause, to reflect, and to sleep on it, because if not it will be my ego, my fear, and my pain that responds and two wrongs have never made a right.
Thirdly, I have decided that sometimes life is just unfair, sh*tty and people and circumstances can feel terribly unkind, but that does not mean that I have to be too. Therefore sometimes we just have to sit with this uncomfortable truth and feel uncomfortable about it – interestingly, I have found that after a while that discomfort does become more bearable and more irrelevant to my everyday existence.
And fourthly and finally, for now, I have decided to simply accept whatever it is that is beyond my control, let it go and move on. My days of pushing boulders up hills are over, I simply do not have the motivation nor energy.
Now, that may bring sadness and grief as I let go of my expectations or my relationship with something or someone, but again it does become more bearable with the passing of time, whereas staying in the moment of suffering and constantly replaying the hurt, rejection, and unfairness of it, simply means that I re-live the same pain, time and time again.
And that is the most damaging thing of all, because not only do we then choose to constantly carry our own pain, but we also choose to carry another’s too.
Life is just too short, just let it go and move on.
That was the question I asked myself as I sat down to finish one of the dozens of drafts waiting for me in my notebook.
In the two and a half years I have been on this platform, I have written sixteen articles, which is a pretty small number compared to other authors. However, I am very pleased with my published work and feel truly honoured to be one of the 300+ Featured Contributors. Many contributors were already well-known authors before they joined BIZCATALYST, while others, like me, were just casual bloggers and novice writers who wanted to “spread their wings” (in Dennis’ words).
Before I started writing here, I had already found my voice through five years of blogging. I wrote whenever I had something to say and was ready to express it. Even after being named a Featured Contributor, I haven’t changed my approach to writing. Many unwritten thoughts and ideas are buzzing around in my head. It takes me a long time to turn them into pieces I am willing to share.
I couldn’t think of a better place to express myself than BIZCATALYST 360°. As demonstrated numerous times, this platform truly is a community.
It’s a place where an introvert like me feels comfortable writing. A writing community that values and encourages diversity. A welcoming environment of mutual respect and understanding. I’ve had constructive discussions with several writers who disagree with me but are open to hearing and understanding different ideas and perspectives. Engaging in dialogue with those who do not share your point of view and attempting to see things through their eyes can be both challenging and refreshing.
My most recent article was published eight months ago. The last two years have been physically and mentally exhausting for me. I wrote about it in my article below:
Tears and Joy of Caring for Ageing Parent(s)
Everyone is unique when it comes to life’s challenges and demands. I’ve always been hesitant to write about my struggles, not because I lacked courage but because I believed such things should be shared only with my family and close friends. However, after joining BIZCATALYST, I read many outstanding and truly inspirational stories from fellow writers who overcame life’s most difficult challenges and remained optimistic. These stories literally changed the way I thought about writing on publishing platforms and inspired me to share my struggles with others.
The entire experience of caregiving profoundly altered my life. It felt liberating to write about it and put my deepest feelings on the screen. Sharing my struggles allowed me to connect with others who could relate to my story. I’ve received encouraging messages from others who have faced or are facing the challenges of caring for loved ones. Those messages taught me that telling your story is not only a powerful tool for self-discovery; it can also provide comfort and support to others who struggle in silence and inspire them to tell their own.
Being on BIZCATALYST has taught me that stories inspire and encourage people to act. Even a small action can cause a ripple effect of change.
I will do my best to continue writing on this platform. It does not have to be perfect writing. Nothing is perfect. There is no “right” way to write about what is on your mind and heart. Another thing I’ve learned from being here is to always write in your own voice, with your passion, personality, and genuine heart shining through. I sincerely hope that my imperfect writing reflects all of this.
Writing for BIZCATALYST 360° has allowed me to reach a much larger audience than I could through my blog. It has also connected me with some wonderful people outside my professional and personal circles. I look forward to writing more and making even closer connections within this amazing community.
Why do you write for BIZCATALYST 360°? And what have you learned from it?
I‘m a big believer in setting goals. My mentor taught me this skill at the early age of 12. Goals give us a sense of direction and purpose and help us stay motivated. I use the SMART framework to set my goals as Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant, and Time-bound.
Specific: Goals should be clear, well-defined, and unambiguous. Instead of setting a vague goal like ” improve my career,” a specific goal would be “earn a promotion to a managerial position within my current department.”
Measurable: Goals should have quantifiable criteria that allow us to track progress and determine when they have been achieved. For example, if the goal is to increase sales, a measurable goal is to “ increase monthly sales by 10% within the next quarter.
Achievable: Goals should be realistic and attainable. While it’s essential to aim high, setting goals far beyond our capabilities can lead to frustration and demotivation. An achievable goal might be “complete a marathon within the next year” if you have been consistently running and training for shorter distances.
Relevant: Goals should be aligned with our broader objectives and aspirations. They should be relevant to our values, priorities, and long-term vision. For instance, if your long-term goal is to become a published author, an appropriate goal is to “ complete the first draft of my novel within the next six months.
Time-bound: Goals should have a specific timeframe or deadline for completion. This helps create a sense of urgency and provides a timeline for tracking progress. For example, a time-bound goal could be ” attend three professional development workshops within the next six months.”
I’ve found that using the SMART framework to set my goals has helped me achieve more personally and professionally. I am more likely to stay motivated and on track when I set specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, and time-bound goals. I also find tracking my progress and celebrating my accomplishments easier when my goals are SMART.
My Personal Mission, Vision, and GoalsEveryone has a unique purpose in life. My goal [particular purpose] is to use my knowledge and skills to help others. I want to positively impact my sphere of influence and leave it a better place than I found.
I have developed a personal mission statement and vision to achieve my purpose. My mission statement is:
To use my knowledge and skills to help others and positively impact the world.
My vision is:
To create a world where everyone has the opportunity to reach their full potential.
I have also set SMART goals to help me achieve my mission and vision. My goals are:
- Volunteer my time. This allows me to give back to my community and make a difference in the lives of others.
- Write and publish my second book. This will allow me to share my knowledge and experience with others and help them more meaningfully.
- Start a podcast. This will allow me to share my knowledge and skills with others and inspire them to achieve their goals.
I am confident that I can achieve my mission and vision by setting SMART goals and working hard to achieve them. I am excited to see the future and grateful for the opportunity to make a difference.
I encourage you to develop your mission, vision, and goals.
It is a powerful way to focus your energy and achieve your dreams.
If you want to achieve more, I encourage you to use the SMART framework to set your goals. It’s a simple but effective way to set yourself up for success.
SMART goals are more likely to help you stay motivated and on track. You are also more likely to achieve your goals because they are realistic and achievable.
Here are a few tips for using the SMART framework to set your goals:
- Make them specific. What exactly do you want to achieve?
- Make them measurable. How will you know when you have reached your goal?
- Make them achievable. Are you setting yourself up for success?
- Please make them relevant. Are your goals aligned with your values and priorities?
- Make them time-bound. When do you want to achieve your goal?
By applying the SMART framework and these tips, you will be well on your way to setting and achieving your goals.
Enjoy your journey!
Do you recognise this pattern? I noticed it in me over the last couple of weeks. A protective pattern that avoids the imagined dangers of having to say no to something later, by saying no to it early — and missing out on good stuff as a result. Read and see what resonates for you.
Where are you saying ‘no’ early, through fear of a possible ‘no’ later?
Where are you not even beginning to engage, in case it’s not for you, which would mean there would be that ‘no’ later? Perhaps if that happened you’re imagining it would be accompanied by guilt that you wasted your or their time.
Here’s where I saw this recently, in case it helps you spot it too. And what’s available when we stop being afraid of the ‘later no’.
So my kids have gone to the local snow dome for a number of years. First in preparation for a school ski trip, and then more recently to learn snowboarding.
I’d spotted these member prices before and seen the fact there was membership available. I saw all the benefits of joining but didn’t look into it. I assumed it would be too expensive and not worth having.
I had an early no.I didn’t want to waste my time looking into it when ‘I knew’ (!) it would be too much and not beneficial for the amount we’d go.
Then, one day, for some reason, I clicked to look at the membership pricing. And blow me down, it wasn’t nearly as much as I’d imagined. And the benefits were brilliant. I saw how I’d have easily made back the cost of the membership with the reductions in lessons, plus all the other benefits on top, and the ongoing reduced-price lift pass time after that.
“Well b*#ger!” I said to myself.
I rang up to see if they’d be up for backdating it if we used the credit to pay for slope time. But no. Worth a try! And so – slightly gutted – I got memberships for both kids. We’re going on our first-ever ski holiday next Feb and I know we’ll make back the membership price on lift passes before then.
I could see how my ‘early no’ was through an imagined problem with the price. Perhaps a mini avoidance of disappointment that I’d see the price and not be able to afford it. Certainly an idea of ‘wasting my time to even explore’ based on what I imagined the cost and benefits would be.
When in fact, pressing pause on that ‘early no’ and staying open and exploring instead, would have reaped buckets of rewards.
Does this resonate with you?I saw it again in the shops at the weekend. A beauty assistant came over and asked if we wanted to try the brand-new serum. ‘No thanks’ was my instant reply.
In hindsight, I saw that this ‘early no’ was in the avoidance of an uncomfortable ‘later no’.
There was instantaneous, fleeting, imagined discomfort at having to say no later, if I didn’t want the product. What if I looked mean or rude or ungrateful? What if she was upset and thought I’d wasted her time? What if I wasted my time? And so, in the avoidance of that, I said an early no.
There was an idea that if we engage in conversation about this new serum, and then it’s deemed too expensive, or not right for my skin needs, then I’ll be in the supposedly awkward position of then having to say no to someone I’ve just got to know, who I’ve built a relationship with (albeit for just 2 minutes at the beauty counter!). That I might disappoint her with my no. That I might feel bad for saying that no. That I’ll have wasted her and my time by having the conversation and then ending in a no.
Wow! So much avoidant behaviour! However, in spite of my early no, the lady very deftly saw the eye cream I’d picked up and said that their new serum was a better option than that. It has the latest ‘something or other’ in it. And £10 off for its launch.
Hmmm, well, now I’ve heard a bit more…that sounds like a good deal.
And so it became a yes and I’m now the proud owner of this new ‘something or other’ special eye serum! (Tell me if you notice a difference next time we meet )
And so once again, that ‘early no’ had the potential to derail a cool opportunity. And all solely in the avoidance of an imagined awkward, guilt-ridden or time-wasting ‘later no’.
To be fair – even if both of these situations had become a ‘later no’ that would in fact have been totally ok too.
I’ve had experiences of getting into calls with potential coaches or guides for me that have become a ‘later no’. I’ve been on calls with people who are interested in working with me but who’ve then had a ‘later no’.
And it’s all good!We love it when someone has a clear no, and tells us their clear no.
We also love it when someone has a clear yes.
We love it in ourselves when we have clear yes’s and no’s.
But instead we habitually live in this avoidant space of ‘early no’s’ – created through imagined fears of disappointment, guilt, embarrassment, time-wasting, and maybe more.
How clear are you on your yes’s and no’s? Where are you willing to open yourself up to possibilities, knowing that a ‘later no’ is totally available and allowed and that it says nothing about who you are?
Where are you willing to open yourself up to possibilities and discover more than you imagined was available?
Look and see, and start saying yes to life when it’s a yes. Start saying yes to life when it’s even just a maybe. And no to life when it’s a no. That’s all there is to it.
Where have you recently said an ‘early no’ that you’d actually like to open up to and explore? Would you like to explore it with me?
Did you know that Hawthorn is known as May Blossom because it tends to flower in May; and that there are pink and white varieties of it. This feels perfect for my birthday month as pink and white together are about purity and innocence. This colour combination also reminds us of the Essenes, a community that emphasised love is God. For me that is suggesting that when we come from love then we receive many times over.
I was reminded of that this weekend because I got to experience my first street party since 2012 thanks to the King’s coronation. Not only that the whole experience is evidence of how I have grown over the last 15 years. Let me share the story with you.
A coronation street partyA couple of months ago I was invited by a neighbour to jump onto the organising committee to make it happen. And I leapt at the chance because I knew virtually no one on our road probably because we rent rather than own our house and I expect there’s a feeling that we not here for the long haul. It’s a great example of how things have changed. In the early days of being a coach I was offered the opportunity of doing a role for our co-active community but I could still hear my old house master’s words in my ear: Kate is a great organiser and if she’s not careful she will become the secretary of groups and never amount to much. I really took those words to heart and so I turned down the role to serve within my coaching community as I did not want to create that reality.
These days in my work with others and my practice I align much more to the following quotation from a Christian mystic:
The important thing is the willingness to give back the gift that is you, not the perfection of the gift itself
– Richard Rohr
And I am loving it in part because whenever I offer the gift that is me; I receive something priceless: a deep sense of fulfilment. In this case it gave me a sense of purpose too because I felt plugged into my local community. It is a reminder and evidence that we are hard-wired for connection. When you feel that sense of interconnection, it is possible to witness magic happening.
And there are some real practical tangible benefits too: the last three times I have given from a place of love, I have attracted in three new clients. And yet on none of the three occasions did I do in order to gain financially. I did it because it felt like the right thing to do.
My recipe for successWhat is becoming clear to me with every day that passes is that there is some secret sauce that can enhance your life and that comes when you understand how the world works. For years I sought an answer outside of myself and every time I met someone I wondered whether they were the one that was going to propel my business forward. Each time I was disappointed. It reminds me in many ways of the victim archetype the first of the 8 archetypes we have been exploring in my Unity Reset programme. We are in victim when we deny self-leadership and look to another to rescue us.
Clients and others do refer people to me but not because I have asked them to do so. It happens spontaneously when I least expect it. It is because of the energy that emanates from the mantra that I have been working within my spiritual practice of late. All that I give is given to myself.
You don’t have to become exhausted by doing x number of cold calls to possible clients or leads for your business. All that any of us are asked to do is to lead from our heart, from purity; and then from that place of being allow the Divine to gift you what you gift others. This is very hard in the beginning because it takes trust and knowingness that your ego self is not in control of anything.
Final wordIf you implement this strategy from a place of expectation rather than from the joy of it, you are doomed to failure. Give because it makes your heart sing because you know in your bones that giving and receiving are one. Then watch what unfolds: all that struggling and pushing to create business and make money will soon become a thing of the past This kind of magic happens when you are able to see the beauty and uniqueness that comes from being you. The Divine asked you to be in full self-acceptance, especially in 2023. If that seems impossible then reach out and take one of the two openings currently available to work with me. I look forward to hearing from you and wish you a wonder-filled month.
Mark O’Brien read The Paraclete, found meaning in it, and asked me to share more. I shared DeathSong and both Mark and Dr. Jo Anne White asked for more. Like The Paraclete and DeathSong, The following, LifePath Work, ends with another example of DeathSongs and is also from my forthcoming The Shaman (due out September 2023).
Enjoy.
____________________
LifePath Work
“Edward, isn’t it?”
A tall man, middle-aged handsome, well-groomed, health-club aerobic thin, sits in the blue lounger, dressed for this warm summer day in a pink IZOD and blue, lightweight slacks, no socks and white deckshoes. His skin shows a healthy tan. He has clear eyes that see much. Crows feet show he laughs much but is cautious with his laughter. He has a small diamond stud in his left ear.
“Raye recommended you. You helped her a while back.”
“Yes.”
“What did you do for her?”
I repeat Grandpa’s teaching. “I will tell you your story and as much of my story as you care to hear, but I will never tell you anyone else’s story nor will I tell anyone else your story.”
He shakes his head and looks down. He shuffles. “She said she could tell something’s bothering me but didn’t know what it is. You teach her to do that?”
“Some people get a taste and it stays with them.”
He nods. “What do I do?”
“Do you understand what we’re going to do?”
“No, not really. Does it matter?”
“Specifics, no. I need to be sure you want to go through with this. Once you become aware, you can’t become unaware. Once you know, you know.”
“Yeah, Raye told me that part.”
“It might be better if you went to a psychiatrist. Or a therapist, maybe.”
“And take years and years and still not be done. Raye said you work in hours or days what it takes others…”
He waves it away.
Again I remember Grandpa’s teaching; ask three times. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
I feel his energy dropping. He stares at me, wondering. “Yes.”
One more time, and slower. “Are you sure?”
He faces me and his eyes dart down and left. He considers. He takes a deep breath and his eyes meet mine. “Yes, I’m sure.”
I hand him a red and auburn blanket with phases of the moon and stars on it. “Wrap yourself in this.”
He takes it from me and frowns. “It’s the middle of summer.”
“You can shrug it off if you don’t need it.”
He stands, wraps it around his shoulders, sits again, crosses his left leg over his right. His right foot taps the air like a metronome.
“When do we begin?”
“We already have.”
Edward and I walk back, back, back.
“Where is this place?”
I sense. “We are twenty-three? Twenty-four? Not quite twenty-five years ago. In your past.”
We walk through a woods on a well-graded dirt road. Snow clings to the trees, not melting.
“Do you know this place?”
Edward pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “No clue.”
I breathe deeply. “It smells like north.”
“North has a smell?”
“North of Ottawa maybe, but somewhere right along the Quebec border.”
Edward stops and points with his chin. “There’s a cabin there.”
“There’s only one road in and one road out but it seems to me there’s another road and it’s not taken.”
“What are you, Robert Frost? There aren’t any other roads around the place.”
“Something happened there that changed your life. There was a road you wanted to follow and refused.”
Edward looks around. He blinks. He sees. He remembers.
“No, nothing happened here. I want to go back now.”
“As you wish.”
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us.
–Marianne Williamson
I‘m a big fan of Marianne Williamson. She embodies spirituality, intelligence, and integrity with everything she says and does. Though I must admit, another reason I feel close to her is sharing the same last name with her.
She states the above quote in her book A Return to Love. And she continues by saying, “We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone. And as we let our light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”
I wonder what reading this makes you feel. For instance, does it resonate with you? Are you your biggest saboteur? Do you question your abilities? Let’s cut to the chase. Are you afraid of success?
Ways to Recognize the Fear of SuccessA big challenge in recognizing the fear of success one often experiences is having difficulty detecting it. You may have a sense that something is off, but you cannot put your finger on what’s wrong. If that’s you, you might look for a few common symptoms in yourself. Like one -or more- of these:
- Worrying that your big break will come, and when it does, you’ll not be able to deliver.
- Fearing that success will turn you into something you don’t want to be.
- Creating beautiful, detailed business and marketing plans while not acting on any tasks that will help them materialize.
- Thinking that if you become successful, it’ll be too much pressure and too much work.
- Starting and making it halfway through your plans, and then not showing up at a key moment because you hit the terror barrier.
- Doubting yourself and believing that you are not good enough to sustain success.
Success is an island far away that you can see on the horizon. You keep telling yourself that you want to go there, but when it comes to jumping in the boat and starting to paddle, in other words, when things get serious, you withdraw.
Let’s say it’s the case… Then what?People don’t fear becoming successful; they fear the results and consequences of success. They worry about the ways success might change their lives and put them outside their comfort zone.
But getting clear on what you want and working with a coach or mentor could help you explore how that would look. Also, regularly reminding yourself of your genius improves your self-confidence and self-belief.
You already have everything you need to succeed. You’re just not tapping into your capabilities. Connect with your inner self and choose to start. Then, keep moving toward the goals that scare you.
Even if you don’t succeed at your first attempt, you will grow along the way and come back stronger for the second one.
Ernest Holmes would go to the drugstore each day for a snack. One day, he saw a drunk man and offered to buy him a cup of coffee. The man accepted. As Ernest spoke with him while he was sobering up over his cup of coffee, he discovered that the man was a sign painter. Ernest asked the manager of the store for some paper and some markers and asked the man to paint some signs with letters and numbers. The store manager who was watching this stated that he actually needed some signs. “How much are you going to pay him?” asked Ernest. The manager made an agreement with the man to create some signs and agreed to pay him for his work and expertise. A few months later a man knocked at Ernest’s office and asked to see him. He was clean-shaven and wearing a nice suit he had purchased from the thrift store. He came to say thank you to Ernest. Ernest told him to get in the car and they rode around until Ernest saw a store for lease and made arrangements for the man to start his own business. The man became successful and repaid Ernest.
Ernest Holmes was a Quiet Genius. He could see the genius within others and make a difference in their lives. I still use this story as a guideline in my life of what small or sizable ways I may be of service to another living being. Some acts are small and happen quickly while other acts of a Quiet Genius happen over time. I have returned payments for services rendered and given away important things of value to me because spiritually I felt guided to do so knowing I may positively impact someone’s life.
Who knows who we may truly be if someone like Ernest Holmes or some other Quiet Genius would come along and see our further potential?
What if
every moment spent in awe
of the authentic beauty that surrounds us
contributed to the healing
of our hearts
and by extension
the worrisome state of the world
What if
every moment dedicated
to bearing witness
to the more-than-human
life that abounds all around us
added to the joy in our soul
and by extension
the capacity for joyfulness everywhere
What if
every moment of rapt attention
to the bold unfolding of everyday miracles
every moment not spent
wrapped up in the day’s to do list
added immeasurably to our experience
of this amazing gift called Life
What if
every day we stepped outside
the noise and news and views
bombarding our senses and sensibilities
making time and taking time
finding ourselves replenished by the immediacy
of our living breathing planetary home
What if
we stepped away from the habitual
familiarity of all too many depleting routines
and into an expansive comfort zone
enriched by rituals and reverent practices
that invite us to embrace
the fullness of our time here
Who might we become
and what might become possible
in the process?
from the heart, mind, and pen of Minx
Experiencing ourselves as love is the most natural thing in the world. The path to remembering ourselves as love is one of dismantling or unlearning everything we have been taught that contradicts this truth. Self-realization is nothing more than coming into alignment with what we inherently are already.
Throughout our lives, we have received messages that taught us otherwise. Often at a young age, we come to the conclusion that we are less than whole and perfect, that we are less than love. For the most part, children believe the messages they hear. That is because their minds have not yet developed the analytical ability to question them. Even though some messages don’t feel right intuitively, a young, undeveloped mind cannot help but believe what it is told, especially when it is a repeated message. This creates a distorted or false self-image. It’s like looking into one of those funhouse mirrors that pulls one’s image way out of shape. When, as children, we received feedback that we were bad, that there was something wrong with us, that we were lacking in some way, it’s as though we were looking at a distorted reflection and believing it to be true.
The messages that created a false self-image might have come from family members, friends, school teachers, or other authority figures that we assumed were wiser than us. These messages continue as we grow into adulthood, getting layered upon and often reinforcing those messages we received as children. However, when we wake up to the reality of who we are, we see that we were given those messages by people who were themselves living in a state of forgetfulness about their true identity. They were not capable of always mirroring an accurate reflection to us.
As we remember our true identity, we realize that all of our experiences have been part of our journey from unconsciousness to consciousness. There is nobody to blame. Everything happened exactly as it did. We have been part of the evolution of consciousness, waking up to itself. In order to experience light, we have to experience darkness. Without darkness, we cannot appreciate light. Darkness has no power. It is merely absence of light.
The seagulls
Flocked together
At the beach
Crying out in
Sync – Waiting
To welcome a few
People offerings’
Like some gourmet
Fries, breadcrumbs
Or a half-eaten
Pizza with shrimp
Meanwhile the
Foam tipped waves
Wash ashore
As the strong breeze
Blows – Forming
Seafoam balls
That entertains us
Beachcombers
As they drift along
The shores dancing
On the white
Powdery stage
The blue igloo like
Tents line the beach
Sheltering some, with
Their sea legs
Hanging out – As
Others bravely
Bask in bright
Afternoon sun
Trying to avoid
The red lobster
Look – As the day
Comes to a close
Given our seemingly endless fascination with UFOs — and because I was up for a research project anyway — I did some digging into records from the Director of National Intelligence, the Secretary of Defense, the Department of Defense’s Unidentified Aerial Phenomena Task Force, the Pentagon, Project Blue Book, Project Condign, Area 51, and Roswell, New Mexico, all of which plead ignorance of the phenomena. What I found made me wonder what all the fuss and skullduggery were about, given that it seemed, to me at least, to be remarkably innocuous.
One of the things that has always struck everyone as mysterious and morbidly intriguing about UFOs and alien abductions, of course, is that all the people who claim to have been abducted by aliens have also reported being subject to anal probes. I admit that one baffled even me, which is one of the reasons for which I undertook the research. And that’s what made my finds so astonishing.
Up Scope!
As incredible as this may sound, it turns out all the UFOs that have visited Earth have been from the same planet. And all the extraterrestrial beings who’ve inhabited those UFOs have been from the same race of beings. (I can’t call those extraterrestrial beings aliens because then they risk being confused with the illegal aliens who aren’t crossing our border because, as Alejandro Mayorkas, our ace Secretary of Homeland Security assures us, the border is secure.) That extraterrestrial race is a species of intellectually and technologically advanced proctologists.
According to the classified documents I was able to access through hacking and other surreptitious means, I learned the anal probes these beings use are multi-functional. That means that, even as they’re looking up the poopers of the people they’ve abducted, the probe enables them to electrically monitor nerve and wave activity in the brains of their abductees and to communicate with them silently.
From testimony collected from the abductees, the extraterrestrials seem most consistently interested in learning these 15 things:
- Why we wage war.
- Why we seem so completely unwilling or unable to take care of each other.
- Why we’d rather talk than learn.
- Why we seem to have an aversion to personal responsibility.
- Why we think guns are more responsible for crimes than the people who use them.
- Why we think we’re capable of affecting the climate of our entire planet.
- Why we think it’s a good idea to freeze and starve millions of people in pursuit of an absurd, unnecessary, and self-defeating green agenda.
- Why common sense and empiricism are dying arts.
- Why we still believe politicians.
- Why we think governments will take better care of our money than we will.
- Why we think special interests are preferable to common interests.
- Why we trust what passes for news in the mainstream media.
- Why we’re so pathologically gullible.
- Why we’ve raised standards of living and life expectancies so much and are still so unhappy.
- How we can be so full of shit and still walk around.
Given the specialization of the species, #10 was probably fairly predictable.
This Won’t Hurt
Excluding pre-modern sightings of all manner of celestial objects — like the planets, the moon, the stars, comets, parhelia, and lenticular clouds, and the obligatory Fourth of July fireworks displays — the first recorded modern sighting of a UFO was in 1878. John Martin, a farmer in Dennison, Texas, spotted something in the sky during a hunting trip:
After gazing at it for some time Mr. Martin became blind from long looking and left off viewing it for a time in order to rest his eyes. On resuming his view, the object was almost overhead and had increased considerably in size, and appeared to be going through space “at wonderful speed.”
It’s been 65 years since Jerry Crew spotted Bigfoot’s 16-inch footprints in the Six Rivers National Forest in Humboldt County, California. And it’s been 90 years since George Spice saw the Loch Ness monster in the Scottish Highlands. But 145 years have passed since John Martin’s encounter with a UFO in Dennison, Texas. That’s impressive for its longevity and equally impressive for the fact that, even after all that time, extraterrestrials still seem determined to look up our asses.
The good news is the governmental agencies that know nothing about UFOs have struck an agreement with the extraterrestrials to allow their anal probes to fulfill the requirement for the obligatory Welcome to Your 50s Colonoscopy. That’s what I call looking up. And if you manage to postpone that colonoscopy until you’re 65, it’ll even be covered by Medicare.
So, when you get beamed up to the mother ship, the extraterrestrials roll out their examination gear, and you lie on the table and assume the position, be sure to smile at the little green dude who’s about to become your intimate friend and say, “Here’s looking at you, kid.”
I admit that I was originally drawn to Harley Davidson because of their mission of freedom. “More than building machines, we stand for the timeless pursuit of adventure. Freedom for the soul.” But an even bigger reason that fills my heart is the fellowship.
It’s not just a brand it’s a family. No matter where you go, if you’re wearing a Harley Davidson shirt somebody’s going to talk to you about it. When you’re riding and you pull up at a light next to someone on a Harley you get the nod, a comment or question “How do you like the bike?”, and sometimes conversation about make and model, depending on the length of the light.
I have many stories.
One time I was driving my three young sons from Connecticut to South Carolina, and I ended up with a flat tire in Virginia… In the rain no less. I carefully rolled the car off the exit and was grateful to see a tire place right up ahead!
The owner was a towering man who seemed twice my height and three times my weight. He had a long beard and a Harley bandanna. I must say he was one of the kindest men I’ve ever met. When he saw how upset I was, he asked one of his workers to entertain my three kids and then escorted me over to the couch in the waiting area. With a gentle smile, he said, “Everything is going to be OK.”
This angel fixed my tire, revived my spirit, and entertained my kids…all for the sum of $10. I offered more but he wouldn’t take it. I will never forget that guy. His huge heart saved my day.
More recently during an impromptu ride it started to rain. We pulled into a gas station and found ourselves sharing the overhang with another biker. We learned about his travels, family, and some great suggestions for new Harley gear to purchase. (Sidenote: This is a reinforcement of the concept I speak on about how companies who do the right things find that it comes back in profitability.)
And if you have to get lost…it’s nice to have another biker nearby. At another gas station, we saw a couple gassing up their bikes and waved. When she smiled and walked over to say hello, we decided to admit we needed directions. We had heard of a good restaurant in the area but had no luck in finding it. The woman gave us outstanding directions, and then said the place we were headed had good food, “but not quite as good as where they were going… And oh by the way, why don’t you just come with to have lunch with us!”
And so, we did- and fast new friends were made.
Story after story.
There’s often a perception that bikers are Bad@ss and frightening. I’ll give you the former but I believe kindness and humanity are fierce so I will fight the latter.
I’ll leave you with this last observation. No matter what make, model, or year of your bike- if you’re on the road, you get The Wave. A low peace sign- cool yet subtle. I’ve heard that this greeting between motorcyclists, is a gesture of recognition, friendship, and community, “accomplices even without knowing each other.”
This wave makes you feel connected. A wave that says we are one, we are family, and “I See You.”
Well, HD- I See YOU. And my hat’s off to you for generating this culture that prioritizes people, planet, and profit. You understand that your role in society gives you purpose beyond financial performance… and that it’s also tied to it. Kudos!
Once again Her Majesty Queen of Swans greeted a most expectant Robin: “Come Robin sit upon my back once more. A journey awaits; an ultimate adventure for you to witness and never forget.”
A flight so high, calmness and magic combined. In what seemed a blink of an eye, a fairytale castle greeted them. Splendour. High towers reaching for the sky; a launch pad for great adventure; unlimited horizons beyond Planet Earth small to see. Disappearing in a flash, replaced by a shimmering entrance to the darkness of space. Entering through what could be described as water running through a whirlpool to another dimension.
A parallel universe; one of many. A planet awaits, with clouds and a blue sky. Descending through clouds, a pure green landscape greets them. Rivers sparkling, so clear, untouched by humanity. No towns or cities, no roads no traffic. Just pure green with trees gracing the view. Purity of habitats. And sun providing warmth and light in harmony, but no extremes.
A planet inhabited only by birds of all types. On arrival, greeted by feathered varieties, curious as to their origins.
Atmosphere so friendly. Rivers flowed including one that could have been Itchen; chalk base clear. No pollution. Her Highness signalled Robin and once again in zero time, they were passing through one Universe after another. Multiverse. Pure infinity.
They were suddenly beside the River Itchen, Water Meadows, and trees. Home in less than an instant. A duck still in the same place as when they flew away. “What have we discovered, Robin?” Robin was intrigued.
An infinity of worlds, multiverses. Surreal but true, There are no boundaries, no limitations. The heart rules, imagination facilitates all and becomes reality.
Robin has certainly gained synergy with Her Royal Highness Queen of Swans. An adventure never forgotten. Now at home with a story to share. Blackbird looks on in wonder seeing Robin, enlivened with such an experience. Perhaps another experience to enhance his knowledge of surreal reality. Of dreams real.
Searching for truth is a tiring journey. A great description of truth is that Rached Alimi presented in a recent post:
Truth is like a spark in the night, difficult to see but always present. Science is the path that leads us towards this spark, helping us to see the world with new eyes and to understand what exists.
Finding truth even between two ideas may require serious effort. For example, social media webs are they blessings or not? The illusion of social webs can have ill effects on our lives.
Let me ask simple questions
- Is a virtual tour of the pyramids in Egypt a substitute for being them and enjoying their greatness?
- Can the joy of a virtual tour to Venice be a substitute for being there physically?
Having been to both places I know from experience that being there physically is a much richer experience than taking virtual tours.
The Big QuestionThe big question then is why people get so addicted to virtual friends on social media at the expense even of their families. Social webs are changing our cultures and style of life.
Are we living in the illusion that virtual friends are more important than physical ones?
I read many posts by Dennis Pitocco in which he met physically with many of his virtual friends. He wrote a lot about there being nothing equal to hugging a friend.
The Bigger QuestionIf so, why are we stuck in the social web? A spider knows well how to produce sticky webs that stick to the victims but not themselves.
Are we allowing ourselves to be stuck in social webs and be their prays?
The social web is having a great impact on our lives. Not only do we spend most of the time clicking pages and hardly reading useful articles, but also doing activities like void chatting that only increase our shallowness.
The ill effects include bullying, addiction to the web, and spreading fake news.
How many people are trying to attract followers by spreading fake news so that they earn more money? Only yesterday, I read a story of an old mother who asked her teenage daughter to perform naked on the net to get subscribers to her website.
Morals are corroding. Shallowness is increasing. Misinformation is spreading. Useful articles are losing interest and they keep getting lesser attention.
Are humans becoming biased favoring what is not good for the health of their minds and hearts but good for their pockets?
The Stockholm Paradox is showing itself in another form. Humans are falling in love with the web makers who stick them to drain their time, minds, and pockets.
Being your True Self is the hope of many, but it can be scary too. How often do we sabotage ourselves from living into the truest expression of who we are because we are afraid? We worry that we do not really have what it takes to be our authentic selves. Michael Canfield had achieved the heights of being a musician, yet he went into a downward spiral of self-destructive behaviors due to his avoidance of painful memories.
What he learned is shown in this film. He says that being free means facing yourself so that you can let go of what holds you back and become all that you dream of being. “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” became a living statement for him even when he did not like what he saw. Facing himself allowed him to heal and to enter into the fullness of life and of his giftedness as a musician. His story is a lesson for anyone hoping to find their way to freedom by letting go.
A clinical psychologist explains how these science-backed practices can improve mental healthRachel Goldsmith Turow, Seattle University
Mindfulness and self-compassion are now buzzwords for self-improvement. But in fact, a growing body of research shows these practices can lead to real mental health benefits. This research – ongoing, voluminous, and worldwide – clearly shows how and why these two practices work.
One effective way to cultivate mindfulness and self-compassion is through meditation.
For more than 20 years, as a clinical psychologist, research scientist, and educator, I taught meditation to students and clinical patients and took a deep dive into the research literature. My recent book, “The Self-Talk Workout: Six Science-Backed Strategies to Dissolve Self-Criticism and Transform the Voice in Your Head,” highlights much of that research. I learned even more when I evaluated mental health programs and psychology classes that train participants in mindfulness and compassion-based techniques.
Defining mindfulness and self-compassionMindfulness means purposefully paying attention to the present moment with an attitude of interest or curiosity rather than judgment. Self-compassion involves being kind and understanding toward yourself, even during moments of suffering or failure.
Both are associated with greater well-being.
But don’t confuse self-compassion with self-esteem or self-centeredness, or assume that it somehow lowers your standards, motivation or productivity. Instead, research shows that self-compassion is linked with greater motivation, less procrastination and better relationships.
Could mindfulness meditation be the next public health revolution?Be patient when starting a meditation practiceI didn’t like meditation – the specific practice sessions that train mindfulness and self-compassion – the first time I tried it as a college student in the late ‘90s. I felt like a failure when my mind wandered, and I interpreted that as a sign that I couldn’t do it.
In both my own and others’ meditation practices, I’ve noticed that the beginning is often rocky and full of doubt, resistance, and distraction. But what seem like impediments can actually enhance meditation practice, because the mental work of handling them builds strength.
For the first six months, I meditated, my body and mind were restless. I wanted to get up and do other tasks. But I didn’t. Eventually, it became easier to notice my urges and thoughts without acting upon them. I didn’t get as upset with myself. After about a year of consistent meditation, my mind seemed more organized and controllable; it no longer got stuck in self-critical loops. I felt a sense of kindness or friendliness toward myself in everyday moments, as well as during joyful or difficult experiences. I enjoyed ordinary activities more, such as walking or cleaning.
It took a while to understand that anytime you sit down and try to meditate, that’s meditation. It is a mental process, rather than a destination.
How meditation works on the mindJust having a general intention to be more mindful or self-compassionate is unlikely to work. Most programs shown to make meaningful differences involve at least seven sessions. Studies show these repeated workouts improve attention skills and decrease rumination, or repeated negative thinking. They also lessen self-criticism, which is linked to numerous mental health difficulties, including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, self-harm, and post-traumatic stress disorder.
Meditation is not just about sustaining your attention – it’s also about shifting and returning your focus after the distraction. The act of shifting and refocusing cultivates attention skills and decreases rumination. Trying repeatedly to refrain from self-judgment during the session will train your mind to be less self-critical.
An interconnected group of brain regions called the default mode network is strikingly affected by meditation. Much of this network’s activity reflects repetitive thinking, such as a rehash of a decadeslong tension with your sister. It’s most prominent when you’re not doing much of anything. Activity of the default mode network is related to rumination, unhappiness, and depression.
Research shows that just one month of meditation reduces the noise of the default mode network. The type of meditation practice doesn’t seem to matter.
Don’t be discouraged if your mind wanders as you meditate.Establishing the formal practiceA common misconception about mindfulness is that it’s simply a way to relax or clear the mind. Rather, it means intentionally paying attention to your experiences in a nonjudgmental way.
Consider meditation the formal part of your practice – that is, setting aside a time to work on specific mindfulness and self-compassion techniques.
Cultivating mindfulness with meditation often involves focusing on paying attention to the breath. A common way to start practice is to sit in a comfortable place and bring attention to your breathing, wherever you feel it most strongly. At some point, probably after a breath or two, your mind will wander to another thought or feeling. As soon as you notice that, you can bring your attention back to the breath and try not to judge yourself for losing focus for five to 10 minutes.
When I was just getting started meditating, I would have to redirect my attention dozens or hundreds of times in a 20-to-30-minute session. Counting 10 breaths, and then another 10, and so on, helped me link my mind to the task of paying attention to my breathing.
The most well-established technique for cultivating self-compassion is called loving-kindness meditation. To practice, you can find a comfortable position, and for at least five minutes, internally repeat phrases such as, “May I be safe. May I be happy. May I be healthy. May I live with ease.”
When your attention wanders, you can bring it back with as little self-judgment as possible and continue repeating the phrases. Then, if you like, offer the same well wishes to other people or to all beings. Every time you return your focus to your practice without judging, you’re flexing your mental awareness, because you noticed your mind wandered. You also improve your capacity to shift attention, a valuable anti-rumination skill, and your nonjudgment, an antidote to self-criticism.
These practices work. Studies show that brain activity during meditation results in less self-judgment, depression, and anxiety and results in less rumination.
Mindfulness also occurs when you tune into present-moment sensations, such as tasting your food or washing the dishes. An ongoing routine of formal and informal practice can transform your thinking. And again, doing it once in a while won’t help as much. It’s like situps: A single situp isn’t likely to strengthen your abdominal muscles, but doing several sets each day will.
When thoughts pop up during meditation, no worries. Just start again … and again … and again.Meditation reduces self-criticismStudies show that mindfulness meditation and loving-kindness meditation reduce self-criticism, which leads to better mental health, including lower levels of depression, anxiety, and PTSD. After an eight-week mindfulness program, participants experienced less self-judgment. These changes were linked with decreases in depression and anxiety.
One final point: Beginning meditators may find that self-criticism gets worse before it gets better. After years or decades of habitual self-judgment, people often judge themselves harshly about losing focus during meditation. But once students get through the first few weeks of practice, the self-judgment begins to abate, both about meditation and about oneself in general.
As one of my students recently said after several weeks of mindfulness meditation: “I am more stable, more able to detach from unhelpful thoughts and can do all of this while being a little more compassionate and loving toward myself.”
Rachel Goldsmith Turow, Adjunct Assistant Professor in Population Health Science and Policy, Seattle University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
In February 2021, I wrote about how Gordon Lightfoot aged appropriately with his song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.” After sharing the essay with my close friend, Mark, he surprised me with tickets for a Gordon Lightfoot show at Infinity Hall in Hartford, CT. The night of the show, Mark, and his wife, Anne, my wife, Tracey, and I enjoyed a superb steak dinner and walked to the show. Infinity Hall is an intimate music venue that seats only 500. This is exactly the kind of place to see a folk/rock singer, guitarist, and songwriter like Gordon Lightfoot. You can hear the music while not being blasted by arena-size speakers. You can see the band without the aid of large screens.
The show was pleasant, but sadly, at 83 years old, Gordon’s voice was not fully up to the task anymore. He still sang the songs, but his voice lacked the robust range and strength he had as a younger man. I still enjoyed the show and still loved his current reduced-voice version of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” for the same reasons I shared in my earlier piece. I did at times, however, find myself wishing for Gordon’s full voice or for him to allow for more background vocal support on some songs. His bandmates provided some background vocals, which enhanced Gordon’s voice, but it was used sparingly.
I don’t know why, but I imagine Gordon wanted it that way. He may have felt that the people came to hear him play, which he did with excellence, and sing. He may have felt that If people wanted to hear the band sing, they could go see a cover band.
I came away from the show with respect for him continuing to tour his way at the age of 83. I also imagined I’d probably not see him perform live again.
I woke up today, May 2nd, 2023, at 4:00 a.m. I couldn’t fall back asleep, so I grabbed Mark’s latest book, Random Thoughts: A Writer’s Notebook, and went downstairs to read. The book did what well-written books do — it fully absorbed me. I finished the second half of the book in two-and-a-half hours; although, it felt like ten minutes. I made a cup of coffee and turned on the news just in time to hear that Gordon Lightfoot passed away the day before at the age of 84. The report said he had canceled some shows about a month ago, citing health issues. I shared the news with Mark via text. He replied with this obituary from RollingStone.
I was amazed to learn from the obituary that in 2002, at age 64, Lightfoot suffered a ruptured abdominal aortic aneurysm and spent six weeks in a coma. He eventually recovered after four surgeries, using 28 units of blood, and a tracheotomy that damaged his vocal cords, greatly weakening his singing voice. He later commented that he was embarrassed that they used 28 units of blood to save his life. Gordon’s humility, along with the realization that his voice was impaired from the tracheotomy rather than hard living, heightened my respect for the man immeasurably.
At 64 years old, after surviving a health event that kills 85 percent of the people who experience it, Lightfoot could have retired, and nobody would have faulted him. Instead, he made what I imagine to be a significant effort to recover and rebuild his voice as best he could, mustered his courage, and went on doing what he loved to do. I’m so glad he did.
I’m so grateful that I got to experience his genius, talent, and humility before it was too late. I am sad to hear of his passing, but I’m more enriched by his living than I imagined possible.
Featured image courtesy of Arnielee, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons
We can’t all be in one place at the same time. Therefore, being able to travel makes it possible, desirable, preferable, and practical that we can go to all sorts of other places.Travel allows us to go from where we are to places we might want to be, or at least to be temporarily. We can see things in those places that we can’t see where we are. We all know that pictures don’t do justice to the real thing. Seeing the real thing teaches us about intricacies, nuances, and details that we might not pick up on by just reading about those other places. Or by seeing pictures that someone else took.
Because we can’t all be in the same place together, not all of us anyway, travel allows us to meet other people, learn about them, and see things from other perspectives.
If we were, somehow, able to all be in the same place at the same time, storytelling would have to be way different than it is, because a lot of us would be able to witness and participate in the same things together, and it wouldn’t be as incumbent upon us to paint mental pictures, because, well, we didn’t “have to be there,” – we were.
Traveling to faraway places gives us the opportunity to be not where we usually are, and that usual place is probably work. So when we travel, there are times when we can be doing lots of other stuff besides working, and that can be a lot of fun, educational, and just downright good for our mental and spiritual selves.
When we aren’t working, or if we are, but just in another place, there is no telling how much good can come of that. And when we take some time to take in where we are, and maybe capture some pictures, because we always want to show others how the pictures of where we were don’t do justice to what we saw, we get to freeze some of those memories in time and add some depth and texture to the stories that we harvest, when we travel.
Travel, by its very nature, is temporary. Like life, we’re hardly ever always in one place all the time. When we give ourselves the gift of travel, we know that at some point we will go back home. Back to where we were. Back to work, even.
Sometimes, the temporary nature of travel is a blessing. We can come home to people that didn’t travel with us. We can return to our routines, and our normal lives, and… you get it. Endless travel is for some, but not for all.
I would say, overall, travel is good.
These are things one ponders when travel is temporary. This little gigantic piece of my heart, in the picture, is a world traveler. She’s been here, with us, for almost two months, and now, as you read this, she is about to board a plane to take her across the ocean. For more travel, more pages to her book of life. She’s my only granddaughter, Naomi, and right now, I have mixed feelings about travel. I am so grateful for the trip that brought her here, and the memories we made. Travel is temporary, you know…
Equanimity is calamity’s medicine.
~ Publilius Syrus
Do you know anyone whose life doesn’t have a few ups and downs? Ya, me neither. Equanimity is detached observation; it is the practice of being mindfully aware whether we are leaning toward “whatever is” and favoring it, or, pulling away from “whatever is” and disfavoring it and then finding the balance of a neutral position that favors neither. Equanimity can be practiced when navigating our way through difficult times as well as when dealing with difficult people. It is a mindfulness practice that helps us be the observer of our thoughts and feelings before we act on them in a manner that we may later regret. In Buddhism, equanimity might be considered an aspect of walking the middle path because it creates the perfect emotional balance required to stay on the ride and not be seduced by the polarity of life in the human condition.
To cling to the belief that our life is supposed to continually progress in an ascending straight line with no bumps, dips and whoop-de-do’s causes much suffering. If today is a day of curves and bends rather than an ascending straight line, darkness rather than light, sadness rather than happiness, failure rather than achievement, remember that it must have an end just as it had a beginning. Equally important, remember that while it is not to be perceived as permanent, just as a roller coaster stops between rides, there is a period of rest in between the two. Take a breath and fully “be” in that sacred space. This is the wisdom of “Whoopdedo” in action.
Equanimity embraces all of the whoopdedos life offers us as well as the days of blue skies and green lights—and takes neither too seriously; it brings balance to our perspective, allowing us to breathe and experience the sacred gap—the space of what is—that lies between what was and what shall be, knowing as surely as night follows day, this too shall pass. Remember, there will always be more whoopdedos ahead on the roller coster of life. This is truly great news because it means we’re alive—and that’s a ride worth staying on. Just remember to breathe and keep your balance!
Copyright © 2023 – DMJ Presentations LLC
May the Fourth be with you! Today is Star Wars Day, a celebration of the beloved science fiction franchise that has captured the hearts and imaginations of fans around the world.
The origin of Star Wars Day can be traced back to a pun based on the iconic catchphrase “May the Force be with you.” In 1979, just two years after the release of the first Star Wars film, Margaret Thatcher became the first female Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. To congratulate her, the London Evening News placed an advertisement that read, “May the Fourth Be With You, Maggie. Congratulations.” The phrase caught on, and fans began to celebrate May 4th as Star Wars Day.
Since then, Star Wars Day has become a global phenomenon, with fans of all ages coming together to celebrate their love for the franchise. The day is marked by special events, merchandise releases, and social media posts from fans and celebrities alike.
One of the most exciting aspects of Star Wars Day is the announcement of new projects in the franchise. In recent years, May 4th has seen the release of new trailers, teasers, and announcements for movies, TV shows, video games, and more. In 2021, for example, fans were treated to the first footage from the upcoming Disney+ series “The Bad Batch,” as well as news about the “Obi-Wan Kenobi” series and the upcoming film “Rogue Squadron.”
But Star Wars Day isn’t just about new projects. It’s also a time to reflect on the impact that the franchise has had on popular culture. Since the release of the first film in 1977, Star Wars has inspired countless books, comics, video games, and other forms of media. It has also spawned a vibrant fan community, with fan fiction, fan art, cosplay, and fan events popping up all over the world.
Of course, Star Wars Day wouldn’t be complete without a rewatch of the films themselves. Whether you’re a die-hard fan who can recite every line of dialogue or a casual viewer who just enjoys the spectacle, there’s something for everyone in the Star Wars saga. From the original trilogy to the prequels to the sequels and spin-offs, the franchise has captured the imaginations of generations of fans.
In conclusion, Star Wars Day is a special day for fans of the franchise to come together and celebrate all things Star Wars. It’s a time to reflect on the impact that the franchise has had on popular culture and to look forward to new projects on the horizon. May the Fourth be with you!
I am a firm believer that the Universe always knows better. No matter how harsh and seemingly unbearable things can get, I like to think there is a hidden meaning that I’d receive whenever I am ready.
The only requirement is that my heart needs to open up to receive the magical messages!
Before heading to the “aha moments”, let me first update you about the situation of the cursed doggies tribe’s remaining members.
I took Julia, the first mom who lost all her four kids to homicide, to the vet the following day. It turned out she had:
- A uterine infection,
- Two diseases contracted from the external parasites (detected through blood analysis),
- A broken leg infection (the cast was too tight, in all likelihood),
- Most importantly… a serious depression.
She was neutered and treated for a week at the vet’s clinic. She was too fragile to be vaccinated. I miraculously found a foster mom who has been unconditionally loving and taking good care of her for 12 days!
Please meet the enchanting Julia (a poodle we had to fully shave): Julia the mom who lost all her 4 babies…
The second mom Stella — Julia’s daughter — is way more anxious. She never let me touch her in spite of her wagging tail!
One of my AP friends who owns a shelter and with whom I shared the tragedy to think together about the most effective way to grant some justice to the murdered puppies requested that I bring Stella and her 3 survivors. Mind you this exceptional lady deals with some serious financial struggles. She sold her house in France and is still paying for everything from her personal funds. Her unconditionally loving heart simply couldn’t hear about the horrific event and not rescue the traumatized family… My friend merely asked for a few days to prepare a new space.
Meanwhile, the weakest of the three kids who survived the mass murder was hit either by a car or a human leg. Her femur was displaced following the shock. I took her to the clinic where she got some painkillers and spent three days. The main vet planned to operate on her the same day he would spay her momma Stella. Eventually, he informed me he was skeptical given her health condition, that her life was at risk. We decided to cancel the surgery and give her a chance to self-heal; at least for a while…
I drove for eight hours and spent 3 more ones at the shelter since the staff found viral contamination when I was about to reach my destination and we had to take drastic measures to protect the vulnerable kids! The injured baby stayed at the shelter with her mom and siblings who are much stronger than her for 2 days. Ultimately, my kind-hearted friend decided to take her home because her brother and sister were hurting her when playing.
Please meet Stella and her wondrous champions:
Courtesy of the author: the three siblings at the shelterCourtesy of the author: the injured sweetheart at the shelterCourtesy of the author: the injured sweetheart at Virginie’s place with a friend of hersCourtesy of the author: the injured sweetheart with her hooman Virginie! Back to the messages, they took a little more than two weeks to come. Waiting for them was wholeheartedly worth it:
The Universe had to push me to make time for self-regulationIn a previous story about the same tribe where I went through killing another puppy and leaving him in the middle of the road with his intestines outside, I mentioned some physical issues I experienced for a period:
- High stiffness in some parts of my body,
- Pain in my neck and shoulders,
- Snapping jaw,
- A discomfort I feel in my throat when sleeping.
I had been regulating my emotions in a record time for way too long. It had been effective to stay functional. It had been magical until it wasn’t. A few days ago, I paid attention to the symptoms in a moment of full presence while talking to a cherished friend who would recognize herself over the phone. I was in awe when realizing all symptoms except for the snapping jaw — a problem also explained by the misalignment of the upper and lower parts according to the osteopath — disappeared.
I had to go through hell so that I could slow down and grant my feelings some space instead of instantly regulating them. Once again, I needed to learn my lesson the hard way!
My lost baby Mustache soul has been comforting me indirectlyMustache has a biological sibling. His name is Zorro. They were too sick when I found them. I fostered them for three months before deciding to permanently adopt them. They were very close, playing or snuggling all the time. Mustache loved to sleep on my arm and jump on my shoulders. Zorro’s favorite spot, on the other hand, has always been my thighs whenever I’m at the toilet!
My guess is that Zorro misses his brother which breaks my heart. Appealingly, he started literally running to sleep on my arm when Mustache went missing. I thought his new behavior stemmed from his emotional state. It wasn’t until a few days ago that I paused for a moment before feeling overwhelmed by the mind-blowing awareness.
For two weeks, my baby’s soul had been gently watching over and comforting me through Zorro. It was as if Mustache was saying:
I’m here Momma… I want you to know that you did your very best and that I’ll cherish every moment we spent together until our souls will meet again!
Courtesy of the author: Mustache to the left and Zorro to the right!GratitudeAs usual, I want to thank all of you, dear readers, who decided to stop by and give this piece some of your time.
More specifically, I would love to send my deepest gratitude to all my fellow writers and soul friends who showered me with their genuine love; thus making healing my shuttered heart way easier…
You are precious and the epitome of this mesmerizing song by the talented Chrissy Metz!
Gayle Kurtzer-MeyersJoseph LieunghClaire RaymondSam W.Josie ElBiryKerstin KrauseMichele MaizeKim McKinneyJan VajdaHollie Petit, Ph.D.Shameem AnwarCarmellitaMaria RattrayRandall SnyderEzra LeónKimberly J FitzgeraldSherry McGuinnGeorge Blue Kelly Bridget WebberJessy AnthonyKatie MichaelsonYana BostongirlKen HolstenJohn O’NeillMelissa GrayAmanda LindseyRandy ShinglerWendy A ChavezMukundarajan V NA special thank you goes to
DL Nemeril for her generous donation to kindly support the endless expenses even though it eventually didn’t work out because of technical issues. We are grateful for the nurturing intention!
Empathy is a fundamental human trait. To a large extent, it’s what makes us human. (Scientists say empathy can be impaired by narcissism or sociopathy). We all know this is important, and we all know we need more of it. Here are six ways we can improve our abilities related to empathy.
Although it’s usually not the case, some things get better with age.I’m a baby boomer. Technically, I’m not. I was born in April of 1965, missing the cut by four months. I am the youngest of four. My oldest brother is 13 years older than me. Culturally, my preferences always seemed to align with baby boomers. That being the case, I’m a big fan of 1970s and ‘80s rock and roll music.
Surprisingly, many of the iconic rock bands of the ‘70s and ‘80s have maintained enough health, or have replaced certain band members, and continue to play music and tour. Sadly though, when these bands play, many times the instrumentals are good, maybe even better than in their relative youth, but the vocals just don’t sound good anymore.
A particularly painful example for me is David Lee Roth’s 2019 tour with Van Halen. DLR’s antics on stage and in music videos of my youth led me to believe his value to the band was mostly personality. After hearing some of their live music in 2019, I now understand how Roth’s vocals counterbalanced the instrumentals in the band’s heyday. I’m not knocking DLR or other musicians of my youth for aging. It beats the alternative. So, as happy as I am that many of these bands continue to play, it can at times give me one more reason to long for my youth.
One of my favorite old tunes is Gordon Lightfoot’s “Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”. I have never been on a ship in a storm, but his lyrics take me there “Does anyone know where the love of God goes when the waves turn the minutes to hours?” Haunting.
The song does some amazing storytelling with history, the wreck, and the aftermath.
I’ve heard this song from time to time for the last 44 years. Every time I hear it, I get chills, just like I did the first time I heard it. I would have thought it couldn’t be improved upon.
Gordon was working on the song in 1976 while in the studio with his band recording the Summertime Dream album. The song wasn’t finished and was not originally intended to be on the album, but they recorded it anyway because they had finished all the planned songs and had some extra studio time. It turns out the recording on the album is the first take because after recording it, Gordon and the band decided they had not improved upon the recording with subsequent takes:
I recently heard another recording of the song, Live at Thomas Wolfe Auditorium Asheville, NC 2/17/20:
As much as I love the original recording, this story now needs to be told with a more experienced voice. In 1976, the song told a story of current-day tragedy and loss of life, and 41-year-old Gordon Lightfoot was the right person to tell that story. Now, the song is legend, and 81-year-old Gordon Lightfoot is again the right person to tell the story.
Note: Featured image file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license. Attribution: Greenmars
What’s the biggest impediment every human being faces in their life? Fear, and that’s not surprising when you think about it.We are born into a world with no idea how we got here, where we are going, or what we’re supposed to do in our short times on earth. Not a warm and fuzzy scenario. We bide our time with work, food, and sex but those are distractions because we experience fear every day—fear of dying, fear of poverty, fear of disapproval, fear of rejections—the list goes on.
All the distractions we mentioned can be seen as a kind of daily drug. We immerse ourselves in relationships, entertainment, and work avoiding the deeper questions about our origin and destiny because those things are just too abstract and unanswerable to deal with.
I disagree. I disagree because I’ve had personal experiences with a higher source of consciousness that altered my life for the better. And I’m not special. I’m the same as you, perhaps a bit more inquisitive, but the same as you.
I didn’t just accept these experiences, maybe because I’m a Capricorn, but I embarked on a 40-year investigation of how the phenomena I experienced could happen—medical intuitiveness, clairvoyance, premonitions, remote viewing, prescience—and I came across some very interesting things.
Of course, I delved into spiritual and mystical things to begin with, but my research soon led me to quantum physics. Not so strange really, because quantum physics essentially deals with the relationship of light energy and matter and that’s the core focus of both mysticism and philosophy, you know, God is light, spirit vs. matter, and so forth.
Well, I learned some fascinating things. A universal wisdom tradition was common to most cultures thousands of years ago. It’s called the Perennial Philosophy today. It was present in such traditions as Hinduism, Persian Zoroastrianism, Greco-Roman philosophy, and Jewish Kabbalism. But is so happened that the cultural melting pot of the ancient world was the Greek city of Alexandria, Egypt, and the melting pot of all these traditions was a group called the Gnostics based in that city.
The Gnostics were a fascinating story. They predated Jesus but became among the first Christians because they recognized he was teaching the same mystical information they had gleaned from their penetration of higher dimensions. Indeed, we know Jesus had one teaching for the public and another for initiates. This is attested to in the Bible (Matt. 13:11) and in the writings of early Church fathers like Origen and Clement of Alexandria. The story of their suppression is told in my book, Quantum Spirituality.
Gnostics, or Gnosticism comes from the Greek Gnosis (no-sis) “to know.” So, the Gnostics were those who knew divinely revealed information. What I discovered pouring through their suppressed, accidentally recovered texts was that they had predicted nearly every major theory of modern quantum physics including parallel universes, the God particle, and the Big Bang. From these sources, I began mapping out an understanding of the true nature of reality, the creation, and the purpose and destiny of humanity.
My book, Quantum Spirituality, is about creating a roadmap to higher consciousness. Every map needs more than one coordinate to navigate like an x and y-axis. The coordinates I use in the journey for higher consciousness are ancient Gnostic mystical wisdom and quantum physics. The end goal is overcoming fear by answering life’s deepest questions—what is the nature of creation, what is our life’s purpose, and is there a higher power or life after death?
Using other road signs on this journey to understand our source, I also show how the findings of astronomy and the works of the great psychologist Carl Jung directly tie in with the scientific and mystical story of our origins.
We see that we do live in a virtual simulation, an electromagnetic matrix of illusions, but one in which we can become co-creators of reality because we are not separate from the Source Consciousness that projected us. Rather, we are part of that consciousness, and like relay stations in an electrical grid we contribute to the energy stream that produces matter from light.
For those seeking more information, please look at this short, informative video:
and visit my website https://www.petercanova.com/
The absence of Meghan Markle and the participation of Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis at the coronation of Charles III speaks volumes about cultural valuesThis Saturday, the world will witness a rare tradition as Prince Charles ascends the throne to succeed his mother as monarch of the British Isles. According to reports, his daughter-in-law Meghan Markle will not be in attendance.
However, Britain’s Chief Rabbi will be there. The dichotomy offers a profound lesson in noblesse oblige.
I’m not a big fan of Meghan Markle, although I think she’s a fine actress. It’s true, she has faced some difficulties and discomforts as Duchess of Sussex. But she had ample opportunity before marrying into the royal family to contemplate and prepare herself for exactly what was coming. Moreover, as a Hollywood celebrity, she certainly understood the demands and responsibilities of fame. For her to play the victim card so publicly is more than a little disingenuous.
Moreover, it’s beside the point. After all, her father-in-law is becoming King of England.
Most families have members who have trouble getting along, sometimes for entirely valid reasons. But there are moments when we put aside our histories, our feelings, and our egos to honor the family bond.
To deprive Charles of the presence of his grandchildren, and to deny them the memory (if only through pictures) of having taken part in the once-in-a-generation celebration, bespeaks a degree of self-absorption and pettiness that is frankly inexcusable.
True nobilityOn the other extreme, consider the obstacles facing Britain’s Chief Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis. The requirements of Torah law prevent him from driving on the Sabbath, and Sabbath morning services overlap the coronation ceremony. He could easily excuse himself for purely logistical reasons.
But he has made no attempt to do so for two simple reasons: reverence and gratitude.
Some 2500 years ago, the sages encouraged Jews to seize any opportunity to go and behold royalty; they even composed a blessing to be recited in the presence of gentile monarchs: Blessed are You, O L-rd, our G-d, King of the universe, who bestows from His glory upon flesh and blood.
In an age when we have lost respect for leadership, it is more important than ever to remind ourselves of our responsibility as subjects and citizens to honor the trappings of power.
All too frequently, individual leaders fall short of the mark; but institutions endure. Indeed, the sages admonish us to pray for the welfare of the government, for without it man would swallow his neighbor alive.
In this case, there is much more involved than formality and propriety. Charles has displayed sound friendship and commitment toward the Jewish people, which is more precious than ever with anti-Semitism on the rise. It would show appalling ingratitude for the Chief Rabbi to miss the coronation if there were any possible way for him to attend.
One good turnWhat’s especially heartening is the length to which the British have gone to make the rabbi’s attendance easier. He and his wife are invited to stay at St. James’ Place, walking distance from both Buckingham Palace and a neighborhood synagogue, where he will pray a special sunrise service in order to be on time for the ceremony. His menu for the entire weekend will be provided by a kosher caterer.
As one of a host of religious leaders, Rabbi Mirvis will offer a blessing over the milestone. Since Torah law prohibits him from using a microphone, it was decided that none of the clergy will use microphones — although there is certainly no Jewish objection to them doing so. This gesture demonstrates the lengths we go to in a civil society to show consideration for one another, to respect others’ practices and beliefs, and to strive to make others comfortable even when it causes some inconvenience to ourselves.
Shalom means more than peaceThe fallout from our cultural obsession with personal rights is that we too easily forget about personal responsibility. If I demand my rights and you demand yours, we end up butting heads again and again and again.
But if I take responsibility for your rights and you take responsibility for mine, then we will live together amidst harmony, mutual respect, and love. This is true in our homes, in our businesses, and in society at large.
Judaism teaches that, as a prerequisite for Torah law, we are required to observe what is called derech eretz. The term translates as the way of the land, and it refers to character, manners, refinement, and sensitivity for our fellow human beings who share our world. A healthy and vibrant society is the natural outcome of committing ourselves to what is best for all of us together, even if that means we may have to occasionally put the interests of others ahead of our own.
When we do, we will find that the deal is a bargain, for we then get to live in a better, more beautiful world of our own making.
Living your life fully regulated and balanced is like toasting a perfect piece of toast (whatever that looks like to you).
When we envision our perfect life we have a picture that goes along with it. Hopefully, that picture is fully in color and sharp and clear. One that gives you a wonderful feeling inside.
The same can be said about your ideal piece of toast (whatever type you prefer, including gluten-free products) and what it looks and smells like as you imagine that picture inside your mind. (sub-modalities aside)
The reason I am sharing this comparison is because of the way the toaster oven component of my stove works.
I have a two-door oven with the top section being smaller for smaller items and it has a toast mode that we use in the mornings (and to reheat pizza, but that’s for another post) to make our toast. Push the “toast” button, it tells you that four minutes is the right amount of time, and it sets the right combination of oven temp and broiler timing.
If you put your toast in and it is a cold stove, the settings work fine and you get an almost perfect piece of toast every time. However, if the oven was used before and it is still warm inside then you will burn your toast almost every time. Unless you recognize the situation and adjust your settings accordingly.
The same can be said about our emotional response to situations.
I use the example of road rage when I talk about this with my clients. Imagine you are driving down the road and someone doesn’t use their turn signal or maybe they won’t let you merge in the lane as you need to. Usually, this isn’t an overly dangerous situation and one that most people deal with daily and just move on with their journey.
There are those that get infuriated with these behaviors and blow their top. The reason they get so upset is usually not the event itself so much as what this event brings up within them. It usually connects them to something that is a bigger issue in their lives and this event becomes a symbol of that issue.
Similar to that warm oven that burns the toast.
As we clear out those negative emotions (anger in this case) and also process and deal with any limiting beliefs from the past, then we can look at each situation with clear eyes and see it for what it is.
Living our lives regulated and balanced, invoking that ideal picture and feelings of living the life we desire. Just like that perfect piece of toast.
As you may have guessed, Humor is very important to me and one of my highest values in work and personal life.
I also use metaphors and analogies a fair amount since our unconscious mind works in symbols and stories and I find people can make the biggest shifts within the two.
In today’s world of instant information, uncertainty, cruelty, and differences in ideas, what is the true role of parents? Obviously, parents provide their children with food, clothing, and a place to live. They also are to provide financial support, medical care, and the opportunity to receive an education. And they are to protect their children from harm and provide them with a safe environment that includes supervision and control of any situation.
Because parents are the most influential people for our children, they have more power to bring the good qualities needed in our daily lives. Traits all parents should strive to instill in kids include but are not limited to:
- Honesty
- Responsibility
- Kindness
- Independence
- Respect
- Positive thinking
- Creativity
- Healthy eating & exercise
- Success that can be learned from failure
- How to have fun
So, the real question becomes, in today’s hectic world, how can a parent juggle everything to even come close to instilling these traits into this newest generation? Is it even possible to raise a “normal” kid with everything going on in this country and the world?
With the events our kids are facing, and the constant media attention given to the evil in this world, parents today have got to be focused on the mental health of children, and we have to reinforce the basics learned throughout the generations. One way is to make sure each child has chores assigned, which teaches life lessons as well as having kids understand their role in the home. Making kids feel appreciated for achieving their chores, helps kids understand other people’s needs, and creates a strong connection with the family. Doing chores teaches our kids:
- Responsibility
- Self-confidence
- Time management
- Work ethic
- Structure and routine
Another way we can focus on raising good kids is to never lose sight that we are role models, where they reflect just about everything we do. If we spend a lot of time on our phones or computer screens or watching TV, our children will spend a lot of time on their screens and watching TV. If we spend time reading, they will spend time reading. If we are active outdoors, they will be active outdoors. Children learn more from our actions- so if we are polite and good role models, they will grow up to be polite and good role models. Instilling confidence in our children by being more encouraging and helping to motivate the kid’s strengths, interests and good qualities is a task we should all be practicing every day. We know that constant criticism can deprive children of their self-esteem and can really leave deep scars demoralizing their wants and needs to succeed.
More than ever, parents must be the role model our kids most admire, to get us through these troubling times. On the matter of parenting, America cannot be separated by political ideology. We want all of our kids to grow up in a safe and secure United States. Positively changing the life of one child, will change the world for the better. This I hope the entire country can embrace.
Episode SummaryWhich door or doors will you choose today because they lead you nowhere?
Hello to you listening in Belgaum, Karnataka, India! Coming to you from Whidbey Island, Washington this is Stories From Women Who Walk with 60 Seconds for Story Prompt Friday and your host, Diane Wyzga.
There is so much noise about the many ways available to us to open a new door, more doors, better doors to your life, your business, your heart, your relations… it’s exhausting! Do we need all those doors? Might there be another way? Yes.
Perhaps you’re familiar with the Brazilian novelist Paolo Coelho de Souza who wrote the bestseller The Alchemist, as well as The Pilgrimage about his road of self-discovery on the Camino de Santiago.
When I read what he had to say about doors I paid attention. “\
Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere.
Story Prompt: The miracle is that you begin. Which door or doors will you choose today? What might happen next? Write that story!
Practical Tip: The magic of stories is also in the sharing. If you wish share your story with someone or something. All that matters is you have a story.
You’re invited: “Come for the stories – stay for the magic!” Speaking of magic, I hope you’ll subscribe, follow, share a 5-star rating and nice review on your social media or podcast channel of choice, and join us next time! Remember to stop by the website, check out the Services, arrange a Discovery Call, and Opt-In to stay current with Diane and Quarter Moon Story Arts and on LinkedIn.
Stories From Women Who Walk Production Team
Podcaster: Diane F Wyzga & Quarter Moon Story Arts
Music: Mer’s Waltz from Crossing the Waters by Steve Schuch & Night Heron Music
All content and image © 2019 to Present: for credit & attribution Quarter Moon Story Arts
What’s the point?
Seriously.
What. Is. The. Point.?
It’s not as if we go. Is it?
I always come back. Don’t you?
Eventually.
Or not.
Of course ‘eventually’ might only be a couple of seconds.
Sometimes.
Might be a couple of centuries.
When do you stop counting?
When does it stop?
Counting how many times you pass the point of no return only to return.
Because we always come back.
Don’t we.
Don’t we?
Push on the membrane. It gives.
The more you push, the more the resistance.
Until it doesn’t.
It just gives.
It pushes back. And back. Resisting your desire. And then not.
Through to the other side. Past the point of no return.
Except you do return. Don’t you. Don’t you?
You return from beyond the point of no return.
Or do you arrive?
Maybe that – whatever ‘that’ is – is?
Maybe that is reality?
Maybe this is the dream?
Does it matter?
My reality is a construct of my mind. So is my dream.
Why are they different? Are they?
I can’t remember dreams. I don’t. I do.
It’s the recall that is faulty.
The storage is just fine.
The dreams have started jumping the membrane.
It’s happening more.
The ‘recalls’, when they happen, feel different. Are different. Different to reality.
To what I understand to be reality.
At least they used to. Boundaries are blurring.
Is this dream in my head?
Which dream?
I do recall they are different. Generally. There is no connection.
But that can be true of a dream.
Pushing past the point of no return.
Through the membrane. The gossamer.
Then you don’t.
The gossamer softens over time.
And hardens.
It depends on the direction.
It’s getting harder on the return journey.
It is harder on the return journey.
Harder makes it harder.
One day it will be too hard.
The soft giving gossamer giving way to the hard unforgiving rubber.
Soft gossamer. Hard rubber.
Wondering when I will forever push past the point of no return.
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding.
~George Bernard Shaw
I wrote the first draft of this one morning after a dream. And there it sat until a couple of weeks ago.
Die on it by SMBC Comics. Same wavelength.
And because no article seems to be complete without a reference to A.I. (note – the only writer involved in this piece was me – not so much this one, which on reading brought tears to my eyes.
Mark O’Brien read The Paraclete and found meaning in it. I explained it’s from my forthcoming The Shaman (due out September 2023) and is based on my training as Psychopomp. I asked if he’d like to see more excerpts specifically dealing with psychopompery and he did, so I offer the following. I’ll share more (four total) if there’s interest. This piece, DeathSong, is when the protagonist is a child. The Paraclete comes much later in the novel when the protagonist is mid-30s.
Enjoy.
____________________
DeathSong
“You promised.”
“Gio.”
“You said you’d never leave me.”
“Gio.”
“I won’t do it.”
“Gio.”
I turn my back. I won’t face him. I won’t I won’t I won’t.
I feel his arms encircle me, hear his voice inside me. “Do you feel me, Gio?”
I don’t answer.
“Gio.”
“No, I don’t feel you.”
He withdraws. The energy that cradled me, rescued me, taught me, pulls back.
I spin, reach out, fall into his arms. “No, Buppa. No. Don’t go, Buppa. Don’t die. I need you. I don’t want to go home.”
He holds me against him. I feel his heart, not strong. His arms are weak. Still he holds me. I hear his breath, smell his clove aftershave. He rubs his beard stubble against my forehead, he sings an old song. I see that thing made of sound. It hovers, sees me watching, flutters in the light, fades away.
Inside I hear. “Am I with you now, Gio?”
“Yes, Buppa. Yes.”
He taps my chest. “As long as you keep me here, I’ll never leave you. Remember, this is what is real. Do you understand, Gio?”
I sob. “This instance…” Another sob. My stomach aches with my tears. “…of time.”
“I’ve done all I can here, Gio. I’ve learned all I can learn. Is it right for me to stay?”
“Yes.”
He chuckles. His chest rattles. “Gio.”
“No.”
Grandpa’s death shocks no one. Every morning he stares into his still calloused, once powerful hands. He holds Grandma and holds me. “Six more days.” “Five more days.” “Four more days.”
Each day, quiet, patient. “Come sing with me. Start with your hands, here.” He places my hands on his chest, over his heart. It misses a beat. Then strong. Then another. Then strong.
I learn his song, his rhythm, his path. To guide him. To help him. To find his last door. To shape the universe he travels to.
In seven days.
“Will I know everyone’s DeathSong?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to know everyone’s DeathSong.”
“Remember, Gio, always look for the good.”
I don’t want to. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
Today he says nothing. Grandma lifts me in her arms and takes me to Mrs. Gianelli’s.
Grandma holds me close. I feel her heart, hear her breaths. She kisses me. “Yes, Gio. Yes.”
She whispers to Mrs. Gianelli who takes me from Grandma and cradles my head against her chest. Grandma rushes out. Mrs. Gianelli speaks Italian to Mr. Gianelli, but their dialect, not Sicilian. I know some words, not all.
Mr. Gianelli runs into their kitchen, picks up their phone, calls the police.
Mrs. Gianelli asks if I’d like some latte e bustaciotti, milk and cookies. Mr. Gianelli goes to our other neighbors. People gather. Some go in our house.
A siren.
An ambulance comes to our home. Mrs. Gianelli looks out the window. I slide off the kitchen chair and out the back, through Grandpa’s garden. His roses, his morning glories, his lillies, all his flowers, his peppers, tomatoes, squash, none face the sun.
They look to our house.
The bees are gathered on the outside of their hives. They’re not buzzing, their wings unmoving. The hives are silent.
I go inside. Men are rushing around Grandpa. They put him on a rolling bed.
He lifts his head, smiles, touches his palms to mine.
My hands burn. Itch.
A final gift, my legacy, the marks I bear.
He breathes and the house shakes. It’s already mourning.
Inside me, Grandpa’s voice. “Sing my song, Gio. Open the door for me.”
I breathe with him, our breaths make a bridge for him to cross.
The ambulance people want to hurry. Grandpa makes them stop.
He takes my hands and places them on his chest, over his heart. My two small hands in his. I feel him there.
Inside, his voice. “Never raise your hands in anger, Gio. Never hurt or harm others with what you’ve learned.”
“Yes, Buppa.”
“Now, Gio. Sing for me now.”
I sing his song. Doors open in the sky.
My spirit-body moves from me. His waits. Something sails above us, like waves on the ocean clothed in gray.
“Who is that, Buppa?”
“Another friend. Take me to it. It will help me the rest of the way.”
“I want to go with you, Buppa?”
“No, Gio. Not yet. Not for a long while. But I’ll be waiting. Don’t worry. And I’ll have peaches for you when you get there.”
I help him. Grandpa’s friend spreads huge wings that shed gray waters, a weathered sail fluttering on the horizon.
Grandpa smiles. It takes Grandpa’s hand from me.
The ocean’s robes turn from gray to white at Grandpa’s touch. They flow over him leaving the creature’s wings free, catching the wind, lifting.
Grandpa is gone.
I wave goodbye.
Not all lessons are joyful.
I’ve written extensively over the past several weeks about being at the beach. It is my happy place. Being relocated for the past four months has had its challenges, but it has also been chock-full of blessings.
Our home is still being remodeled due to the aftermath of Hurricane Ian last fall. We lived there for only two months. I know, bummer, right?! We were forced to relocate and have been living one hour south until it is completed. Finding the blessings in the curses is what I do best. If you are looking in your rear-view mirror, you cannot see what is in front of you.
We are currently staying one mile from the beach and may only be here another month. I decided it was time to spend my last few weeks watching the sunrise, smooshing my feet into the white sand, and swimming in the salty waters.
As I lay drying off from my swim in the 78-degree Gulf Coast waters, I realized today was the first day in a long time my monkey brain might be forced by nature to take a break. During my swim, the waves were crashing like I’d never seen them before, and my mind couldn’t play its game of distraction as I had to concentrate on the undertow. And now, as I lay on my pink and white polka-dotted towel, the breeze is flowing through me like a ping-pong ball in a Pac-Man game.
It was time to see if I could remain thought-free and listen to my body or other messages being sent to me. For most of my career, I have shared Western medicine approaches to health, wellness, and wellbeing. However, I have a robust spiritual connection and killer intuition.
Before closing my eyes, my 3-D mind notes the huge skyscrapers behind me. I take a few deep breaths and settle in. I begin a rhythmic breath with my arms spread out to the side like a female Jesus on the cross. Feeling the weight of my body press into the sand, I begin to feel weightless. When I “ground” myself, I work from head to toe. Like many of you, I perhaps have the same approach. Visualizing my feet tethered to Mother Earth right down to her bubbling core center, and I then begin working up through my chakras. Being aware of all my energy centers is crucial to me. When I am off kilter – I am off-kilter! Dependent on my restricted areas, I eat foods aligned with my chakras, such as yellows and oranges for my solar plexus, and throw on some jewelry to match. You should see the 74-pound rose quartz I have. She is a beauty.
Today was a unique experience. My human brain didn’t need to lead a body assessment at all. The sea took care of that. Very quickly, I became aware that as the ocean waves crashed onto the shoreline, they were in sync with my breathing pattern. As I worked my way up from my root to my crown chakra, the thrashing of the current flushed my pipes, so to speak. Though I was about 30 feet away, I felt like my feet were in the sea, and the high tide worked through my vessel.
As the flushing continued, there was quite a bit of energy swirling in my root and sacral chakras, so I hovered. As the waves continued to crash, so did the energy push through my body. I am most in tune with my solar plexus located around the belly area, which represents confidence, purpose, and self-esteem. When it is off, I am well aware of it. Today she was a dancing ray of sunshine.
Upon the next few exhales, the energy of the waves began approaching my heart chakra. It felt a bit heavy, but not in a negative way. It felt full. Gushing and swirling like a little whirlpool of joy. It started to expand, and I feel the energy branch out and shoot into my shoulders and armpits. As the riptide continues moving up into my throat chakra, I realized it had been scratchy and sore when I woke up this morning. The flow felt like I was gargling in salt water. Now that was cool!
I realized the energy felt like white light today and pure, almost like what a white feather would feel like if you were tickled on the inside. Now you might think I am losing my mind, but I get weirder, trust me. A burst of energy rolled over my tongue. And I choked. It was like my tongue got thick, and I nearly swallowed it. Within seconds, it moved into my third eye. The space between my eyebrows became hot and pressurized. It was like the entire top of my head was ready to burst. My mind’s eye saw a beam of light or a funnel stretching through my crown chakra and connecting to the sun just off to my left. It looked like a luminating gold Twizzler stuck to the sun.
I pinged back into my earthly world and felt the urgency to see what time it was—only seven minutes had passed. I set up grateful, aligned, and thanked all the beautiful messages that came in from Spirit—a seven-chakra tour in only seven minutes.
There were two farms in the mountains, one was owned by an older couple, Marv and Maeve, and the other was owned by a young single man Nils. Nils was a farmer who grew mostly root vegetables, but some summer wheat and greens. Marv was more woodcutter and hunter than farmer “My farm grows rocks” Marv said. The old man cut trees and hunted game which he peddler-packed to the other mountain farms.
Nils owned three nanny goats, and two milk-producing cows and he made cheese. He had six hens, but no rooster. He had a young strong mule who would pull a plow if you “feed him carrots and sweet talk him just right.”
The neighbors bartered and shared their bounty. Nils took Marv’s wood and game in exchange for milk, eggs, and cheese. Nils plowed Marv’s little plot of “rocks and the odd potato” because the mule wouldn’t work for Marv. “Ya just gotta talk him sweeter,” Nils laughed.
Time went on as time does. Marv and Nils would sip a drink together of an evening. And engage in the joy of working men – complaining, Marv about the weight of his pack and the “hills growing bigger each year,” and Nils about the “endlessness of it all,” and “ always smelling like cheese.” Some winter evenings Marv and Nils would dream-talk about “getting away from it all.”
“There’s some old-growth oak, and a stand of walnut in the wood. We could cut it and use your wagon and mule and get it to market by the river. It’d bring enough to move where it’s warmer. That hardwood’s worth a lot!”
“Foolish talk, old man,”. sniped Maeve. “The only way we’re getting’ away from it all is in a box.”
“Still, warmer sounds nice,” dreamed Nils. Might could find me a wife..”
Next day everyone would go back to working. Next evening might find them sipping, complaining and dreaming again.
One day Marv died. Maeve grieved, but she was practical. She would live with her daughter “three hills away.” She offered to sell Nils the farm. Nils had no money, but he hatched an idea.
“Do you know where that hardwood is that Marv was always on about?” He asked.
“Sure do.” said Maeve.
“If you’d trade me that for all the chickens, cows, and goats, I could cut it and take it to the market by the river like Marv always said.”
“Cutting and hauling that much wood is no easy job, Nils. Seems like I’d get the better end of that deal.”
“Seems fair to me, Maeve. I’m going down that river, somewhere warmer, find me a wife and start living the life!”
They agreed and the next day Maeve took Nils to the stands of oak and walnut and soon Nils began work.
He selected each tree to maximize board feet for the mill, prizing tall and straight trees with few lower limbs. He trimmed the limbs of each felled tree and cut it to the maximum length to fit the wagon. Working with the mule he hauled the logs out from the woods and stacked them. Nils built a frame to hoist each tree into the wagon. Hard work, but Nils had “a strong back and a good head for figuring things out,” (even if he did say so himself.
Oak and walnut are hard woods and Nils spent as much time sharpening his axe as he did cutting. Eight days later he had enough cut to begin to load the wagon.
Nils quickly realized,” this wagon is not going to handle this load.” So he reinforced the axle and bed of the wagon, making beams and planks from limbs he had trimmed.. He loaded the logs using the frame and rope. ”Not really a one-man job” he thought missing Marv. It was slow hard work and Nils slept well every night lulling himself to sleep saying “that hardwood’s worth a lot.”
Finally at the end of the twelfth day Nils was done. He tied the logs off with the best rope he had He boarded up his house, “’cause I ain’t coming back here.,” and he went to sleep with saying Marv’s mantra about the value of the hardwood.
The next morning Nils fed and hitched the mule and started off.
The mule got used to the load, hard pulling up and not getting pushed over going down. Nils and the mule had an agreement, carrots, and sweettalk for the mule and hardwood that was worth a lot for Nils.. They made progress and Nils was sure they’d be at market in two days. He said out loud. “That hardwood’s worth a lot.”
At the crossroads there were about fifteen men dressed in matching green-brown clothes. Nils wasn’t sure if they were soldiers or just government workers.. Some carried weapons; most had tools for digging or building. One with grey hair held up his hand. Nils slowed to a stop.
“Where are you going, son?”
“I’m Nils. And I’m going to the mill by the river.”
“That’s a long way son -ah Nils. Is this your wagon and mule.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You know, Nils, we’re working four hills east of here and we could sure use a rig like this wagon and mule. How much would you take for it all wagon and mule?”
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but the mule and wagon ain’t for sale, Y’ see, I’m taking these logs to market. . .”
The man held up his hand, “What if I was to offer you… “ The man offered a price five times what a mule and wagon would go for in these parts. Nils thought “that is a lot of money.”
“What about my hardwood?” Nils asked.
“Son, we don’t want your wood.” The older man said and some of the other men laughed.
“I’m sorry then. That hardwood is worth a lot at the market. I intend to sell it. You could send a man with me and I could sell him the rig after I’m done and he could bring it back.”
“That’s good thinking son, but we don’t have time for that. How much did you figure on selling that wood for?
Nils named a figure above the range that Marv had given him.
“What if I was to pay you what I said for the rig and give you what you said you’d get for the wood?”
Nils grabbed the back of his neck and then scratched behind his ear. “Well, I don’t know. That hardwood’s worth a lot,” he said.
“Son, we could really use that wagon and mule so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll pay the amount we agreed for the mule and wagon and one and a half times what you said you’d sell the wood for at market.”
This was too good to pass up. “Do you have that much money with you?” Nils asked fully expecting Grayhair to say “No, but we’ll get it to you” or some such bamboozlement, but the man reached in his satchel and counted out the money.
Nils scooped it up and counted it. Suddenly one of the other men cut the rope and the fifteen men had unloaded the logs and stacked them beside the road almost before Nls had put the money away. “What about the wood?” Nils asked. “You know, that hardwood’s worth a lot, maybe you could take it and sell it.”
“Son, I told you we don’t want your wood. We need the wagon to carry the men to where we are working and no one there wants wood anyway.”
Nils started to object, “ but it’s worth… .”
“Yeah, yeah – Listen, if you stay here maybe someone will come buy it.” With that the men loaded themselves into the wagon. Nils gave Grayhair carrots and told about sweet talk and they went over the hill.
Nils stayed with the wood waiting to see if anyone came along. No one came, As it got dark he cut a For Sale sign into the top log with his knife with an arrow toward his farm
He went back the next day and waited. No one came and he hiked home muttering “That hardwoods worth a lot.”
The third morning it had snowed and he ran to the crossroads to brush off the wood so a buyer could see it and his sign. Three people passed that day. They listened to the story, but no one bought the wood.
One little girl asked him, “Didn’t you already sell it, and aren’t you going down the river where it is warm and find a wife and start living the life?” Her father hustled her away saying “Hope you sell it, Nils. That hardwood’s worth a lot.” Nils thought about it and resolved to come back tomorrow.
I hope that Nils eventually made it “down the river where it is warm, and found a wife and is living the life.” Maybe someone came along with a wagon and bought his hardwood, because, as we’re aware, it was worth a lot.
His story has me thinking about my “hardwood,” all the woulda, shoulda, coulda thoughts that slowed my life progress.
What about your wood? You know, “that hardwood’s worth a lot.”
I do not surrender myself to guides, ascended masters, beings of light, or other energies. Rather, I know them to be Allies who guide me as I surrender to the eternal light of source which resides within me and to which I am directly connected from the beginning.
It’s time to GO DIRECT!
My inner spark. I feel the flow of energy along the kristinline cord which runs through my light body, my heart… it’s magnetic pull from my roots, igniting the neuro pathways of my being as I become PRESENCE
I AM in breathing
I AM absorbing
I AM expanding
I AM Projecting
The primordial light of my true essence and the current of essence which runs through the whole of life. The whole of Creation.
It’s time to GO DIRECT
I AM the STAFF and I AM the ROD
I AM the light that will not veil.
I AM PRESENCE
It’s time to GO DIRECT
Gently anchored to the bounty of the earth and spirit.
In-Body, In Power, In-Soul
I AM my I AM Presence
I walk in PEACE
I walk in the cosmic fires and rays fed through the pillar of light. No harm comes to me.
Through my body, the vibration of my love is offered and added to the currents of life for those who wish to be reminded of their own light. The signs are in the earth, air, seas, and skies. When looked upon my gaze, it is seen through my eyes. Felt in the Heart.
When taken in through the body and breath I AM the fire that will ignite and awaken others by PRESENCE. The flames embodied are infinite, dancing together in harmonic resonance.
Allow PRESENCE to flow in and through the body.
It’s time to GO DIRECT!
Love You,
Gina
Delicate, tiny
Seemingly fragile
Surrounded by green waves
Flowing all
Around you.
Tuck in close to these
Valleys,
Far below mountains of
Majesty,
To catch the
Fragrant scent of
Mystery.
For in your blossoming
You softly perfume breaths
Exhaled
Close to the earth
Near the places
Birthed from sorrow,
Love, and despair.
White bells of
Hope, you
Appear in the springtime,
Awakening the power
Of tenderness,
The importance of
Remaining sturdy
In the swirls
Of sighs.
The first time Robin had sat upon the back of Her Royal Highness Queen of Swans was a truly surreal experience. Wings so gently swaying enabling Her Majesty to be caressed by a light breeze.
Such was the comfort afforded him, Robin slept much of the time. He did enjoy views above the River Itchen (Poet Keats’s favorite riverside walk and nearby Water Meadows, but on awakening he thought he had been dreaming, such was the graceful elevation provided by Her Majesty and the views, beautiful. Totally different perspective, much higher than his usual level, close
to ground level.
This second experience would take him along a path of limitless imagination and infinity of fantasy and heart, accelerated by supremely positive vibes.
His good friend the Blackbird once again escorted him to the river where Her Majesty Queen of Swans ruled. Her Majesty greeted Robin in a manner warm, with a slight tint of secretive expectation in her eyes. Settling on the swan’s back and as previously, held onto a white feather.
Her Majesty ensured Robin was prepared for elevation to another dimension. Energy entered her royal wings. Flying from the river over treetops took no time at all. In reality, literally in an instant.
Unlike his previous experience, Robin was awake, alert, and open to all sights and senses.
Her Majesty flew to the right, leaning over, offering Robin a most spectacular view. A glistening river, treetop branches seemingly waiving goodbye. They ascended further toward fluffy clouds; signaling a farewell to the confines of earthly existence.
Through clouds so beautiful, the sun shining creating a most magical scene the sun engaged in a form of solar synergy.
Higher still, Robin viewing clouds from above. Her Highness projected confidence and promise of infinite joy. Feathers glowed so bright and white, imaginary rainbows blessed Robin’s eyes. Planet Earth left behind Moon glowed in the darkened sky.
Thoughts of everyday life flowed through his mind but disappeared on being part of the expanding Universe.
Once frightened of modest heights; now welcoming infinity. Her Highness asked what he felt. Robin instantly stated awe and ecstasy.
Speed irrelevant velocity infinite.
Freedom from solar influence projected them to stars’ formations of fantasy; Gemini, Scorpio, Taurus, and more.
Senses came alive; invigorated. Feeling a high degree of peace and kindness where every being lived a natural life in a gentle manner.
Passing galaxies, unlimited energy heralding a new life, flying through space; time irrelevant.
Suddenly, in an instant (although ‘instant’ is academic as time is irrelevant) other swans appeared; exchanges of love and mutual empathy, togetherness, and peace. Such a sight brought joy to Robin’s heart.
“What say you, Robin?” Robin was aghast, lost for words but able to say “This is a parallel Universe, but one of peace, serenity, and kindness. You bless me with this tour of life beyond Earth’s horizon.”
Suddenly, with no feeling of movement, Her Majesty settles upon the river. To Robin, everything was the same as when they left the surface. Ducks in exactly the same position; time of day unchanged. Should a clock have been feasible, they had flown off at 11.15 and returned at 11.15.
Robin was so grateful and sensed connectivity with her Royal Highness Queen if Swans he would have thought it were a dream had he not been holding a second feather in his claws.
Such is the mystery of life beyond. Parallel
“And then, it happened. Up from the small grassy hill to her right, delicate winged creatures appeared, flying together, in mystical motion”
Join the little girl as she soars and surrounds herself with magical mayhem in search of her imagination!
CLICK HERE TO GRAB YOUR COPY TODAY!
When she was 19, Amy Purdy lost both her legs below the knee. And now … she’s a pro snowboarder (and a killer competitor on “Dancing with the Stars”!). In this powerful talk, she shows us how to draw inspiration from life’s obstacles.
In many of my previous writings, I refer to the ‘space between’ our thoughts and ‘things’ and our subsequent reactions to these things. The question is, how do these internal spaces interact with and influence the outer spaces of our lives?
The answer lies within the intentions behind our thoughts. How we direct our internal thoughts in our daily narrative influences what plays out before us externally. This is how we serve as portals for change.
This magical space is where we get to play director and ‘take a knee’ to contemplate our choices. The act of simply taking a pause moves us immediately from a ‘reactive state’ governed by the chaotic unconscious to that of an ‘active state’ of conscious choice. In other words, do we wish to create consciously or unconsciously the outcome of our circumstances?
To create consciously, we need to first be aware of the aspect of our personality being triggered by some ‘thing’. The best results emerge from sharing stories with simplicity.
One story I’d like to share is the of a book I used to read to my daughter every night before bed called,’ The Kissing Hand,’ written by the lovely author Audrey Penn. Its message is about trying to understand the mindset of a ‘bully’ as being a misguided soul acting out of contempt when confronted by feelings of inferiority. Bullies have an incessant need to be the ones ‘in charge’ all the time. Controlling others is how they feel powerful.
The mother of the ‘bullied’ character in the story encourages her child to act with compassion rather than contempt when confronted by the bully. She explains to her child that the bully is a wounded soul, looking to hide his pain by behaving badly. It is not easy to be friendly to a ‘bully’. And only other bullies remain in ‘bully groups.’ Birds of a feather, you know. Best to swim in warmer waters.
However, in my young daughter’s case, she so wanted to belong in a ‘friend group’ that she did not see the turbulent waters of the cesspool she was attempting to swim in.
She experienced a different side of the ‘bully factor’ by being excluded from the ‘girl groups’ that began forming early on. Lordy, I saw it emerging in kindergarten! By middle school, those waters were shark infested. So instead, I encouraged her to form her own alliances with the other castaways from the so-called ‘cool girls.’ As it turned out, many of them were formerly associated with these ‘clicks’ or bully groups and sent packing for one reason or another.
There was only one condition for membership in my daughter’s group. No one was the ‘leader’ and everyone was welcome so long as kindness and inclusion were always demonstrated. Opening the doorway to one’s sense of belonging is transformational and will lead to a path of better understanding others.
It is more than just discovering the good in people or seeking new relationships. These are the doorways to the space between. An opening into our own consciousness that leads to the discovery of all possibilities within a deeper realm of experience.
How we treat others, (and especially ourselves) matters. It is the way we interact with the world around us that moves us to think and engage in diverse ways so we may rise to the challenges of day-to-day life.
I am pleased to see the articles published lately that are heavily focused on the ‘re-framing’ of the mindset in the act of ‘taking pause’ when we are engaged in conflict or ‘triggered’ emotionally in some way. It moves us from ‘re-action’ to ‘action’ by creating the space needed to make shifts in our thought processes when interacting with the world. That ‘space’ could be the difference between life and death.
I think of this every time a mass shooting occurs. My mind is immediately catapulted back in time to my senior year of high school. Life was simpler then. When I think of the world my child is growing up in now, with active shooter drills, bans on books and bodies, and harmless drag shows, it makes me sad.
My intention for this post is NOT to get political. But seriously folks. What is more likely to cause severe injury or even death to your child? Is it a drag show or banned reading material? Or is it staring down the barrel of a gun? For me, this is a no-brainer. And for the love of God, what kind of world have we created when an innocent act of pulling into the wrong driveway or fetching a basketball that has rolled into someone’s yard gets you shot?
My early experience involved losing a loved one to gun violence. In fact, it was during the summer of my senior year that my girlfriend was shot and killed by her stepbrother. I cannot go into the details, but that memory bubbles to the surface every time I hear of these shootings. Those gunshots ring out in my mind, piercing my heart all over again as if it happened yesterday. That is how raw the wound still is, over forty years later. It NEVER goes away.
The questions still haunt me. What if I was there? Could I have stopped it? What if she had lived? Would she remember me? The answer came in a dream the other night. I dreamed of walking through her old neighborhood and showing her photograph to everyone I encountered. No one recognized her face, but one lady recognized her by name.
I asked if she could take me to her, and she said, “Yes, she is standing right behind you.”
I turned around to meet the eyes of a stranger. Her face was disfigured, and unrecognizable to me. That would make sense, as the bullet struck her in the face. She seemed not to have any idea who I was either. She shook her head no when I mentioned my name. But I did notice the very distinct birthmark on the side of her face that confirmed her identity to me.
In an instant, I was devastated all over again. But shortly thereafter, my thoughts suddenly shifted, and I became acutely aware of being in the ‘space between.’ It is in that ‘dream-like’ state where we are present in the realm of all possibilities. Was this an alternate version of what may have played out had she survived? Maybe…maybe not. But for me, the message of this version was clear.
If she had lived, she would not have remembered who I was. The memory of us was wiped away by a single bullet. Perhaps, to lose her in that way would have been even more painful, not to mention the physical challenges she would have endured.
When I awoke, the memory of my dream lingered for a while as I contemplated my feelings about it. My perspective of the events of the past had shifted. The heart that had been shattered so long ago finally felt ‘at peace’ for the first time in decades. I found myself suddenly filled with gratitude instead of anger.
They say God only gives you as much as you can manage. And I am now certain that her death was an act of his loving mercy on us both. “Thank you, God,” I whispered. “For not putting us through that.”
My dream sequence is the perfect example of recognizing a part of me that still suffers from my past when triggered by current events. The transformation begins when the mindset shifts from pain to compassion, patching the deep puncture wounds of trauma.
Every time that memory is stirred, it no longer sits at the bottom of the cauldron building layers upon layers of soot to sift through later. It is a process of healing, as with any buried trauma. It will continue to recycle its energy every time the wiring of that memory is tapped. However, when we address each uprising with compassion for ourselves and even the ones who may have hurt us, we set in motion a mindset of healing rather than one of pain and dis-ease.
I saw a quote the other day that sums things up here beautifully:
No amount of regret changes the past. No amount of anxiety changes the future. But any amount of gratitude changes the present.
– Marc & Angel Chernoff
Always seek the ‘higher ground’ in every situation…It just may save your life.
Happy
Free
Let that
My heart
Be – A
Glance
Fixating
On a cloud
Peace and
Beauty to
Calm me
When life
Gets loud
A heart
That sees
Beyond
A doubt
Just what
This life
Is all-out
Nursing school was rocky for me, at best. The community college where I received my Associate Degree in Nursing (ADN) had a perfect record of students successfully passing state boards on the first sitting. Never a failure on their part. To ensure this excellent record remain unstained they set the bar high. The last passing grade was 84%. Score 83.9% and you were out. If any of the instructors didn’t like you, you were out. No explanation needed; you were just done. I was fortunate. All but one of the instructors liked my empathy, my wit, and my goofiness. The one, a former army drill sergeant (no joking), did her best to get me removed… three times. I firmly believe to this day that she’s the reason I succeeded. Thus, she’s the reason many of my patients lived. My innate, highly acute intuition saved many people’s lives.
Ever wanted something so badly, especially when all odds were stacked against you, that failure was not an option? Yep, me too.
In the ’80s, the term neurodivergence was unknown. So, I clearly couldn’t have had it, right?
Looking back, I scratch my head in wonder at that young nursing student who pulled grades > 84%, passed every test – and clinic — in that nursing program, and passed her state boards on the first sitting. Now, I’m proud of what I accomplished. Yet I’m sorry to say it’s only been in the last few months that I’ve awakened to this realization.
That amazing young woman was beaten up, often, by the person who was closest to her: herself. Sadly, this continues to happen to other neurodivergent people every day. I’d be embarrassed to tell you what I told myself over the years. Suffice it to say, you can guess what it is. I’m making it my mission to call attention to this, to call it out, to shed light on – possibilities. To finding a way to elevate others like me. Other neurodivergent’s who continue to berate themselves because no one has shared with them their innate brilliance. They’ve yet to learn there’s a better way. Join me as I take this walk through the unknown, as I toss down a few words leaving a paper trail of hope for those who follow.
I ask my friends who have done this, could it be like walking The Camino de Santiago?
If the Sun spews water it’ll change its core into mire.
It is true people control words. Sounds like a horror fantasy, a dystopian illusion, an unreality, but it exists.
Words express feeling, materialize inner thoughts, and furthermore put in print for our pleasure and imagination to wonder beyond physical expectations. When prescribed in prompts it either adds or takes away the value of one’s potential. I remember being in reading class in grade school when the teacher issued homework, just to test our comprehension skills in a race to explain in front of the class what we’d read. Almost always I ended up being the outcast the one who is either called up first to present my findings, like a clown performing for a circus, or the devil who contests the teachings of sacred textbooks.
My understanding of the texts would never go along with what’s being taught. The majority of my classmates would agree with the teacher’s pedagogy, even though outside of the realm of the classroom they found it interesting to analyze the text differently. Challenging the teacher’s expectations and standards was unheard of. Free-thinking for the most part was apprehended according to the schools’ policy, in other words how teachers taught students determined if they’d passed.
I learned not to always listen to narratives when it comes to a text that requires an in-depth interpretation. I don’t know how everyone else feels about ChatGPT, but A.I. speaking for you is no different than school policy recommending teachers to teach Columbus was the first to discover America. And yet you can utilize A.I. to your advantage as long as laziness doesn’t massage your mental into delusions.
Although at one time the Sun evolved around the Earth: That’s how the majority viewed it, until Galileo came along and challenged the concept. He was persecuted for his gross implications. Both the majority and Galileo comprehended something profound but at the same time looked over: the Sun and Earth complement each other.
As most of you know from reading my biography that not only am I retired from Law Enforcement, but I am also a devout Catholic who believes deeply in my faith. I have written many articles for BizCatalyst 360°, and I am so grateful, (as I am sure many who write for this great website are), where one can express what is on their mind. I have been studying about Angels and Spiritual Warfare for some time. As a result, I have come to understand that not only is Satan real, but so are Angels, which we need to take seriously. I will begin submitting articles related to my faith, (not because I am Catholic), but because God wants those who may not believe to have the chance to do so through my articles. I welcome challenges and questions, directed in a humble way to whatever I write. Today I want to relate a story that happened to me while on patrol one night, shortly before heading into the station at the end of my shift.
I worked a shift called dog watch; it was from 3 p.m. to 11 p.m. My shift kept me busy through the night, and frankly, I was tired, not feeling great, and wanted to get home to my daughter and son. As I came to the intersection to make a turn and head in, the light turned red and I waited, and as I looked over, a car zoomed through the intersection, at a high rate of speed. Well, I looked over to the person sitting in the car as they had witnessed the same thing, and their look was “Well, are you going to do anything about that”? I knew that I was just a few minutes away from ending my shift but the look on the person’s face was not something I could ignore. So, without hesitation, I threw on my overhead rotating lights and went after the vehicle, only to catch up and have it make a U-turn right in front of me.
I followed behind the vehicle, and I noted that there were two people in the car, the driver, and a passenger. As they came back to the intersection they turned and began to enter the freeway on-ramp. I hoped and prayed the driver would pull over before entering the freeway, but no go. To my great thankfulness, he did, and I saw him for a second disappear. I threw on my spotlights, focusing on the driver, and slowly exited my unit.
Suddenly, a feeling came over me as though someone was standing behind me telling me not to approach but to go to the rear of my unit and call for a backup. This feeling of a presence stayed with me until my backup arrived. We approached the car together and ordered the driver and the passenger out one by one and in a safe manner. The stop produced the passenger and driver being under the influence, the driver more so than the passenger, and in the car was open containers and to my surprise, a loaded 38 caliber revolver under the driver’s seat.
When we processed them back at the station, I asked the passenger what the problem was, and he said: his friend has been at sea for 6 months and came home to find his wife in bed with another man. In his rage, he left, started drinking, picked me up and said that if he is stopped, he will kill the officer who comes to his door. So, when he (the driver) disappeared for that split moment, he had done so retrieving the loaded weapon and was holding it to his chest waiting for me to approach. That’s when I felt that presence and I knew it was my guarding angel. I have good instincts, but this goes beyond that. So, if you don’t believe angels are real, I will disagree.
My next article will be on these Spiritual Beings that are given to each one of us the day we are born!
Have you ever gone for a walk with others only to find that one or some make way too much noise as they trample and stomp their way along through the woods?
One with NatureTo be one with nature is to stand alone in the woods at night, never fearing terror or fright, feeling the vibration of the earth’s floor as it laments in anguish at all man has done to it while shedding a tear as you touch the wound in the side of a tree, where someone earlier carved “you and me forever,” never giving heed to the life inside.
To be one with nature is to know the animals and not fear them as they close in to see if you are worthy of their affection while leaning with ease against a stump or tree, feeling the quiet breeze as it makes its way amongst the trees. While listening to the music of the woods and the whispers of the trees, feeling their heartbeat as they sway to and fro breathing a soft sigh of relief at your contentment while nature moves closer to share in the moment.
To be one with nature, we must first be one with ourselves. We must determine who we are and what we stand for; because, unlike our ability to hide our authentic self from man, nature has a way of seeing through our persona to our genuine character before allowing us to get too close.
Don’t look now, kids. But it just got okay to be real people.
Yes! Psychology Today published an existentially affirming article entitled, “Quit Feeling Guilty About Not Being Present”. Think of it!
This may be all the reassurance you need about the fact that, as a human being, you’re blessed with a memory and the ability to look ahead, to anticipate, to plan, to take steps, and to amend courses as you go:
For years, the gurus of presence, such as Eckhart Tolle and Jon Kabat-Zinn, have said you find joy in the present moment. Thinking about the past or future causes feelings of regret or worry. Their teachings have driven up the popularity of mindfulness and learning how to be here now … they are not practical guides for living moment to moment … judging yourself as inadequate for feeling emotions, reliving past events, and worrying about the future is a waste of energy … Our emotions and thoughts are motivations that either support or subvert our choice to act and must be considered essential to our ethical reasoning.
The bad news is you squandered a lot of time being in the moment. The good news is it’s now okay to beat yourself up for doing that shit.
PPS (Peter Pan Syndrome)
In some ways we’re benefiting — and suffering — from the effects of the so-called New Age movement that started in the early 1970s. So, it shouldn’t be surprising that the self-absorbed hedonism of the alleged counterculture didn’t want us to be looking beyond the ends of our noses, regretting any of the self-indulgent nonsense with which we were so enamored, or looking ahead to a future we couldn’t imagine or didn’t want to imagine because it entailed aging. Maturing wasn’t a subject of very much allure back in those heady days.
Neither was making meaningful decisions or consequential choices. That’s why we preferred the dark lenses of our granny glasses to the much more valuable, fruitful, and constructive lenses of hindsight and foresight that might have helped us — or caused us — to make better decisions sooner and to have a better appreciation for the value of the present, beyond dwelling in it to protect us from reality.
What a drag it is getting old.
Go Ahead, Back Up
Hindsight and foresight aren’t weaknesses or detriments. They’re not preclusions to happiness. They’re abilities. They’re gifts. They enable us to determine courses to happiness and fulfillment. They’re among the reasons we’re human and squirrels are not. Most important, the perceptions we derive from them are unique to each of us.
For example, what you and I experience in the moment of freefall while skydiving may be quite similar. But what I learn from and decide to do after doing it without a parachute will likely be different from what you learn and decide. That’s what’s known in the biz as contributory value:
the value something has due to there being more value in the actual situation in which that thing is present than a situation in which it isn’t but other factors were reorganized to minimize its absence.
If our lives could be richer, happier, more fulfilling, and more rewarding by living in this moment — then this disconnected moment, and then the next disconnected moment, and so on — we wouldn’t have the powers of hindsight and foresight. But we do. We can choose to live our lives without learning from the past and using what we learn in the future. But if we make that choice, we should lower our existential expectations accordingly.
Hindsight, foresight, and our ability to make decisions are some of the aspects and abilities that make us human.
And people are people, too.
A few days ago, I heard a song I hadn’t heard since Bush was President. I was soon smiling on the outside and skipping on the inside. “Happy”. A few minutes later, another song reminded me, “Don’t worry. Be happy.”
Is there a message here?I didn’t get the worry gene and, believe me, I have thanked God many times that he bypassed me with that one! But here’s a confession. Reading the news, listening to the talk, watching clips of current events on instant repeat, and S.o.c.i.a.l. M.e.d.i.a all plant microscopic worry seeds in my mind.
What happens to nurtured seeds? They grow.
My husband bookends his days with the news and sandwiches in an extra dose at noon. (insert rolled eyes) I have access to the intersecting views of world events and diverse agendas that create the perfect storm of conflicting opinions.
It’s important to be informed, but there is no value in fueling uncertainty of what happens next, fear of the unknown, and dread of the future unless you prefer to live without hope.
There is no happy when there is no hope.
Incessant retelling of what should be, what to believe, and what is wrong with the world grows microscopic worry seeds the size of jackfruit, and it creates the perfect environment for unrest and worry.
I can choose a steady stream of life in the minor key or I can play the music of hope and joy into my soul. I can access happy through good things, good thoughts, good experiences, and good news, just like I can access the negative.
About 12 years ago, I started choosing a word for the year, and 5 years ago I began choosing a scripture verse. This year my word is steadfast. My verse is Philippians 4:8-9 Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable—if there is any moral excellence and if there is anything praiseworthy—dwell on these things. Do what you have learned … and the God of peace will be with you.
Is there a message here? I choose happy, and to fill my mind with so much of what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely, commendable, morally excellent, and praiseworthy, there is no room for worry seeds to germinate.
One thing I know for sure and maybe you believe it too. Stop worrying! It is not serving you.
Don’t worry. Be happy.
It’s so very normal for this question to come up in the exploration of our essential nature. But in my experience it’s always a move towards what’s more aligned — and therefore what feels better — so what’s to fear?
It’s so very normal for fear to arise in the nondual awakening exploration. Particularly with the direct path (as opposed to the progressive path) because with the direct path, we look directly at who you are and directly at what you’re not. It can be done gently and lovingly, which is totally my preference, but ultimately there is one recognition of who you really are.
When you’re identified with the mind, you don’t want to look at this and the obvious next question is ‘what will become of me?’
Why does this fear and question arise?Because when identified with the mind you believe that what you’re not is who you are. Read that again — there’s a belief that what you are not — what is not essential to who you are — is essential to who you are.
Can you feel the confusion that arises from believing that?
Can you see why the fear makes perfect sense?
Imagine it like this.There’s a person who was born holding a hat. They didn’t know they were holding a hat. It had always been there so it was invisible to them that this was an additional object. One day someone pointed out to them that the hat wasn’t essential to who they are. Instinctively they pulled the hat closer. And told the other person to go away and leave them alone.
This is the fear that arises.
And so, given we’ve grown up collecting more and more hats, with nobody telling us they’re not essential to us, it’s understandable that fear will arise when this is suggested. Because by this time you’ve come to identify with the hats, and you’ve collected so many of them, and they all look necessary for you to continue being you. So yes, you don’t like it when someone says they’re not who you really are.
If you do manage to entertain the consideration that they’re not who you are, the obvious question then arises “but what will become of me if I don’t hold onto all these hats?” (You get it that the hats are like thoughts and ideas, right?)
So therefore, in more detail, the question (and fear) is “what will become of me if I don’t [do this / behave like this / enjoy that / speak like this / have those people in my life / have this reputation / job / income]?”
I get it.On my journey, I had the fear of becoming an unmotivated blancmange in the corner (it was always a blancmange for some reason!).
I had the fear of becoming weird. Or woo woo.
Fear of becoming like ‘those’ nondual teachers.
And yet — the pull of the exploration drew me on. It far outweighed any fear that the mind could bring. And I was helped by my own coach reassuring me that the exploration doesn’t lead to a cookie-cutter outcome.
My clients tell me this too.
These same kinds of fears about who they will become if they keep exploring.
And yet I’ve never met or worked with anyone for whom these fears came true.
It doesn’t mean things don’t change. Friendships might change. Preferences might change. Your job might change. The kinds of things you talk about might change. And they might not.
We can’t predict it. And we don’t need to predict it because:
These things are not essential to who you are and so you are unaffected by them coming, going, or changing. If and when they do change, there is a known perfection to that. It’s often a relief. Always a move towards what’s more aligned — and therefore what feels better — so what’s to fear?
Have you been afraid of what will become of you? How does that feel now?
Much love, Helen
We are wired for delight
and equipped for pleasure
and so how lovely it is to
witness the ways gladness
can spread across a room
carried along on currents
of luscious laughter and
the contagion of giggles
Our taste inclines itself
toward sweet happiness
which hurries and leaps
into any crack or opening
and blossoms there
while smiles scatter seeds of
blessing in all directions
How exciting to experience
glee as it gallivants along
blowing the lid off the confines
of shoulds and cannots
as surely as the old jack-in-the-box
that finally bursts out of hiding
after being wound
too tight for too long
How delicious it can be to witness
joy jump over or jauntily stroll
around our daily concerns
and difficulties
creating irrepressible waves
of hope and possibility
in its wake
from the heart, mind, and pen of Minx
Ana Arellanos was born in Mexico and came to Texas, undocumented, when she was five. She grew up in Gail, a small town in West Texas. Now, at age 34, she is a U.S. citizen and an immigration attorney. She knows the system from both sides. She wishes the whole country could be more like the tiny town that prepared her for U.S. success.
Bob and I arrived in Wisconsin without a hitch, the drive was uneventful, and I found myself deep in thought; we had found a Trailor in the woods to rent close to the town outside of Watertown, Wisconsin the Trailor had a backyard patio for suntanning. I did a lot of sunbathing.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE↴
Shattered Innocence (Part 12): Bad Choices
Bob started working for a roofing company contracting roofs, I started looking for work finding a job in town at a little café waitressing, customers were friendly, and I earned generous tips; Bob; was paying child support by the time he paid out his insurance and taxes; Bob; was in a hole; I set out to look for another job he went back to work for a guy he knew in town doing roofs and other odd jobs.
I landed a job at the famous Gobbler Super Club in Johnson Creek; the main course was turkey, and their bar was round and had a rotating bar with purple shag carpet walls and a suspended dance floor; called the Gobbler Theater now; I worked the supper hour and had to wear a black skirt, a white shirt, and a black bow tie, it was a lot of work carrying that food, but the tips were great! I would work at the café at noon and the supper club at night; one day, my boss at the café had no one to work and begged me to fill the shift. I called the gobbler and told them I; was needed at the café, but they replied, we need you also. The café won out, as I had grown to like the owners and patrons were my family away from home.
Meanwhile, Bobs; boss had been flirting with me and making it clear; he was interested. I just shrugged him off; until one day, he showed up at my house when Bob was at work. I sent him packing and never let him in the Trailor; things were going well between Bob and me; neither of us was drinking. Bob was so tired when he finished work; he just came home, ate, and went to bed! I was working so much I was dropping weight; I did not realize that my main course was donuts from the café; that was about the only thing I had been eating! I would spend an hour or two outside sunbathing every day.
Then one day, everything came crashing down on me like a ton of bricks; I was driving the car to meet Bob; I was lost driving, having no idea where I was; it was a road I had taken many times before, back then, there were no cell phones yet. I; do not know how I; made it back home, but I was disoriented and sat down and cried. Bawling more than I had in a long time, and I had this sense of fear and anxiety crawl over me that was all foreign to me, like a deserted island. I was on a trip now to nowhere in my mind. I thought I had done something wrong; Bob came home to me in a mess. I cried and told him I was sorry; Bob did not know what I was talking about, so he said sorry, never knowing what this terrible dark feeling of doom and incredible sadness was if someone I loved had passed away; I asked him; did someone die? He assured me no one had, but I did not believe him, I was in a strange state of mind, and nothing was making sense, knowing this dark place I had gone to was full of sorrow.
Bob called my parents, and my mom and little sister met him halfway to pick me up; Bob did not know what to do, he called my mother. I remember her asking him, what did you do to her? Bob told her nothing, he had not laid a hand on me, and he had not. All the while back to Waterloo, Iowa, I was in the back seat of my mom’s car and kept crying, asking what I had done wrong; did someone die? I could not control the fear that had taken over my body like a terrible rash; we had arrived at my parents; farmhouse, where I found myself still crying; and rolling around on the carpeted floor like a baby and asking what I did wrong. I did not believe them when they said nothing because, in my mind, something was wrong, something terrible had happened, and I was to blame; they were lying to me. Why were they lying to me? My mother called two; of my friends to come over and try to reach me, but it was a lost cause because I just kept hugging myself and was so full of fear and anxiety. I knew what I was doing; I’ did not know why, and I trusted no one; I started to doubt that my parents were my parents; they were some aliens disguising themselves as my parents. That is how far my mind had drifted from me. They all had decided I needed help. I should go to the psych ward. I did not want to go, but I had calmed down enough for breakfast with them.
At the restaurant, I thought my milk tasted like pine sole and; someone was trying to kill me, meanwhile; my thoughts went back to thinking they were not my parents, so I went into the bathroom and wrote on a piece of toilet tissue, call my parents and wrote the number on the tissue paper, before that, I had tried to use the phone, but my mom made me hang up. I told her I just wanted to call home to make sure they were not there, then I would know it was them, but I was not making any sense to them. They told me if you do not sign in yourself, we are going to have you committed I finally agreed we went to Allen Hospital, after breakfast I was to go into like a day area well; I stood by the door with sudden fear and shoved my foot in the door, so, they could not close it however in the end, they won I was behind locked doors.
There was a lady in there talking to someone else who wanted out; I asked her are you a lawyer? She said yes, so I told her they were holding me against my will. I signed myself in, and I’ should be able to leave, right? Well, she agreed, but guess what; after that, the staff came in, and gave her a set of clothes, and told her to shower. Oh, wow; now I am talking to someone who is not an attorney; she just thought she was. That was the beginning of my long road to recovery and finding some answers; I was in shock! Being in the hospital gave me some sense of reality back. The psychiatrist put me on medication, and they had crafts and groups going on that I was to join in, however; I stayed in my room, off to myself, refusing to eat their food as if someone was trying to kill me when I met my doctor, he seemed nice enough, but I; did not trust anyone everyone was plotting to get me, and I; did not know why, but I must have done something wrong.
To be continued …
It is difficult to imagine the immensity of the ocean—so vast, so deep, and extending far beyond the limits of our vision. The ocean represents a metaphor to help us understand that which is beyond creation, beyond the limits of time and space, beyond the limitations of language and concepts. How do you explain something that is outside the limits of explanation?
The ocean, so immense and unfathomable hints at the isness, the suchness, the fountainhead, the Godhead from which creation came forth as incarnation of the word. Though finite, the ocean hints at the infinite.
A cup is simple by comparison–a relatively small device to store or transfer some quantity. Such quantity is easy to measure, limited only by the size of the cup.
In trying to understand the truth of oneness and the illusion of duality, we are sometimes encouraged to consider ourselves as a wave in the ocean. While the wave may be misperceived as somehow separate from the ocean, it is not. It is every bit a part of the ocean and only seemingly apart from or separate from the ocean. The wave in the ocean helps us to comprehend this perceived duality. Yet, the wave itself seems so much a part of the ocean that separation is not readily apparent.
So, let us then consider the cup. If we dipped our cup into the sea and removed one cupful from the infinite expanse of ocean, and we carried this cup away to land, the separation would be most evident. But is the contents of the cup any less ocean than before we removed it? Has the contents of the cup stopped being ocean as a result of being contained? It is every bit, every drop still and fully ocean. While that one cupful of ocean is seemingly diminished by the process of removal and separation, this too is an illusion. You cannot take away or somehow diminish the essence of what ocean is by simply removing it to a different place. Content is held and occurs within context. Content is limited. Context is unlimited. The cup contents are limited by the size of the cup, but the essence of what the cup holds is infinite. In much the same way, our bodies and minds are but vessels to hold our infinite souls.
Each day, many cupfuls of ocean evaporate into the atmosphere only to return again as rainfall in a vast cycle of re-creation. And so, when our time here in this world of creation is ended, our ocean essence evaporates, only to return to the sea of infinity.
There is no duality, there is only oneness.
We expect more from technology and less from each other. We create technology to provide the illusion of companionship without the demands of friendship. If you want to change the way people respond to you, change the way you respond to people.
A walk down memory lane is a journey back in time, to a place where we can remember the good times, the bad times, and everything in between. It can be a time of nostalgia, laughter, and tears. It can be a time to reflect on our lives and appreciate all that we have. Which is why we are so grateful for the “gift” of genuine community experienced just a month ago during our Encounter 360° gathering in Tampa Bay, where we listened, we learned, we laughed and we shared tears of joy. More about it all here: NOURISHING HEARTS: A SYMPHONY OF TREASURED MOMENTS
Savoring Our Moments TogetherWe understand, appreciate and fully embrace the spirit of “Ichigo-Ichie”, the Japanese idiom that served as the foundation for the two-day experience, as we treasured every moment, recognizing that every moment, every gathering, and every encounter only happens once, and it will never be repeated in the same way again. If you haven’t already done so, perhaps it’s time to take a stroll through our 100+ photos, capturing so many special moments in time: ENCOUNTER 360° GALLERY And thanks to Richard Meyer, we’ve got a NEW SECOND GALLERY HERE.
Basic human contact – the meeting of eyes, the exchanging of words – is to the psyche what oxygen is to the brain. If you’re feeling abandoned by the world, interact with anyone you can.
~ Martha Beck
Rediscovering the “Magic” of Handshakes and HugsAs social creatures, humans need interpersonal contact to survive. These connections range from your inner circle of family and close friends to the outer rungs of your social network — and it’s important to have this variety. And what better way to initiate that social contact than with a hug or handshake? Handshakes and hugs are two simple gestures that can have a big impact on our health and well-being, making us feel more connected to others, reducing stress, and boosting our immune systems. Handshakes are a common greeting in many cultures around the world. They are a way of showing respect, trust, and goodwill. Studies have shown that people who shake hands more often are more likely to report feeling happy and satisfied with their lives. Handshakes can also help to reduce stress. When we shake someone’s hand, we release oxytocin, a calming and bonding hormone.
Hugs are another way of showing affection and support. They can be even more powerful than handshakes when it comes to reducing stress and boosting our immune systems. When we hug someone, we release oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin, all of which have mood-boosting effects. Hugs can also lower blood pressure and heart rate. In addition to their physical benefits, hugs can also positively impact our mental health. They can help us to feel more connected to others, reduce loneliness and isolation, and increase feelings of self-worth.
So next time you see someone you know, don’t be afraid to reach out and shake their hand or give them a hug. These simple gestures can have a big impact on your health and well-being.
What’s Next?We’ve got plenty of “good stuff” filling up our proverbial whiteboard, so watch this space as we re-imagine even more ways to rediscover humanity at its best! And please know that we appreciate and thank all of you who have graciously joined our journey “for good”.
A Peek Under the Hood?As an aside, we’ve been approached by more and more people since the above gathering who want to learn more about what’s under our 360° Nation umbrella, inspiring us to create a one-time Online Event where the doors will be wide open to share more.
Join us here: 360° NATION INSIDE OUT**
Cause I know that
Fate could never force your hand.
Not in the future, not in the past
In every breath I can feel your resolve
Let yourself fall,
Run where the light calls.
Destiny can’t hold you down.
So, don’t look back over your shoulder now.
If there is nothing left inside the walls
Let yourself fall,
Run where the light calls.…. Luca Fogale
How many times have we felt that calling; that knowing but stayed where we were because it was safe? I know for me, more times than I care to remember.
I recently heard this song by Luca Fogale and it has stayed with me in a haunting yet beautiful way. It has landed on my heart, like a soft feather feeling the sweet affirmation to my life choices, and permission to keep moving forward in a way that is always walking toward the light.
As we grow into ourselves it is only with retrospect that we see how serendipity and or synchronicity shaped the trajectory of our path. Some choices were easier than others – energetically trusting that next step, a move, relationship or career change.
Other choices were harder – acknowledging our own boundaries or just doing what we know needed to be done. Perhaps it was protecting our peace, defending our family, or securing our future? It begs the question still: were we running FROM something or TO something different?
And then there were times as we were tripping over ourselves consciously choosing NOT to choose, which is a powerful choice. This is the safe space. It is not apathy, it is comfortable. And sometimes we need the familiarity to ground our thinking and know that we are protected. I can think of so many scenarios where this was my chosen path. No regrets.
Then as Paulo Coehlo shared so eloquently:
“One always has to know when a stage comes to an end. If we insist on staying longer than the necessary time, we lose the happiness and the meaning of the other stages we have to go through” ….
For me, this is running where the light calls.
This takes an immense amount of courage, trust, determination, and grace. It is a feeling under your skin, and in the deepest core of your being. It is an invisible pull you may not fully understand but trust the shades of grey and the clarity when it arrives.
The most challenging part of this process can be the perception of others, the idea you are resisting the ‘normal way’ or at least not following the story that others may have written or at least expected.
Unconventional, untraditional, out-of-the-box, rebel, or maybe just a little weird could be one viewpoint.
Adventurous, daring, brave, bold, or fearless could be another viewpoint.
And then the time will come, where these descriptors just don’t matter anymore.
Seasons change, we change, we move with our personal currents of truth, or we don’t.
I read once, if we do not change, we do not grow, and if we do not grow, we die.
I remain committed to growing and am dedicated to running where the light calls.
Almost 28 months ago, my husband and I moved from Houston Texas to Portugal. It was a thoughtful, energizing, and scary process. We knew there was something calling us to an expanded view of the world, to our relationship and family. It felt CRAZY and out of the normal path, but we could feel that invisible pull – we listened, and we moved. No regrets.
This is not for everyone – these are all very personal choices and should be held as such. There just comes a time, once you have the awareness and the feeling of resolve, it is giving yourself permission to fall, to fail, to soar.
In the past 2 years my life has expanded in ways that I never knew was possible:
Traveled to 7 countries.
Did stand up paddle board and stand-up paddleboard yoga in the Atlantic Ocean.
Took a cooking class in Paris.
Dove into the Ionian see off a boat.
Mastered a headstand.
Currently helping a 90-year-old friend recount her life history on paper.
Reconnected with my sister who I have not seen or known for 50 years….
This is not off a bucket list… It is my version of letting myself fall.
Running where the light calls.
Is there a light calling you?
I’m a big fan of TV drama and have been for a long time. Good dramas have long since replaced movies from where I sit because most movies are aimed at getting 18-35-year-old butts in seats and from my perspective, mostly suck.
Good TV dramas on the other hand allow for much bigger storylines and character arcs. You get to care for the characters, you get to root for them and appreciate them because there’s enough time for them to reveal their whole selves to you. And writing is usually good enough to bring real humanity to the whole effort.
Engagement 101In social media, everybody talks about engagement. These people should watch a little more good TV to really see how that is done. You don’t engage people just by telling them stuff, even if it’s stuff that they haven’t heard before. You engage them by working your true self into everything you do and everything you say. By telling the truth as you see it. By showing people your flaws and your good points and letting one help build the other so that eventually the people you are trying to reach can have a clear picture of you.
People Buy People. Then They Buy Stuff. And Good Stories Sell Both.I learned this very early on in the advertising business. Because I have news for all you hot shit digital marketers out there who preach that storytelling is the key to success in digital media. That’s been true since the beginning of advertising as we know it. It’s how guys like David Ogilvy, J Walter Thompson, Leo Burnett, and Raymond Rubicam became the emperors of the communications business.
I studied these people. They were my mentors. And the truth-telling they espoused is still how all good, effective marketing communication is done today. The only difference is the media that carry the message. If you’re not telling a story and not telling it honestly, you’re not going anywhere.
So What Does This Have To Do With The Newsroom?The Newsroom, which ran for three seasons on HBO, is the story of the people who work in a fairly large cable TV network newsroom. The storyline has to do with a number of things, mostly exploring the theme which is established beautifully by the lead character, played by Jeff Daniels, in response to a naive question posed to him at a panel evening at Northwestern University. The question was, “What makes America the greatest country in the world?” The answer, so eloquently put by series creator Aaron Sorkin, and gotten across with astonishing power by Daniels, is that it’s not. (but with the caveat that it could be again)
From there the series goes on to explore many of the reasons why that idea is the truth. The core reason, from the main character’s point of view, is that America has simply gotten away from communicating information in an intelligent way, which has led to all kinds of bad things, politically and socially, which, in turn, have degraded America’s greatness from within.
The quest for all the characters in this series is to get back to doing the news honestly. But it’s really a metaphor as well, because what Sorkin wants is a more honest and open dialogue between the people and the powers that be, which means somehow getting the powerful people in America to start telling the truth again. To stop bullshitting the public. And stop religiously following party lines.
If you only follow the central theme of this series, you will see whatever we communicate should tell our story honestly, convincingly, and in an engaging fashion. This, in turn, will make our communications more honest, our connections to each other better formed and deeper and our engagement most positive.
The Newsroom was way more than a first-class piece of TV entertainment. The writer, whom I consider to be one of the great geniuses of his generation, is going deep because he sees how shallow the world has become since the advent of the Internet. How quantity has overtaken quality. How relationships have trouble forming within all this chaos. And how little people actually listen to each other, as opposed to just being polite and waiting to speak.
This Has A Lot To Do With You and MeThe Internet has definitely changed the ways in which we communicate. But it should not change the ‘how’ of it. We should always communicate honestly. We should always leave a solid impression of ourselves and our beliefs in the posts we write. We should always be inviting deep engagement.
We are, all of us, learning to communicate in a different ways. But the best way to do that is by figuring out how to use the new tools to do an old job. Because communication is the constant, no matter what media you’re using.
PS: This series, The Newsroom is available on CraveTV, AppleTV, and YouTube.
30% of grandparents are classified as being “remote”, according to an often-quoted study by Cherin & Furstenberg. The remote definition of these almost 1 out of every 3 grandparents is they rarely see their grandchildren and most contact is made on birthdays and holidays.
This same study says 55% of grandparents are defined as “companionate” where they will do things with their grandchildren but have little authority or control over them. The last 15% of grandparents are defined as “involved” where they take an active role in their grandchild’s life.
We may want to rush to judgement and say “what is wrong with our baby boomer generation” that they are not involved in wanting to raise this next greatest generation. But many of these broken relationships may not be caused entirely by the grandparents.
While grandparents are crucial in a grandchild’s development, grandparents can also cause a strained relationship with the kid’s parents. They can facilitate dividing spouses and can cause generational anxiety.
Issues such as giving unsolicited advice by telling the parents what to do; and disrespecting boundaries by dropping in unannounced are just some examples of how grandparents can cause family strife without realizing it.
Now, just like when we were raising our own kids, a bit of head-butting happens when you simply don’t see eye to eye in the best ways to raise and care for children. But too many times grandparents go way far over that line, which does give our children the right to distance the grandchildren from the grandparents. Examples that push grandparents away include:
- Undermining the parents’ authority by challenging what a parent is teaching their children. Grandparents question the parents’ values and family structure.
- Tendency to play favorites and manipulate siblings.
- Transactional control of the kids through money, gifts, and vacations.
- An overall lack of empathy, known as the ability to understand and share the feelings of another, which is so crucial in very young children.
- Grandparents who demand that a grandchild comply and respect them.
We cannot lose sight that grandparents help teach kids values, help strengthen their moral compass, and help advance their language skills. We also know that the more social support grandparents can give to parents, the more bandwidth this gives the parent to just be a good parent. Kids assume that whatever environment they grow up in is normal. So, if they see positive and respectful interaction between their parents and grandparents these are the values they learn. If they see their parents push away their grandparents, this is what they will think is normal.
We must now ask ourselves, what kind of grandparent are we really, or what kind of grandparent do we want to become? How will our grandchildren remember us?
A Robin, Blackbird, and Swan. To dream or not a dreamLittle Robin sitting alone tweeting away to draw attention. Blackbird on a nearby tree, heard Robin’s call for company. Robin was so pleased when Blackbird sat with him; loneliness forgotten, empathy and friendship shone; a shining light and more. They talked about many topics, especially flying around the sky, and seeing treetops from above so high.
“Come fly with me,” Blackbird said. “Join me on a flight so high with me; no risk nor solitude.”
Robin did not like heights, and although never endeavoured, felt happier closer to the ground.
Talking for such a long, long time, they shared their love of Nature and freedom to fly.
Time passed by and Blackbird asked, “Have you ever seen a swan?”
Blackbird had indeed, but not his newfound friend.
“A swan makes you dream of seeing far above and beyond. No fear; just joy of infinite sky.”
They flew together, close to the ground, until a river glinted in their eyes.
“I will introduce you to Her Royal Highness, Queen of Swans. It may feel a little strange, but the Queen of Swans will rest your fear of heights and beyond.”
So friendly, so beautiful, such royal wings. Monarchy of Nature.
“Come sit between my wings, dear Robin. Fear not dream of flying high.”
Apprehension disappeared as Robin sat between the wings.
“Bye bye,” said Robin to his friend Blackbird. Fear replaced; vibes excited.
“Hold onto one of my feathers; ready to dream of sights anew.”
Queen of Swan’s wings spread wide and graceful; neck so long in regal glory.
“Look above, below, and sideways too, young Robin. Infinite landscape new to you. And downwards to the ground so far.”
Her Royal Highness spoke so softly. Happiness blessed Robin anew.
His friend Blackbird stood below waiving, singing, heart aglow.
Robin was in a magical dream or was it real?
Further along the sky, they flew. “Am I dreaming, your Majesty?” asked Robin. Her Highness replied, “Your dream is but real. Reality is a dream come true.”
Eventually, Robin slept, so calm and serene.
Regal Swan did land so gently, water rippling; spreading a wing to the river edge where Robin walked along offered wing to the river bank and thanked Her Majesty the Swan.
“You are welcome”, Swan replied, quietly lifting off to leave, flying as an angel so supreme.
Greeted by Blackbird, his new friend. “What think you of your flight, asked Blackbird?”
“So surreal it was to me that memories will last forever more. Was it a dream or a reality come true? I do believe I was dreaming. Flying atop a Royal Swan challenges reality, where doubt enters the equation. Did it really happen? I must have been dreaming for sure.”
“Robin my friend, you think you were dreaming, but what is held in your little feet?” Robin looked upon his feet. A white feather of the Royal Swan was clear to see.
Was he asleep and dreaming, awakening in another dream?
Lifting a feather to his beak, the scent of Her Regal Majesty blessed his senses. It was so real. But surreal too. Reality caressing his tiny heart.
His friend, Blackbird, had a look in his eyes; a gentle smile. “Whether a dream to you, my friend, her Regal feather will prove your story. You flew the heavens with Her Majesty Queen of Swans.
Dream or reality matters not. A regal white feather tells a story, a fairytale come true.
This animated video offers hope for creating together a world that honors our collective needs by building on what unifies us. Making personal change that scales up to social change requires meeting our most important needs and recognizing that people are different. These differences can add color and richness to life and they can also be polarizing. Knowing another person’s needs is a starting point for understanding and co-creating a world that meets our collective needs.
When I asked, “What was the most difficult raising your sons?” It doesn’t take long to answer, “Trying to protect their hearts.”
It became very clear early on that both of my sons were going to be athletic. Though they were seven years apart they played the same sports, soccer, baseball, and football, and raced motorcycles. My oldest was seven when he got his first bike and began racing. My youngest started at four.
With extreme, high-adrenaline sports such as motocross or supercross, one expects it will not only be expensive but take immense dedication and focus to compete at high levels. Oh, and then there are all of the broken bones.
In order to stay at the top of their game, my sons were required to maintain their grades and attendance in addition to their nutrition and physical.
Physical injury is 100% guaranteed when racing competitively. It is not a matter of if, but when. And it happens over and over again. Along with physical injuries, comes broken hearts. No one likes defeat. My sons goals were clear since they smelled their first whiff of 105-octane race gas. They wanted state and national titles.
It didn’t take long before my sons realized that with the wins come losses, and with the losses, comes intense desires to win. And it was on repeat. Their internal drive is hard to explain. Some people are just hard-wired to compete. And they pushed their bodies and minds to the limit.
By the time my sons were in their 20s, I think we had all shed enough blood, sweat, and tears to fill the Atlantic Ocean. They were some of the most joyous years of our lives. We spent every minute together for years, practicing, racing, traveling, exercising, and more.
I could face any of their physical injuries. Darting onto the track after one of them crashed jumping an 80-foot triple, came naturally to me. Loading them into an ambulance, adjusting their external fixators, and hanging out in the surgery waiting rooms with shoulder, collarbone, back, leg, or ankle surgeries, came naturally to me. Operating at fight or flight is my drug.
What I couldn’t handle was their broken hearts. A broken heart from losing a race, being bullied, having jealous friends, or when a relationship failed… killed me.
One of my children wears his emotions on his sleeve. The other one keeps them locked up like Ft. Knox. I can be a badass, handle anything thrown at me, and climb mountains, but if you break one of my baby’s hearts, I will either come out swinging or I might drop to my knees in a writhing mess.
My youngest son was bullied in elementary school. His interest in style and white-frosted hair made him an easy target. He kept it together at school but would race home in tears with a combination of hurt, anger, and wonderment as to why people could be so mean.
I started saying something to my sons very early, “When your name is in somebody else’s mouth, good or bad, that means you have made it.” At first, that didn’t make any sense to them. If somebody is talking about you, whether it’s to your face or behind your back, whether it is positive or negative, you have become a big enough deal that you are either a threat or they actually admire you. Likely it also has nothing to do with you. They are facing their own triggers and learning to cope with their own feelings. It truly is just an internal reflection of their trials.
A second mantra I told my sons and still remind myself, “What says about you is not your business.” That one took a long time to explain.
As adults, we still face bullying, especially in the workplace Social media has also created an opportunity to hide behind a keyboard and make others feel less than. There are snide remarks made at the boardroom table, there is trash-talking on social media or in friend groups, and my advice is changed a little bit along the way.
I still struggle when my sons have their hearts broken, and I don’t think that will ever end.
When my youngest son was 21, he spent four months learning to walk again after a tragic motorcycle accident left him with shattered ankles. We all strapped in, assumed our roles for rehab and recovery, and got him the best surgeon and rehab possible, and he’s walking today. My oldest has broken his back twice, and we battled through that. Between the two of them, they have had over 20 fractures. but when they are upset because their dog is in pain or someone is being unfaithful or untruthful to them, I melt like cotton candy in a bucket of water.
Regardless of how difficult it is, my ears and arms are always wide open for them. Talking about emotions has marginally improved over the last few decades. However, men still find it a struggle. Here it is 2023, and there is still a stigma for men to talk about what’s going on in their hearts. What really makes them angry, what scares them out of their mind, and how do they turn a negative into a positive way and not give up or want to hurt themselves?
As parents, we know that there are tons of manuals and workbooks out there to guide us on the basics, but until you live it, you can’t always learn it.
I am so blessed to have a close relationship with my sons. Of course, I don’t want to know every single thing going on in their life, oh my gosh, can you imagine, but they do know I am an open book and an open door if they need to discuss anything. With me, they know they’re safe, they will receive true and honest feedback, and I will always leave them with positivity and motivation so that they can push through their hardship. But it doesn’t make it any easier for me to sit back and watch their heartstrings be pulled. I remind myself constantly that it’s their life path, and I am just a blessed player in their game of self-discovery.
I’m about ready to become a grandmother for the second time, I often wonder what role I will play in their life. Will I be the one that they call and beg, “Please don’t tell Mom and Dad?” Will I be the one that they want to visit every summer because Disney World is only a few hours away? Will I be the one that they race to the mailbox to see if I sent him a card with some money in it? Who knows. But I can tell you one thing I will repeat the same mantras I have, if your name is in somebody else’s mouth, positive or negative, that means you’ve made it. And, what someone else says about you is none of your business.
A win is a win, but a loss is an opportunity to learn. It hurts to see any of my baby’s hearts be broken. A broken bone can be put back together again.
It’s interesting when I think of hearts and my family tree. There have been heart “issues” for generations. My grandmother had a pacemaker, my aunt and mother both had to have heart ablations, and my grandson, Crew, had open-heart surgery at five months old.
Here’s a war story. When I was flying helicopters in Vietnam, my days, believe it or not, were often boring, almost enervating in their predictability. Most days were a full 24 hours, too hot by half, and free of real purpose except for putting one boot in front of the other to get a day closer to coming home.
Then there were other days. There was no middle ground. The days that stand out were those filled with — forgive the cliché — heart-stopping fear. It seemed like there was either utter boredom, or sheer terror, with nothing between.
But those fear-filled days were marked with intention. Here’s an example. One August afternoon I was the third ship in a four-ship formation when our flight was dispatched to extract a group of GIs pinned down by enemy fire atop a ridgeline we called The Rockpile. Located just below the DMZ, the rockpile was a crag 200 feet tall, with one tiny landing zone on its west side, a postage stamp level spot that would accommodate exactly one Huey at a time.
The dozen troops waiting for us were unable to move. Heavily armed North Vietnamese troops were above them up the ridge. But those GIs had to be rescued, so in we went. Our lead ship landed first, loaded three of those men in the three or four seconds he was able to stay, then number two, then it was my turn.
I’ve been asked a number of times how I managed to dive into that rescue, get those men off that ridge while under fire, and fly them to safety. The question has always mystified me.
Was I going to leave those men there? No. It was my (our) intention to get them off that hill and give them at least a chance to go home standing up. It never occurred to me or any of my colleagues in their cockpits to do otherwise.
My year in Vietnam was a long slog of putting one boot forward, then another, until that happy day when I stepped aboard the freedom bird and returned to the world, as we said. Vietnam taught me little except for the futility of war, the necessity of ending it, and the power of living with intention.
How many of your days are little more than the getting through?
It was early 1958 and my father was taking me for a ride into town for a haircut. Daddy had the windows down and turned the radio up loud, he loved Johnny Cash, and his new song Big River was blasting on the radio. He was smiling, patting his hands on the steering wheel, and singing along.
Daddy’s favorite was George Jones, he always had time to listen to sad songs and said sad songs were like smoke in a bar and made you breathe the smell of loneliness. He would often say that there is nothing sadder than sad county songs, old dogs, lonesome highways, and the sound of a steel guitar.
In the winter of 1971, I went on the road playing music, and one of the benefits was going to late-night bars and hearing some of the best unknown singers and players who were the heart of the music. Often, I got to sit in with some of those amazing players and singers. It was how you learned your trade.
At a club just outside of Richmond, we stopped at a small Honky-Tonk around midnight. Our bus and truck barely fit in the parking lot, and we offloaded and headed straight to the door. The bar was in an old rebuilt barn, with wooden floors that sounded like a deep bass drum, a single light shining, and a singer on stage with just his guitar singing Daddy Frank. As we got closer to the stage, we realized it was indeed Merle Haggard.
He played way into the night and the sad songs rolled off his guitar, his voice like smooth bourbon. I couldn’t help but remember what my daddy always said, “sad songs were like smoke in a bar and made you breathe the smell of loneliness.”
I often close my eyes and feel the wind from the open car window and hear the sound of sad songs on the radio, those were special times, the best of times. Pop, I miss you and hope that you still listen to sad songs in heaven, and I will always think of you when I hear Sing Me Back Home by Merle Haggard.
I‘m a slow learner. Things taught to me in my youth I’m just now achieving and understanding. Case in point, The Savoring.
I call it “The Savoring” because there are no words in English that correctly convey its entirety. The closest word in English is actually borrowed from fictional Martian; Grok.
In Heinlein’s Stranger in a Strange Land, a human, Valentine Michael Smith, is raised by Martians. He’s taught their ways, their beliefs, their culture, their language, their philosophy, their science, their their and one such their their is Grokking, the ability to so completely understand something that you become one with it.
Or the ability to become one with something and thus completely understand it.
Anyway, several human languages have equivalents, English doesn’t and thus I use “The Savoring” because it’s the closest I can get to what I was taught.
BasicsTaste an apple pie. Really taste it. Most people (unless they’re culinarians or gastronomists) don’t keep the apple pie in their mouths long enough to truly taste it. Take a moment and taste the difference in the apples, taste what goes into the crust. What kind of sugar is used? Did eggs go into the crust? Do you recognize that one part of what English labels “taste” is also texture, as in “how does the food feel in my mouth?” as in hard, soft, malleable, thick, thin, and so on? We experience a thick potato chip differently from how we experience a thick steak and lots of science goes into deciding how thick (or thin) is too thick (or thin) of mass-produced food products.
But back to that slice of apple pie. Take a moment and catalogue all the different kinds of sensations the apple pie is causing you to experience. Appreciate the apple pie as fully and completely as you can.
It’s not easy (for me, anyway), and it takes time. I can do it and I have to remember to do it. It’s like Intention taken to the next level. I’ll often catch myself in mid-chew or with whatever I’m eating halfway to my mouth and then stop, pause, close my eyes, breathe, center, lower, and then start to experience the totality of the apple pie (or whatever).
Can you taste the energy of the cook in what you’re eating? Can you savor their effort? Can you appreciate what they did?
Here’s a trick for you; Savor something prepared for you by someone who loves you truly, deeply, and dearly, then savor something prepared in a restaurant kitchen. They may both be delicious and can you taste the different kinds of love that go into each, the former love for you, the latter love for their craft?
Do this often enough and you’ll never experience an unpleasant taste again.
More AdvancedI use taste above because taste is really taste and smell and they’re primitive sensory systems that are more closely tied to our primitive brains than sight and hearing. Sight and hearing such as humans have came along long after evolution had been turning us from two amino acids accidentally bumping into each other in a hot chemical broth into things that moved with a purpose.
You can savor someone’s touch. Or the earth’s touch. Or the moon’s pull. Think I’m crazy? Have you never felt the sun on your back or arms or shoulders? Have you never felt the pull of the ocean or mountains on your soul? Or lakes or rivers? Or iceflows? It’s only a matter of what you’re willing to experience versus what you’ve been trained (via language and culture) to experience.
Our sense of touch is even more primitive than our senses of smell and taste, and touch uses the largest sensory organ we have; our skin. Most people can be blindfolded and tell the difference between the touch of a loved one and a stranger. That difference has to do with the energy of the person touching. Savoring through touch and hearing is part of the Blinds’ way of life.
You can savor sounds. Susan is often amused and sometimes annoyed when I play the same piece of music several times in one sitting. I have a musical background and can isolate the different instruments being played, savoring and appreciating each musician’s contribution to the whole. I was born blind and through my Grandfather’s teaching, the trainings of others he brought me to, and my other senses developing to take up the gap, I also feel the music both internally and externally via its vibrations. I can, as I often describe, bathe in the sounds (and often do when no one’s around).
All of this requires intention and forethought (at least for me). I’m not at the stage where I automatically savor my experiences as I’m having them. For example, I stopped typing the previous sentence between “automatically” and “savor” because I realized I wasn’t savoring the experience of communicating this to you.
I can savor the experience. I need to learn how to savor it with you so you will savor it, too. As I wrote above, I’m a slow learner. Perhaps because I savor my learnings?
Other CulturesSavoring is well understood in aboriginal cultures because it is a way of survival. Aboriginal hunters surveying the prairie, plain, ocean, or sky take their time. They pull everything in and savor it until they’re confident they fully and completely understand it. The phrase often used (regardless of culture or language) translates to “I become a part of it” (also the title of a worthy read, I Become Part of It: Sacred Dimensions in Native American Life) . Study and work with Aboriginals and you’ll be amazed at the details they remember, and the amount of information they recall and describe vividly. Watch their eyes and how they shift their position, change their balance, how their breathing changes and you realize they’re going back to the original event they’re recalling (even if it was several generations back), experiencing and savoring it all over again. Spend time with Native Apache and you’ll learn the word Agodzaahi. One aspect of Agodzaahi is to start and end each story with a recollection of where the story took place, who was there, and what the day was like, …
Savoring.Indigenes develop powerful memories, amazing mental disciplines, because it allows them to savor their experiences. Nowadays we tap messages to ourselves on our mobiles, take pictures, make recordings, and then forget we’ve tapped, taken, or made them. I’m not sure “unlimited” storage space is a good thing. I have very few pictures in my wallet because there’s not a lot of space for pictures, therefore each picture in my wallet has vast meaning to me.
Ever spent minutes waiting for someone to swipe through images on their mobile to get the one image they want to show you? There’s also scientific research indicating we’re losing the ability to remember details. It’ll be interesting to learn how this affects courtroom testimony. I guess it’s a good thing there are so many web-enabled cameras now.
Being able to quickly get something off the internet inhibits our ability to savor, me thinks. Savoring takes time and the internet – at least as most people use it now – is not about taking one’s time to savor experiences. Part of our brain’s reward mechanism relies on our ability to savor (granted, in a limited form of what I call “The Savoring”) an experience. When we search for something in the wild, while driving, in our homes, our desks, our closets, in a building, a town, a city, the countryside, on a trip, or a brick&mortar store and find it, our brain gives us an Attaboy! or Attagirl! with all sorts of neuropeptides, enzymes, and other assorted chemicals. Those neurojuices cause us to congratulate ourselves and lock whatever we found along with where we found it in long-term memory.
Ever savor fast food? Savoring is anthemic to the very concept of fast food. Spend time in a culture that is largely gustatory or olfactory in its language and you have a start at savoring because they’re been taught at an early age to appreciate sensory experience (note, not hedonistic experience). Spend time in a culture that is largely kinesthetic, proprioceptive, tactile, or vestibular in its language and you have a start at savoring physical experience.
Or you can slow yourself down, center, and allow yourself the luxury of fully understanding and appreciating your experience.
The next time you’re talking with someone, savor what they’re saying, how they’re saying it, where the conversation’s taking place, et cetera, and you’ll be able to remember it with crystal clarity. Savor your life and you’ll fulfill the saying, “Live a good, honorable life. Then when you get older and think back, you’ll enjoy it a second time.”
Want an experience that will truly knock your socks off every time?
The next time you’re with your lover, take the time to savor the experience (yes, I understand that sometimes the excitement and possible discovery of a quickie can be jubilant and worth savoring in itself. I’m old(er), not dead!). The next time you’re with someone you love, take time to appreciate the entirety of the experience (including the things that irritate you, if any, because you’ll miss those irritations when they’re gone).
Savor your time with yourself, with others, with everything around you, with the Universe in and of itself.
Take a moment to savor your lifetime. No one else has ever had the experiences you’ve had in just the way you’ve had them. Your first taste of chocolate, your first kiss, your first smell of wet dog fur, the first time you heard a kitten purr, the first time you saw the ocean or the mountains; these are all your firsts, nobody else’s. When you go, they’re gone. Savor them so you can share them while there’s still time.
The first step?
Breath.
I shall roll with earth and thunder.
Crest with lightning and rain.
Freeze upon the morning frost.
Seek calm on the distant plain.
I shall decide upon the gratitude.
Let tranquility sink into skin.
Walk along the dandelion grass.
Let this new life form begin.
I shall take away the hardship.
Set aside the grief and pain.
Renew my faith and wisdom
of never to do once again.
I shall trust my inner voice;
let it steer me to the shore.
Where heart shall meet with destiny.
Peace will be found at the core.
I shall tremble at the touch.
Grasp the hug and hold on tight.
Drift to sleep with you in mind.
Wish and dream through day and night.
It was the time shortly after the coming of the scribes, men who made marks on tablets of clay to be hardened by fire or wrote stories on scraped sheep skin with a tree gall and rock oil ink.
People lived closer together than before, sometimes behind walls that protected them from marauding bands of thieves and armies sent to steal the food that they grew.
Often they were governed by a king, a chief deemed strong, or wise, or in rare cases both strong and wise. People who were happy to follow such a man gave him a portion of that which they took from the earth in return for his strength, or his wisdom, or both.
These communities often believed in something larger themselves, a god or gods who dictated the rules of the community and punished those who did not abide by such rules. Some such communities had a keeper of the rules, a priest, or judge, or a wise man. In some communities, this role fell to the king.
While it was good to be king and to receive food grown and wood cut by others and metals extracted from the ground, it was not an easy job. If there was a priest, he or she asserted that they spoke for the gods and sat in judgement of you, while exacting payment from the people to intercede with a god on their behalf. Those who collected your food and other tribute had power and were easily tempted to steal from the tribute they collected or to mistreat people, especially those with no power, the poor and disadvantaged.
In this day there were some who travelled from kingdom to kingdom, freelancing their skills for a living. There were itinerant farm hands who showed up at harvest time, or traveling builders who arrived when a community was growing and grave workers who came following Death’s visits.
One of the many traveling freelancers was the prophet, the seer, the holy man. These seemed to come when a community was doing well, but when there was discord, when some did very well and others complained. The prophet often had an unkempt style, ragged clothes, and poorly coifed hair. They often had “The Voice,” a way of speaking that immediately drew attention. “The Voice” might have boomed out or seemed almost a whisper, but one could not deny having heard “The Voice” or fail to pay attention.
Most holy men had some ability that set them apart, a detailed people’s perception that seemed like mind reading, an uncanny intuition about cause and effect that seemed like telling the future, an extensive knowledge of law, history, and the natural world that made them seem omniscient.
The prophets represented themselves as speaking for the god or gods and perhaps they did. For they were fearless. They spoke forcefully and directly to the powerful, demanding that leaders change, follow rules, and stop stealing others’ food, money, partners or lives.
The prophets told stories of kingdom conflagrations, and people turned to salt and the scribes recorded it all. “The Voice” that carried pronouncements was powerful, but when combined with the prophet’s unique skills, people listened, especially kings and priests.
Now in this time, as the scribes have passed down to us, there were two kingdoms, just on opposite sides of a mountain ridge, Ur to the east and Ny to the west. Both kingdoms were ruled by strong and wise leaders, but both had grown corrupt. Priests and tribute collectors stole from the king and mistreated the people. Neighbors imitated the powerful and cheated each other in exchanges, and lied to avoid accountability or to make themselves more important.
Two itinerant holy men, Rax and Pix, met on the Ridge Path over Ur and Ny.
“Where are you bound, Brother?” They each asked the other. They were each undecided.
“Ur and Ny seem equal, Brother Rax” said one.
“That they do, Brother Pix, equally rich, equally corrupt, equally in need of renewal.”
The WagerThey fell to boasting as itinerant professionals sometimes do. Soon one proposed a wager, which the other readily accepted. Rax would visit Ur; Pix would visit Ny. They would each use their best holy man skills to “clean up the town” and effect renewal for six months. Then they would each visit both communities one year after that. Whichever prophet had created the most lasting change would win and pay the other the agreed price.
The Holy Men InterveneNow Rax and Pix were both holy men of the first order. Both had “The Voice” though Pix’s voice boomed a bit more. Rax’s intuitions were about people. It was said he could recognize a liar or a thief by just looking them in the eye for a few seconds. Pix had an uncanny ability to see the consequences of small actions; some called Pix “Seer,” which he waved away like he was shooing a fly
When each arrived at the city each wandered the streets before going to see the leader. When Rax saw King Ur he boomed out how his land had betrayed the gods, people were immoral and without honor. He named the most egregious sinner a priest, Clert who had taken great “gifts’ from a very rich man and delivered great judgements that oppressed the disadvantaged. “This man has debased Ur, he has defiled his office and cannot be tolerated.” He demanded that King Ur banish Clert. King Ur was cowed by Rax’s righteousness and sent Clert east into the wilderness. People saw the downfall of Clert and took heed of the warning to change or face similar punishment.
When Pix had his audience with Chief Ny he railed at the sinfulness of the community. He foretold of the destruction of the city due to poor livestock husbandry near the river, a just punishment from angry gods. He denounced Chief Ny and all his advisors as corrupt and he named the specific greedy and malicious actions of each and their ultimate consequences.
Pax then brought forth a shepherd, Iben he had met in the hills. “Iben’s flock is well cared for. He gets good but fair prices for wool. Though he is poor himself he has taken in others less fortunate than himself. He has healed their wounds and shared his own meager repast. Can you all not please the gods by following Iben’s examplar?”
Over the next few months, both Rax and Pix preached morals, right action and wisdom. In Ur and Ny some were called out and punished. In Ur Rax picked another high profile example, who was made to pay restitution for his actions. In Ny, Pix insisted that a sinner of whom Chief Ny flogged and demanded repayment of food tribute stolen, also work in a poorhouse at mealtimes.
Each holy man stayed in his town for half a year and then moved on. One year later they each visited both towns and then climbed to the Ridge Path to discuss the outcome of their wager.
Wherein Lies the Tale?There is a tradition in many cultures of using stories to teach the rules of society, what is right and what is wrong, what works and doesn’t work in governing people. The ancient Athenians used the Eleusinian mysteries, Aesop told fables, The Celts and Germanic tribes told Fairy Tales, Lao Tzu and the Taoists wove the adventures of sages, Jesus told parables, and the Sufis to this day create stories to teach.
The point is not just the narrative, but critical thought and refining discussion. I invite you to discuss this story in comments here or less publicly with your friends and family.
Whose intervention do you think worked best? Why?
What are the downsides of each approach to change?
What is naïve about this narrative i.e., “not like the real world at all?” How would you change this story to make it more realistic?
This story seems to be about. . . _______, what else could it be about?
Every April, people with autism and their families, friends, and advocates come together to celebrate people with autism, share their stories and create a more inclusive world—together. – Autism Speaks website
As most of you are aware, our oldest son, Matthew, was diagnosed with a form of autism over 10 years ago. It’s a challenge raising children in general. It’s more of a challenge raising children with special needs. The most challenging part for Jenn and me was being first-time parents and not knowing where to go for information, support, and guidance.
Life is not linear. There are many twists and turns as you know. Our son, Matt, is thriving. Upon diagnosis, his medical practitioners classified him as Level 1 on the Asperger’s Spectrum. Sounds like a foreign language when you are scared young parents trying to be the best parents you can be.
Matthew is a highly functioning 21-year-old. He is taking courses in college for music production, is a trained kickboxer moving towards his next belt level, and is a music artist/producer working with his best friend to make a name for himself in the music industry.
This month and every month, please celebrate and pray for people with autism. They are resilient, smart, and elite human beings and we can all learn so much from them.
I love you, Matthew. Love, Dad
Who do you celebrate today?
Many of us have heard that expression about silence, right?Meaning, of course, that the noise from our voice and words may not help in a difficult situation.
But is that always true?
Let’s say someone you’ve known and worked with for many years suddenly has a strong negative response to something you did.
They immediately tell you via email, using words that hurt, that seem to belittle you and your actions, that make you wonder about the time you’d known each other and thought you understood them, thought you knew who they were through and through.
Confused about it, you immediately reach out via an email, a text, or a phone call, all in the effort to find out the why of the situation.
Why are they so upset? How can you make it right?
Then, of course, you wait for a response, holding your breath, hoping …
Wait a day.
Two days.
Three.
You follow up with a “Are you OK? Are we OK?” or something like that. No attack, just concern. Because you are concerned; this is not something you ever envisioned with this person.
Two more days go by.
Silence continues.
You try again, valuing the relationship you’ve had for so many years, mentioning that silence is impossible to understand, that you only know YOUR side of the situation that has somehow become a real issue between you two.
Something you never imagined could happen given your five years of a strong, mutually appreciative work partnership.
You explain how you feel.
You ask them to please, please respond. Please help you understand what’s going on.
Please see if you two can talk it out, find a path that works for you both, stay as friends / colleagues / whatever.
More silence, now for two weeks.
Is this golden?
Is this anything you ever imagined could happen with this person?
Nope.
And that’s the saddest part, isn’t it? You can’t go back, yet you can’t move forward with certainty because you only know one-half of the situation.
You can’t effectively apologize because you don’t know what the right words would be due to the silence.
The silence “speaks” to the fact that reconnecting with you isn’t what they’re going to do.
The silence seems to say that all you did together no longer matters, that they’re going on their own without you supporting, helping, caring.
The positive partnership you believed you had crumbled, turned to dust …
It’s like fighting a ghost …
And it hurts.
For me – this is real.
It happened.
Recently.
Five years of working wonderfully well together, gone in a flash, with no explanation.
I remain mystified, sad, angry – working on getting over it.
Lesson learned?While silence may be golden in some circumstances, and we likely shouldn’t speak out in anger, we should at the very least explain our side in a situation that is confusing to one or both.
Especially if we’ve had a positive relationship of any kind for so long.
Take the high road, if possible.
Maybe we’ll each still go our own way, but at least we’ll know why.
And that’s what matters most to me: Why.
Carlos Santana is an American guitarist, composer, singer, and band leader, known for his blend of rock and roll and Latin American jazz. Santana, born in Jalisco, Mexico rose to fame in the late 1960s and early 1970s, with a resurgence in his career in the 1990s. Santana has won ten Grammy Awards and continues to share his music with the world.
As you can imagine, Santana loves creating music and playing the guitar. Santana after all of these years, still does not consider practice a drudgery, or sacrifice. This time gives Santana the opportunity to “tinker” with his music, sharpen his skills, and experiment with new songs. Santana likens time with his guitar as an offering.
During a recent interview, Santana summed up his philosophy on music and life. When asked what he was searching for in life, he replied, ”the perfect note”. Santana is not looking for eternal happiness or world peace, but “the perfect note”! One might ask at seventy-five years old, what does Carlos Santana need to prove? For some fifty-five-plus years, Santana has entertained audiences and written and performed Grammy-winning songs. Perhaps what Santana is really saying is, his best work is still ahead of him. Entertaining audiences, using music as his offering, Santana is striving for later-in-life activities, lifelong learning, and living life to its fullest. Santana is still searching for “the perfect note”.
Being happy and productive past the traditional age of retirement is becoming a goal for more and more people. Later in life activities and lifelong learning are gaining momentum with many mature adults. Folks from all walks of life are exploring new passions, creating “bucket lists” and “giving back” as they create their next phase in life. When does one start to plan for this “Third Act”? The sooner the better!
Start to explore your passions with lifelong learning. Be curious about all that is around you.
There are multiple avenues to being a lifelong learner. Explore books, podcasts, classes, etc. to learn as much as possible about your “Third Act”. The question is, are you still searching for “the perfect note”?
If you could only sense how important you are to the lives of those you meet; how important you can be to the people you may never even dream of. There is something of yourself that you leave at every meeting with another person.
~Fred Rogers
We hold this space as an opportunity to showcase those people we encounter now and then who simply show up every day with a radiant, uplifting spirit coupled with a genuine willingness to give back. That said, as Publisher and Editor-in-Chief of this award-winning global media digest and CEO/ReImaginator for 360° Nation, I was delighted to have the opportunity to get better acquainted with Marc Joseph, Co-Founder of BabyBoomer.org, whose mission is to be part of Boomers’ daily lives – not only to help them find what they need but also enrich their lives and find new friends with similar interests
Who is Marc Joseph?
Marc Joseph is better known as Gramps Jeffrey. Gramps Jeffrey’s children’s book, “I Don’t Want to Turn 3”, explores what goes through a toddler’s mind that parents are so desperate to understand. It is based on the true experiences he has had with his 6 grandchildren that were born 2 each to his 3 Millennial daughters. Gramps Jeffrey is the pen name for Marc Joseph whose first book “The Secrets of Retailing…How to Beat Wal-Mart” was written to help entrepreneurs and small businesses compete against the big guys. Arianna Huffington read his book and asked him to contribute to the Huffington Post. He has written over 100 articles about small businesses, education, the homeless, and several other nonprofit topics dear to all of us. Gramps is currently the co-founder of the new site www.babyboomer.org which pulls together news and resources for the baby boomer community. Gramps and his lovely wife Cathy live in Scottsdale, Arizona where 2 of his grandchildren live. 2 more live in Austin, Texas, and 2 in Orlando, Florida.
We would like to hear about your professional journey up to now, and the wisdom gained/lessons learned along the way, including any pivots/course changes.
In the first part of my career, I was in corporate America helping run major retail chains in the department store, discount store, and dollar store industries. I then decided to become an entrepreneur which I learned to appreciate in my early life because, on both sides of my family, they too were all entrepreneurs. I have started 3 companies of which one I took public in the B2B Internet world. 50% of businesses fail in their first 5 years of business. So, lessons learned along the way include:
- Make sure your product or service is actually wanted by customers. 42% of businesses fail because they think they have the greatest item since sliced bread, but they are the only one who likes the product. I learned early on as a buyer for a department store, that you do not buy for what you like, you buy for what your customers want.
- Make sure you have enough capital to survive the first 6 months as if you had no sales. 29% of businesses fail because they just don’t have enough funds to sustain their early development.
- Build a team around you that is smarter than you are. 23% of businesses fail because the owner has such a big ego, that they cannot recognize their weaknesses and don’t find a staff that can complement their abilities. Along with this, the entrepreneur needs to make sure they are communicating and sharing their vision with everyone in the company to create a shared experience.
Tell us about BabyBoomer.org and the inspiration behind it.
The Baby Boomer generation is as diverse as any generation before and after it. There are major differences in political views, diversity in religion, and ideas of how our lives should be lived. But the one thing Baby Boomers do have in common is a connected shared experience. When we were growing up there were only 3 TV networks and we all had landlines, so we all were exposed to the same information.
We all experienced the Kennedy assassination, Martin Luther King’s assassination, the landing on the moon, Vietnam, riots in the streets, and birth control becoming widespread. We have our shared music whether it is Elvis, the Beatles or the Beach Boys or 3 Dog Night, The Association, or the Supremes. We have the movies that brought us together like Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid, Jaws, Animal House, Star Wars, or The Godfather. So, we actually have more in common than what splits us apart. Because we are not a homogenous group, there has never been one single trustworthy source to speak to our many and varied interests. We know there are various digital tribes or pocket groups of Baby Boomers who are already online —divided by geography, special interests, access to specific experts, or ideology. Areas that we want to highlight to bring us together include but are not limited to caregiving, international and domestic travel, the ex-pat lifestyle, grandparenting, antique cars and memories, healthy eating, finance, retirement, healthcare, dementia, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and fitness. Pickleball, volunteering, giving back, and how to leave a legacy.
What’s unique about it, and who is your ideal audience/participant?
Our content is made up of contributors and authors who are either baby boomers or write about topics that would be of interest to our generation. The site consists of the best podcasts, blogs, videos, books, and articles related to our interests. Whereas, when we started the site, we anticipated our audience would be baby boomers like us, but what has evolved is traffic is also coming from the baby boomer children and grandchildren trying to figure out what makes our generation tick.
When did you launch BabyBoomer.org, and what’s been your biggest challenge so far?
BabyBoomer.org is a new site launched in September of 2022. Our biggest challenge so far is finding the right content to turn it into a destination site. We call this Phase 1 which we are just about done completing. Phase 2 which launches shortly will be to let the world know who we are.
Any noteworthy surprises along the way?
I was totally surprised by how quickly we were embraced by contributors who want to reach our core market. They then shared their experiences with other potential contributors, and it helped us build the site faster than we thought possible.
What distinguishes your business from others in the same profession?
Our site was built by baby boomers for baby boomers. Our contributors are passionate about the information they want to share with our audience. As we get older and there is more time behind us than in front of us, we realize it is truly our mission to educate younger generations. By doing this we create our legacy and that is what this site does.
What’s the next big thing and/or greatest challenge for BabyBoomer.org?
Our greatest challenge is letting the 70M baby boomers know we are here to help educate, enlighten, and help them on the next phase of their journey. When you are kids, you have lots of friends, but then life gets in the way of building a career and family, and we do not have as many friends. Our site wants to help restore that sense of belonging and finding others who have the same niche interests as you do.
As an experienced leader and entrepreneur, what’s non-negotiable for you?
Your word is your bond. In today’s world of unscrupulous salespeople amplified by the ease of using the Internet, it is more difficult to establish great relationships that will benefit both parties. Once these relationships were based on face-to-face meetings, but in today’s world with COVID lingering, we have turned into a Zoom society. How do we establish trusting relationships that will last a long time? This trust is what is non-negotiable to me and each day we must earn it.
How can our global audience learn more about you and BabyBoomer.org?
- https://babyboomer.org/
- https://www.facebook.com/BabyBoomer.org/
- https://twitter.com/babyboomer_org
- https://www.linkedin.com/company/babyboomer-org/
- https://grampsjeffrey.com/
- https://www.linkedin.com/in/gramps-jeffrey-3b022b214/
- https://www.linkedin.com/in/marcjoseph/
- https://www.facebook.com/grampsjeffrey/?business_id=193853812379998
- https://twitter.com/AuthorGramps
- https://www.instagram.com/authorgrampsjeffrey/
- https://www.pinterest.com/hellogrampsjeffrey/
Bonus Question: What one thing would people be surprised to learn about you?
I am a substitute teacher at our local high school and middle school. There is such a shortage of teachers, that I would urge everyone to volunteer to help educate this greatest generation our country has ever produced. We are all looking to leave our legacy, and pass on these decades of knowledge we have learned from not only the mistakes we’ve made, but the positive experiences we have had. What better way to pay it forward than helping our communities influence our future generations…
Editor’s Note: We are pleased to now add BabyBoomer.org to our expanding global network of special media alliances, setting the stage to enhance the visibility of our respective writing communities. Visit Become A Content Contributor if you’d like to have your BizCatalyst 360° Articles syndicated via BabyBoomer.org.
Have you ever felt the breeze spiral over your face and tousle with your hair…
I mean have you ever, really,
Felt the wind tumble through your hair?
Have you ever felt the warmth of the sun kissing your skin…
I mean have you ever, really,
Felt the warmth?
Have you ever felt the rain fall, like teardrops onto your body…
I mean have you ever, really,
felt them connect with your body?
Have you ever heard the lapping of the waves…
I mean have you ever, really,
heard them, as they tickle the shoreline?
Have you ever heard the first bird sing to herald the rising of dawn…
I mean have you ever, really,
heard the first bird sing?
Have you ever smelt the fragrance of a beautiful rose, or the dew on morning grass…
I mean have you ever, really,
smelt their beauty?
Have you ever closed your eyes and allowed yourself to sense each touch of nature…
I mean have you ever, really,
allowed yourself to connect in this way?
What sorrow for the soul when such gifts, shared in magical moments…
are lost in the glimpse of an eye.
If we are always arriving and departing, it is also true that we are eternally anchored. One’s destination is never a place but rather a new way of looking at things.
~ Henry Miller
Recently, I experienced an exquisite day to “be” on the water. I volunteered to be a crew member on the sailing vessel Jade, for a Hospice Cup event. I got to track the time on a stopwatch—which, fortunately for me, required very few sailing skills—if any. Suffice it to say, my job was essentially to sit and watch the REAL sailors do their thing.
As Captain Al Lima piloted his beautiful boat out of the harbor under diesel power a noisy “go-fast” speed boat zoomed by us adding more ear-piercing noise to the moment… and we waved and smiled as the noise faded in the distance. Then Captain Al turned off the engine on Jade as the crew hoisted the sails. The silence of running with the wind was stunning. At that moment, John, an experienced sailor, turned to me, smiled and, after taking a deep breath, said, “The destination is the boat.” As the noise from the engine ceased, his words penetrated my mind and heart—bringing me back to the present moment and I got it: powerboats are on a mission to get somewhere, usually fast; on a sailboat, once we hoisted the sails, we’ve arrived at our destination—the pristine, present moment.
Even while preparing for a Hospice Cup “Race” it really wasn’t about winning anything—it was about being one with the moment, the crew members, the water, and, oh, the dolphins, countless dolphins all around us, popping up to welcome us to the silence.
The takeaway is simple enough. The lesson reminded me to slow down, way down, and appreciate the moment. Can you relate? When tethered to one’s breath, silence seems to open the portal to the present moment, unlike any other experience. There is deep and profound wisdom in the admonition, “Be still and know.” Be still, listen, and know you have arrived. The practice is to remember it’s not always getting to the destination that matters most—it’s about enjoying the journey along the way; it’s about understanding the difference between “being and doing.”
As Ram Dass wrote, “Be here now.” Slow down, be still, breathe, listen to the silence, and smile—knowing we’ve already arrived on our journey to the place we never left; our oneness with life. Enjoy every sacred second of that journey because it is the most important one we’ll ever take.
Peace, Dennis Merritt Jones
Hey, there! AmyK here.Today I want to share with you a powerful shift that happened for one of my clients. She’d been telling herself the same story for years – and recently, it was making her miserable. The tipping point was when her daughter said to her, “Mom, you look miserable.”
Watch this video to see how we powerfully shifted her story together.
To helping people make BIG shifts so they can go out and PLAY better.
Hugs,
AmyK
When a person gives advice, they should make every effort to make it good advice. That is particularly true if the person giving the advice is paid to do so.
I recently read a quote from a Certified Financial Planner (CFP) that was so uninformed and ill-conceived as to be a plausible case for legal action. This CFP recommended that $100-$200 should be kept at home for emergencies that may be caused by weather-related power outages. “Enough to buy a few gallons of gas and make a few tips to delivery personnel.” Okay, to be fair that may be enough if it is your house, or your immediate neighborhood that is without power because that only lasts for a few hours or perhaps a day or two. But, when you are dealing with floods, tornados, hurricanes, and other area-wide outages that is very bad advice.
We were without power for two weeks once due to a major ice storm, and more recently 6 weeks due to a Cat 5 hurricane.
Here is the reality:
- You can’t buy gas. Gas stations need power to pump gas.
- There will be no deliveries so you needn’t worry about money to tip.
- If you have an electric car it is useless.
- Your tap will not produce water as the water plant has no power to operate.
- Your house will not be one of the first back up and running. Hospitals, emergency services, nursing homes, and government buildings will be a much higher priority than your house.
A few grocery stores and drug stores will be operating during daylight hours out of tents in their parking lots. These and any other merchants or services that may be functional will take cash only.
Banks and ATM machines and credit card machines will not be open or functioning. So, any economic transaction will have to be with cash. What is the right amount of cash to keep on hand? There is no set amount that fits all situations. It depends on many factors, but enough cash to handle essentials like food, water, and drugs for a month or more is needed. How many of these items you keep stocked at all times is a major factor in deciding the amount of cash to keep handy. In any case, a couple of hundred dollars is not the right amount.
Letting go of expectations
Frees the soul
For the unexpected
Grace of
Kindness,
Generosity,
Compassion.
For when these
Arrive the body relaxes, the
Heart softens.
Doors open wide for releasing.
A balm of healing tenderness embraces,
Soothes, comforts.
Trained over years by the petrifying,
Uncertain,
Unpredictability of human
Hostility, rage, and violence,
A chronic emotional chaos,
Genuine, human, humane loving
Kindness consistently arrives unexpectedly,
Often quietly
Like a deer grazing, then gently looking up.
Big, brown, dark eyes gazing
With curiosity, wonder,
Offering calm presence.
You trust the
Gentleness, sensitivity, and beauty
Of the deer,
The colorful pink, yellow hues of the clouds during a
Stunning sunrise.
Tortured soul humans wildly primitive
Terrify in contrast to the deer or
A glorious black bear sitting on its
Haunches eating plants, flowers, and seeds.
Mother Earth generously offers unexpected
Grace with each colorful blossoming flower,
Growing blade of grass,
Waddling duck, honking goose,
Chattering squirrel,
Fluttering butterfly,
Buzzing
Carpenter Bee.
When a human being offers
Loving kindness,
Compassion to another human being,
This arrives as
Unexpected grace,
A close, distant cousin of
Amazing grace.
Acknowledgment: A quote from Yogi, Sadaguru’s book ‘Inner Engineering’. A Yogi’s Guide to Joy. A most inspiring book.
When you are naturally joyful you are naturally pleasant with the world around you.
~Sadhaguru Jaggi Vasudev, Yogi and mystic
JOY AND HAPPINESSThe above introductory quote by Sadaguru clearly describes the importance of positivity and related, feelings of joy and happiness.
Joy is a most wonderful emotion, releasing endorphins, enhancing feelings, and increasing awareness.
But what facilitates heart and soul to create such ecstasy?
A happy event or experience fills the heart with happiness.
Do physical or visible elements play a part in recognizing and creating joy, or does spirituality alone signal the heart to glow in ecstasy? It is as though one is enveloped in an almost Divine entity.
As described many, many times, the heart plays a critical role in releasing positive vibes, transporting a person to a higher dimension; a Universe of light and optimism.
Joy is, for example, playing with my two-and-a-half-year-old granddaughter.
Her smiles are infectious. Laughter and happiness and joy she brings.
Raising her arms, signaling she wishes to be picked up for a hug. And hug she does. So lovely.
The look in her eyes as she looks at mine. So special; emotional. Never forgotten.
When she says ‘Grandpa’ for the first time; my heart glows, full of pure joy
The heart speaks louder than words; the Universe, a source of infinite joy.
Once upon a time — children stayed out until the streetlights came on, they played in unsanitized spaces, unsupervised, they got messy, fell down and got back up.
Every day, they navigated the new and unfamiliar. Sometimes, no one was there to make sure it always turned out right. They created their own games, made their own teams, and learned how to win…and lose. They were curious and tested answers outside the obvious solutions. They talked to new people and ventured into new spaces, and built a storage bank of experiences that they could draw on all through their life.
One day, society decided that this unstructured way of life was detrimental to children and told parents and educators “good parents and educators” keep children safe and organized, managed, supervised, and constantly occupied. And we did. Because of that, we realized that children and adults were becoming less resilient, more prone to anxiety, and having increasing difficulty managing risk and connection when things were not always managed and organized. We observed poor self-regulation, time management, and conflict-resolution skills. Our ability to accept and manage people and spaces different from what we know or expect is hindered by the fear of new and unfamiliar. Our ability to cope and adapt to change and crisis limited by the worry of doing it wrong.
Because of that … we decided to go backwards to move forward.
We returned to a globally and culturally universal place of humanity. PLAY. We created spaces for people of all ages to be curious again, to explore and test and try, to fall down and dust themselves off and try again. We gave educators and workplaces the tools to recognize their strengths in difference.
We addressed inclusion, mental health, and loneliness as opportunities to use our creativity, innovation, and connection skills again, without the hesitation of doing it “perfectly.”
Until finally, people of all ages and abilities recognized the value of play, building experience, leaning into things that are unknown, and adapting.
In a world filled with near-impossible challenges, we found the cognitive flexibility to bend without breaking, take pieces with nothing in common, and find connection and belonging.
And we realized that “happily ever after” starts in play.
I left the bar, and I went over to my friends Sue’s house where I thought I’d be safe. I hadn’t thought about the fact her brother worked with Bob and he was there too at her house.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE↴
Shattered Innocence (Part 11): Moving On
Well not long after we arrived Bob showed up there and Sue let him in. He proceeded to pick me up by my neck and hold me up against the wall knocking my glasses off me once again this time breaking them. I was screaming at him the best I could to let me down, but he wasn’t budging.
I was afraid he was going to choke me to death. Sue and her brother just stood there watching they didn’t offer help and they didn’t call 911. I was defenseless. I don’t know how long I was in the air, but everything went black, and I must have passed out. Bob was gone when I opened my eyes. Funny somehow, I thought it was my fault he hurt me because I wasn’t woman enough for him. I looked in the mirror and he had given me a black eye from hitting my glasses off my face so hard. Well, I’d show him. That stubbornness of mine had gotten me in trouble before and this wasn’t the first time. I don’t know why but it was a matter of days, and we were getting along again. Until one day at home, he’d been drinking and thought I was seeing someone else while he was out of town. I had not been, but he started to chase me around the house I had no shoes or socks on but the keys to the car were handy I ran outside without my coat got in the car, and peeled out to Carver’s restaurant where my mom was bartending. I felt safe there. Dad showed up from Waterloo mom had called him and sure enough, Bob was waiting in the parking lot for me. He wanted to talk. My dad went outside and had words with him and told him if he ever touched me again, he would wipe the asphalt up with his face. Naturally, Bob was still in his truck and for some stupid reason, I agreed to go out and talk to him. I agreed to go home with him that night he hadn’t laid a hand on me, I just ran from fear knowing what he could do as he had before. We went home and he wanted to have sex. I didn’t want to, but I did, and I was angry at my own body for betraying me and responding to his touch.
These newfound feelings I was experiencing had my body and mind in turmoil and on different mindsets. My brain told me to get away as far as I could, but my body was saying give him another chance after all what more could he do to you? He always wanted to have sex right after we fought without even making up. I don’t know if it was his way of making up or punishing me because I hated the way my body responded to just his slightest touch. I despised myself for not having any control when it came to him. I was in control before him I had to be in control to prevent any further abuse. I’d had enough of that in my life! Things seemed to settle down after that and we started to discuss marriage. I know, not again.
We decided to get married by the justice of the peace. I thought that would change things and make him feel more secure. He was working out of town and was to be home by noon we were getting married at 4.30 with my mom and her girlfriend from work as witnesses. Time kept creeping past noon and I started to think he had backed out of it, but I was wrong he showed up just in time drunk. Well, the wedding went forward short and sweet, and then it was back to the bar for ordure’s and drinks.
We made love that night and it was pleasant and passionate, we managed to not get in a fight on our wedding night.
As days went on, we both continued drinking quite a bit and all he would have to do is give me a dirty look and I would cringe. One evening we went out to dinner and had quite the conversation I told him if he ever lay hand on me again, I’m gone. He told me every relationship went through this and it wouldn’t be better with anyone else. I bought into that perception for a while, but he had quit drinking and that was the main thing, right? I had stopped using all drugs including alcohol. Bob didn’t get high on drugs just drank alcohol and he was willing to quit for us so I thought things would change.
He told me his life story about how when his parents split up his mom didn’t want him, she took his siblings but told him he was going with his dad. Now Bob loved his dad very much and never said a bad word about him however he hated his mother and had resentment towards her deeper that any canyon you could imagine. I thought no wonder he’s the way he is. He hates women and I was right in the middle of it.
He had two tattoos on his hands one said the word LOVE and the Other HATE! He had been in the service in the Korean Conflict at the youthful age of seventeen and he was bearing many scars emotionally from that time in his life as well. He had seen a lot of death and had barely escaped himself several times. So naturally, I started feeling sorry for him for having it so rotten. That he was just misunderstood. And I did make that promise if he didn’t hurt me physically anymore, I wouldn’t leave.
That was the beginning of the mental abuse and dirty looks and threats. But he didn’t touch me so he thought that was okay he was a dry drunk and he might just as well have been drinking. Bob was a roofer when I met him, and he was buff. I mean he had a beautiful tan and muscled out all over. Busy long curly brown hair. And about five ”6.
He got tired of working for his boss one day and came home and said he was going into business for himself, and we were moving to Wisconsin. Oh my God, we were moving to Wisconsin where I don’t know anyone. No family around for support and the thought of that scared me half to death. Meanwhile, I was still wanting a baby of my own, but I kept telling myself not with him you don’t! God only knows how he would be with a child underfoot. I couldn’t put my child through that not what he had done to me. Before we left for Wisconsin, he told me he had lied to me about something, and I thought imagine that well he had told me he was thirty-four. I thought that wasn’t too bad he’s only ten years older than me. Well then, he told me he had switched the numbers around he was forty-three. I was twenty-four at the time I believe. I looked at him and said Well it’s a little late to tell me that now, isn’t it?
So, we packed our bags and headed for Wisconsin where he was going to subcontract for a roofing company there. All the while I’m wondering what’s in store for me now that I would be away from both family and friends. I wasn’t too happy about it no not happy at all.
To Be Continued …
In my daily practice, I have been working with the mantra I will there be light. What does that mean? Let me explain further by sharing something that came out of a conversation later that morning.
I was very grateful for an unexpected affirmation that came out of a call that I was making to organise a session the two of us were running. Sheona made an observation around the shift that they had been witnessing in my presence. One I had felt myself and by voicing it, she gave confirmation of that, an unexpected gift.
If we look at the world with benevolent and loving eyes then we will receive benevolence and love in return. I recognise how difficult this can be. We are all human too and it’s not to deny that we experience pain, betrayal, and suffering! That said it is worth remembering that hurt people hurt people. Let me show you an example of the magic that happens when we can transmute our pain.
Last weekend I had a need to go out and be with other people. And yet no matter what I attempted to organise everything seemed to be falling through. In my spiritual practice that day I was asked to reflect on grievances. At that moment I had a few.
The synchronicity of what happened made me laugh as I was aware of a grievance forming in relation to a group that I belong to. Initially, I felt the anger and injustice and could not get past that. At the same time, I realised that those emotions were causing me pain and made me feel alone. I took a moment to pause and go within to connect to what lay beneath all that: love.
It took a while and then I received a clear message about what to do. It meant allowing for the humanity of another and coming from grace. When I could do that I was able to see a clear path through it all.
I contacted a single friend of mine and asked her if she wanted to go out to a gig run by a bunch of women DJs for International Women’s Day as I knew it wasn’t my hubby’s cup of tea. She said yes and we went. We had an amazing time.
It was so much fun. I made some new friends and got invited to a party in May. Then three of us realised we all had birthdays within a week or two of each other and so we have decided to run a joint birthday party. I could never have expected all that from a night out plus there were some very helpful work opportunities which I may share more about when the time is right.
All this is an example of an everyday miracle and is what happens when we come from a place of love. Compassion and love are muscles that need to be developed and it can be challenging.
If you want some practical tips on how to live in a more compassionate loving way check out the following 10 ideas. Rosemary Lynch and Alain Richard have identified ten “principles” for those seeking to live a spiritual life of nonviolence. Active nonviolence calls us:
- To learn to recognize and respect “the sacred” in every person, including in ourselves, and in every piece of Creation. . . .
- To accept oneself deeply, “who I am” with all my gifts and richness, with all my limitations, errors, failings, and weaknesses, and to realize that I am accepted by God. .
- To recognize that what I resent, and perhaps even detest, in another, comes from my difficulty in admitting that this same reality lives also in me.
- To renounce dualism, the “we-they” mentality (Manicheism). This divides us into “good people/bad people” and allows us to demonize the adversary. It is the root of authoritarian and exclusivist behavior. It generates racism and makes possible conflicts and wars.
- To face fear and to deal with it not mainly with courage but with love.
- To understand and accept that the New Creation, the building up of the Beloved Community is always carried forward with others. It is never a “solo act.”
- To see ourselves as a part of the whole creation to which we foster a relationship of love, not of mastery, remembering that the destruction of our planet is a profoundly spiritual problem, not simply a scientific or technological one. We are one.
- To be ready to suffer, perhaps even with joy, if we believe this will help liberate the Divine in others. This includes the acceptance of our place and moment in history with its trauma, with its ambiguities.
- To be capable of celebration, of joy, when the presence of the Divine has been accepted, and when it has not been to help discover and recognise this fact.
- To slow down, to be patient, planting the seeds of love and forgiveness in our own hearts and in the hearts of those around us. Slowly we will grow in love, compassion and the capacity to forgive.
Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength while loving someone deeply gives you courage.
Facts on Relationships: No matter what stage of a romantic relationship you are in, the pathway to finding true love can be one of confusion, misunderstanding, and tribulations.
- If you think that you know every story, quirk, and foreplay move they’ve got – you actually don’t.
- During turbulence – Focus on what’s tearing you apart or what’s keeping you together (the choice is yours). – Intimacy is about sharing your truths – when you stand in front of them and their response is ‘you’re safe with me’, that’s intimacy.
Meet my Guests: Ipek and Craig Williamson (Ipek is an Insight, Ikigai, Meditation Coach for Executive Assistants, Ho’oponopono Practitioner) (Craig is Chief Facilitator | Co-Pilot) I promise you that post watching this Episode will make you say to your spouse: “Let’s have hard times together. Because I still feel together even when you are apart”.
Thank you both so much for bringing the value of cozy spaces.
In the ’70s, I saw an ad in the local newspaper inviting residents to experience life regression with Dr. Helen Wambach. Since I discussed my three-hour journey in Part One, I will share my perspective today about good and evil. If young people understood past lives, they might make better choices for their future.
SEE PART 1 BELOW︎
How Self-Discovery Changed my Life – Part 1
During her lifetime, Dr. Wambach regressed 2,000 people. Michael Newton, at the Newton Institute, has written about 7,000 cases.
So, why is this information ignored? Why aren’t we discussing the importance of past lives?
This information today might help us explain a variety of mysteries and agendas. What if…child prodigies and geniuses “remembered” what they learned in a past life. For example:
– John von Newmann spoke classical Greek at age 6.
– Mozart played songs on the harpsichord at age four and composed at age 5.
– Ruth Lawrance entered Oxford at age 8
– William James Sides entered Harvard at age 11.
– Ernest Truex recited Shakespeare at age 6
– H.P. Lovecraft was reciting poetry at age two and writing long poems at age 5. (Source: Psychology Wiki). Many children exhibit extraordinary talents at an early age.
There is so much more to human beings than we think, see, and feel. The news tells us; we are still a primitive society that abuses children, abuses drugs, misuses sex, is violent toward others, allows government corruption, and supports ego-centered men seeking power and control over others. Perhaps, they are unaware there are always consequences for dishonesty and evil behavior!
We should never assume we are electing wise and benevolent leaders. They may be at the beginning of their evolution with new souls and lack wisdom. Their motivation may be power and money.
Gender IdentityDo your instincts tell you something is wrong when politicians and educators encourage a young child to accept gender dysphoria? In other words, a child born a boy may feel like a girl or vice versa. Some schools now teach children as young as four years old about “gender identity.” Should teachers keep this secret from parents? Should an underage child have puberty blockers, surgery, and medication to make a life-changing transformation? What if a girl is an athletic “Tomboy?” What if sensitive boys like “girlish” things? What if a child is “remembering” a past life when they were of a different sex? Beware! A child’s brain is like a sponge; reality can become confusing about what a child learns early.
ReparationsPoliticians are discussing Reparations in California and other states. People who abuse, hate, or mistreat people of a different race may be reborn into that race to experience the pain they caused to learn and help change society. Do you know that we allow “white” slavery in America today? Beware: Money has never been a solution to complex problems. However, immature leaders may see money as a way to “help” and control followers.
Critical Race TheoryAre enlightened politicians working together to strengthen American families and unite neighbors to make America strong and resilient? Why don’t politicians discuss the cost and plight of children exposed to gangs, sex trafficking, abuse, and drugs? Are spiritually immature leaders using fear to divide and conquer? Americans will not remain free if we allow leaders to control what we think, say, and do. This is your country! You decide!
When we assume our leaders know better than our Universal guides and self-protective conscience, we must ask, how much pain we want in our lives? “Old souls” can listen, evaluate the situation, and remain calm and slow to anger. They’ve learned to trust their wisdom and common sense. We can learn lessons from past lives and our lives today. Perhaps, now is the time to look beyond the boundaries we can see and look into the unexplored inner spirit. Everyone has a guiding light if we take the time to listen and learn. We all can discover: Why am I here? What am I here to learn? What is my mission? How can I help create a safer, more peaceful America?
If we could but see the pain and hurt that others carry around unbeknownst to us, would it change the way we look at our world? How many tears does it take for us to notice the heart’s cries of another?
When we see a brother or sister hurting; do we turn our eyes away and move on because we don’t know them, or don’t want to get involved? Untouched by the scene before us; or do we also feel their hurt and offer a shoulder to lean on or hand up?
Do we pay attention when speaking with others, listening to what isn’t being said? Or are we being sociable only because it’s what’s expected of us?
Do we really care, or are we simply kidding ourselves? Has it been so long that we have forgotten when that brother or sister hurting was us?
One tear is too many.
After court, I went back to Wavery to speak with Gary. I asked him why he got the car. He was angry and said because you did not come home. I told him you knew I was going to speak with him. He agreed he knew but not for all night. I told him Tom and I did not do anything because we did not. I did not tell him I was in Tom’s arms all night. We worked through that conversation and things were back to going along nicely.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 10): The Divorce
We set a date to be married at The Little Brown Church in Nashua, Iowa. We had mailed the wedding invitations out! This was Gary’s first marriage. So, we went way out on the wedding again. I wore a white wedding gown. Now, I know you’re not supposed to wear white with a second marriage, but I did not care. We had been living together for about 3 months when we got married. I was around twenty-three at the time. Tom and I had managed to stay married for five years in total. My friend Mona was to be the bridesmaid.
On the day of the wedding, I started getting cold feet. I knew this was a big mistake. Gary and I should have just been good friends. I did not love Gary in the way I should be getting married to him. It was too late Gary, and I were already on our way to the church with all those friends and relatives. The little church was packed to the standing room only, I went up onto the stage when I said my vows, I lied, crossed my fingers, and said a silent prayer to God to forgive me! Before I knew it, the pastor said, you may now kiss the bride! Everyone cheered us on as we kissed on the lips. We did not French kiss. After the reception, everyone went home except my friend and her boyfriend, and my brother Bobby, Mona, and her boyfriend came to the house to visit, the next thing I knew her boyfriend pulled out a bunch of cocaine from his pocket and started to run lines. He was a drug dealer. Now Gary didn’t do drugs, not even marijuana. It was late and Gary went to bed. Keep in mind this was our wedding night and I was up all night partying with my brother and my maid of honor. Not a good start to our marriage.
Gary and I were together for about three months and things just weren’t working out. I met a guy in the restaurant, and he asked me to have a drink with him. So, I thought what the heck it’s just a drink. Well one drink led to another and another and yes you guessed it I went back to his Motel room, and we had sex. I never went home that night. Thinking back on it now I realize I was no better than Tom with my behavior. Bob had charisma, about him, and I was attracted to him, and it was the first time I got some pleasure from sex, and I liked it. I went home and told Gary I needed the time to think. Does that sound familiar? Gary got up the next morning, went to his attorneys, filed for divorce, and asked me to sign a piece of paper stating I didn’t want anything. But I did want to keep the Oldsmobile. I didn’t have a car.
So, I found a small apartment. It was a garage converted into a small apartment. And the rent was cheap. I started seeing Bob would regularly travel around doing roofs when he was in town, he would stay with me. The divorce with Gary took three months to complete. So, it was a total of about nine months we were together. I was seeing Bob for about three months when we decided we would move in together. My dad had bought a Trailor in Waverly, so we rented it from him with the option to buy. Things were going well with us, and we started talking about marriage.
Now I don’t know what I was thinking back then either. I was in love with the idea of being married or I felt the only way I knew a man loved me is if they were willing to marry me. Bob was an alcoholic. I was drinking right along with him. He started being abusive when he drank and took it out on me. One night we went out to eat at the bars. We were sitting on the bar stools. Now he was very jealous and accused me of looking at someone at the end of the counter. I wasn’t, but he thought I was. He became incredibly angry and grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me off the bar stool tearing my shirt and knocking my glasses off.
He then grabbed me, pulling me out the door, he had me on the ground and started kicking me and hollering “If you’re a woman you’ll get up!” I couldn’t get up because he kept kicking me. Someone called the police officers, so Bob quit kicking me. He then went over to my car and dumped his leftover food all over my car seat. The Police came and told me they had a safe place I could go. I told them no; I was going to a friend Sue’s house. I didn’t press any charges on him. I just wanted him to leave had I made another terrible choice.
To be continued …
Living an illusion means living in a way that is disconnected from reality, where one’s perceptions or beliefs are not in line with the objective truth. This can take many forms, such as believing in conspiracy theories, holding on to unrealistic expectations, or clinging to an idea that has been proven false.
It is important to recognize when one is living in an illusion and to strive for a more accurate understanding of reality. This can be challenging, as it may require letting go of deeply held beliefs or facing uncomfortable truths. However, it is ultimately necessary for personal growth and for making informed decisions that can lead to positive outcomes.
“A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance when the need for illusion is deep.”
― Saul Bellow, To Jerusalem and Back
“Dream delivers us to dream, and there is no end to illusion. Life is like a train of moods like a string of beads, and, as we pass through them, they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue. . .. ”
― Ralph Waldo Emerson
The distinction between the past, present, and future is only a stubbornly present illusion.— Albert Einstein
The question of whether life is an illusion is a philosophical and metaphysical one that has been debated for centuries. There are different schools of thought on this topic, and opinions vary widely.
Some philosophical and spiritual traditions argue that life is an illusion or a dream-like state and that the true nature of reality is beyond our perception. These views often suggest that the material world and our experiences in it are transitory and ultimately unreal and that there is a deeper, underlying reality that is eternal and unchanging.
On the other hand, many scientific and empirical perspectives suggest that life is not an illusion, but rather a complex and evolving phenomenon that can be studied and understood through observation, experimentation, and analysis. These views suggest that the material world is real and that our experiences of it are shaped by the laws of nature and the workings of our minds and bodies.
Ultimately, whether or not life is an illusion is a matter of personal belief and interpretation. Some people may find comfort in the idea that there is a deeper reality beyond our perceptions, while others may find meaning in the complexity and richness of the world around us.
Depending on how essential you find the truth to be. Some people seek the truth at any cost, while others opt to accept reality as they see it. If you fall into the second category, living in delusion is better; if you fall into the first, you yearn for reality or the truth. The question of what constitutes truth and who confirms it, however, remains.
Writing is an act of love
our trail of letters
a path others follow to sort out their own journeys
a breadcrumb trail of words and letters that leads us back to our hearts
sometimes through darkness, rain, and storms
sometimes through bright meadows filled with flowers
– and bees –
but always home to the heart
A few years ago, consultants were brought into Colorado to solve a perplexing mountain traffic problem. Because of great snow and incredible skiing, hundreds of cars were moving up and down mountain freeways at the same time. This resulted in traffic congestion and gridlock costing some travelers up to 4 hours of delay.
You can probably imagine the many problems that arise when thousands of people are stuck on cold and icy roads with no other option but to crawl at a snail’s pace. Between flared tempers, tired and hungry drivers, and pressure to get home or on the slopes, it was not an ideal situation. Sub-zero temperatures could even make the situation deadly. But, what was to be done?
The answer was the Mountain Pace CarHere was the plan: Two drivers would be placed at the head of the traffic. They could not be passed and they would lead the cars up or down the mountain at a regular and steady pace. In this way, drivers would be forced to steadily move up or down the mountain at a consistent clip. It worked. Traffic jams were eased and delays were remedied. How did this work?
Analysts determined that the problem was individual drivers speeding quickly and braking suddenly. You have seen this (and probably done this) the last time you were in congested traffic. You move as fast as you can when traffic is moving and then brake as soon as all the cars in front of you slow or stop. The cumulative effect of hundreds of drivers alternating between racing forward and suddenly stopping is gridlock.
Simply put, the behavior of the individual driver was and is the problem. But, how do you get the behavior of hundreds of drivers to change? The Mountain Pace Car.
The solution is brilliant really. It capitalizes on something most of us learned as young children when we listened to our mother read “The Tortoise and the Hare” to us. You might recall the motto: “Slow and steady wins the race.” The answer was in being constant and steady.
The answer for mountain traffic gridlock is the same for all of us: Be constant and diligent.
Diligence has been defined as a patient and continual effort. Diligence is being steady and constant in your work and energy. It is applying a regular stream of strength toward a goal. It is not a quick and electric burst of energy. It is not a fast-moving train. Diligence is a paced progress, measured and consistent. It is a fundamental trait of successful individuals. Top performers and happy people are persistent, constant, and diligent.
Diligence is developed by determining what small things you will do every day to move you closer to your goal. It is to do the important but not crisis things in your life every day. It is a gradual and unfailing effort toward a goal. The happiest and most successful people did not get there in one great burst of speed. They persisted. A big shot is just a little shot that kept shooting. So, that is your task.
Truly, slow and steady wins the race. So, be like the mountain pace car, and be diligent.
Introduction“Footsteps in the Sand…of Time” is a heartwarming story of enduring love, friendship, and the simple joys of life. The story follows Evelyn and James, an elderly couple who have been married for 55 years, as they take evening walks along the beach hand in hand. This quiet seaside ritual, where they collect seashells and reminisce, is enhanced by the arrival of a soulful-eyed dog who they named Seashell.
As the couple embraces this addition to their life, their love deepens and they become an inspiration for their community, particularly for a young couple, Sarah and Tom.
Chapter One: Hand in HandFor over half a century, Evelyn and James had walked together on life’s journey. Their love story started over 55 years ago when they met at a friend’s wedding. It was love at first sight.
Over the years, they watched as the world changed, but the one constant in their lives was their love for each other. Their marriage was like a melody, a harmony of two hearts intertwined.
Evelyn and James will tell you this did not mean they never disagreed. In their younger days they had bouts of strong arguments because Evelyn was a fiercely independent thinker and did not hesitate to speak her mind. James, on the other hand, was always the thoughtful one. He assessed every situation before arriving at a conclusion, and this was hard for Evelyn to understand. They learned to adjust to each other’s personality, and they will tell you they don’t remember going to bed angry with each other. Their love was the glue which held them together in the beginning and the bond for the 55 years of their marriage.
In their quaint seaside town, the elderly couple had created their own little tradition. On evenings when the weather permitted, they would stroll hand in hand along the sandy shores, picking up seashells while admiring, and collecting, any unusual finds washed ashore by the ocean. Their fingers were wrinkled, and their steps slow, but their love burned bright as the sun sinking into the horizon.
Chapter Two: A New EncounterOne warm evening with white, fluffy clouds in the sky chasing each other, as they were walking their usual path, they spotted a beautiful light brown dog with the most soulful eyes they had ever seen. The dog had no collar or any indication of where it belonged, and it was walking towards them with a grace that made it seem like it belonged to the wind and the waves.
Evelyn and James couldn’t resist the charm of this endearing creature, and they stopped to greet the dog with warm hellos. The black circle around the dog’s eyes made it seem as if a master make-up artist or a painter had deliberately painted it around each eye. He was beautiful! As he gently wagged his tail, they kept talking to him and asking, “Where did you come from?” “Who is looking for such a handsome dog.” After they’d got a little further, they realized the dog was following them. James said, “Come on little fella,” and the dog walked beside them all the way home, stopping just outside their gate.
Chapter Three: The Unbreakable BondThis went on for an entire week, with the dog arriving every evening to join the couple on their beach walk. Despite their best efforts to find the owner, nobody seemed to be missing a dog that fit the description of their new friend.
With each day that passed, the connection between the elderly couple and the dog deepened. It was as if this beautiful dog had come into their lives to make it complete. Finally, they decided to welcome the dog into their home, and he quickly became their constant companion.
It seemed appropriate to name their beloved dog, Seashell, because like the shells they collected over the years on the beach, they found this dog on the beach, although they often felt that he had found them.
Chapter Four: Sarah and TomOne day, while walking along the shore, Evelyn and James met a young couple who seemed to be just starting their journey together. The couple, Sarah and Tom, were deeply in love, their eyes sparkling with dreams and hope for their future. They watched as Evelyn and James held hands and walked with Seashell by their side, and the warmth of their love was palpable.
Evelyn and James shared their story with Sarah and Tom, telling them of their 55-year-long marriage, their evening walks, and the unexpected arrival of Seashell in their lives. The young couple listened with admiration, their eyes shining with the desire to emulate the same long-lasting love that Evelyn and James had found.
Chapter Five: The Golden YearsAs the years passed, the bond between Evelyn, James, and Seashell grew stronger. The couple continued to take long walks on the beach with Seashell, cherishing the gentle warmth of the sun, the soft whispers of the ocean, and the cool sand beneath their feet. It seemed as though Seashell had brought with him a renewed sense of vigor and happiness that brightened their golden years.
The three of them became a well-known sight in their quaint seaside town. Neighbors would often smile and wave as the loving couple and their faithful companion walked by. They had found a place not just in each other’s hearts, but also in the hearts of their community.
Evelyn and James knew that their time together was limited. Hand in hand, they cherished every remaining moment, every walk on the beach, and the friendship they had found in Sarah and Tom. They found solace in the knowledge that they had created a lasting legacy of love that had inspired not only Sarah and Tom, but many others in their community.
Their love story, a beautiful testament to the power of devotion and the strength of the human heart, lived on through the memories they had shared, the friendships they had forged, and the footsteps they had left in the sand…of time.
Back in the days of plain language and real meaning, the concept of integrity was well understood and the definition of the word itself was uniformly shared. That was then. Now we have authenticity.
As it’s commonly practiced, authenticity is the appearance of integrity; that is, it’s the manipulation of codes of sincerity that makes it appear one is thinking, speaking, writing, and acting with integrity. It’s a combination of crossing your fingers behind your back and a Get Out of Jail Free card. Most important, it’s not integrity.
integrity (noun):
- adherence to moral and ethical principles; soundness of moral character; honesty
2. the state of being whole, entire, or undiminished
authenticity (noun): the quality of being authentic; genuinenes
- authentic (adjective)
2. not false or copied; genuine; real
representing one’s true nature or beliefs; true to oneself or to the person identified
Morality, ethicality, sound character, wholeness, entirety, and being undiminished are not the same as genuine, real, or truth to one’s nature, beliefs, or self. They’re different. And critically so.
How Did We Get Here?
With the unceasing onslaught of vapid jargon and the boundless coining of terms, phrases, abbreviations, acronyms, and new definitions of what had been perfectly serviceable linguistic expressions, the question in the subhead above is not rhetorical. In fact, it can’t (and likely won’t) be taken as seriously as it should be. If you doubt that — setting aside empty buzzwords like innovation, disruption, thought leadership, and more — you don’t have to look any farther than the terms listed below, all of which used to be nouns but have now been perverted as verbs:
Brainstorm: Originally coined to conjure the notion of a sudden and violent disturbance in the brain, brainstorming denotes a method of shared problem-solving in which all members of a group spontaneously contribute ideas. In business lexicon, it now connotes blind groping — finding one’s way like a lost sheep — through any assignment for which the brainstormer is thoroughly ill-equipped.
Larry: We’ve got to brainstorm on this baby.
Bert: Right. We’ve also got to figure out what the hell we’re doing.
Dialogue: In the vernacular of the business world, it is now impossible to discuss anything. The best one can hope for is to find a kindred, bureaucratic spirit with whom one may dialogue.
Art: I think we should dialogue with our managers about this.
Stu: Okay. But wouldn’t it be easier to have a conversation?
Gift: A gift used to be something bestowed voluntarily without thought or hope of reciprocity. Unfortunately, it’s now become a description of the bestowing.
Big Guy: We’ve got to gift our 25-year employees.
Lackey: Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of a commemorative present. Has the gold watch been done before?
Impact: Formerly the striking of one body against another, a collision, or a crash, impact has now become the verb of choice for those who are unfamiliar with — or feel let down by — the verb, affect.
Ralph: I think the current downsizing initiatives will negatively impact our bottom line.
Will: Bingo! In fact, they may even affect us badly.
Incent: Is it more deplorable to coin a word out of ignorance or out of laziness? In an effort to avoid having to construct sentences around the noun, incentive, some enterprising corporate jargoneer took a linguistic shortcut by giving utterance to the verb, incent, followed by incentivize, which purports to mean to incite to action, to provide motivation, to stimulate a desired activity or level of activity.
Jim: We’ve got to incentivize our salespeople to grow their productivity this year.
Floyd: Yep. And we ought to give them some incentive to sell more while we’re at it.
Leverage: Leverage used to be the action, applied against a fulcrum, by which we raised or moved objects that would otherwise be too heavy to move without that leverage. Now it describes the process of applying that action.
Fred: We’ve got to leverage our resources.
Clem: While we’re at it, maybe we can use them for leverage, too.
I could go on almost forever about the ways in which we’ve perverted language and drained it of meaning in business and beyond. But you get the idea.
First, I would straighten out the language. (Confucius when asked how he would restore order to the world)
When thinking, speaking, writing, and acting can be undertaken without discernible (let alone definitive) meaning — reducing expression to the verbal equivalent of the water balloon that can be squeezed here only to pop out there — is it any wonder integrity has been jettisoned? Once we abandoned sense and meaning, reason was as good as gone. Integrity just followed it out the window. And feeling prevailed over thinking.
Authenticity may be a surrogate for integrity. But it’s no substitute.
Besides, integrity’s more useful.
Elderly and lonely people; perhaps their partners Having passed away, may be shy or reticent, but gathering with other folks for a cup of tea and tea or coffee and cake may create a new dimension to their lives.
The elderly, can feel isolated and eventually ‘disappear’ into themselves. They may not have families nearby to provide empathy and support. The elderly population is growing significantly; most living longer than ever before.
As one of the volunteers at the local community center, I am so pleased to make a difference in elderly folks’ views on engaging with like-minded people. There are many who know each other as friends and gather around one of the tables, ‘talking for England’; a lot of chatting while enjoying delicious cakes, tea, and coffee. A guest attending for the first time can be a little apprehensive, but on noticing the easy, relaxed atmosphere; no obligation, and sensing friendship and kindness, soon become relaxed.
Volunteers welcome them and they choose an appropriate table to sit with fellow guests. Sometimes they recognize someone they know. And then it is time to sample the cakes and cookies. Some of which are provided by a generous baker in town. Almost all the guests are in their eighties or even nineties and possess such a sense of humor. Pure delight!
There is a truly wonderful atmosphere of empathy and friendliness.
The topic of cakes sometimes creates conversation focused on Belgian chocolate brownies to lemon sponge cakes. There is some humor because I just love chocolate brownies! One or two guests after being served cakes at the ‘goodie’ table hide such cakes behind their backs pretending I won’t see them! Such laughter and smiles.
There are around 35+ guests and increasing as local residents recommend the Chat-Tea Café. Volunteers take orders and serve the tea, coffee, and goodies. We sit with guests and chat. Sometimes, a guitarist comes along, sings, and plays. His Dad was a volunteer and 93 years old. Very special.
Occasionally someone accompanies a person with dementia. By the end of the event, they are very, very gently engaging, or just sitting comfortably having a cake and tea. So special.
So many compliments are afforded to volunteers. We volunteer because we just love making a difference.
Such wonderful guests.
So rewarding.
Images courtesy of Chat Tea Cafe
In this brief and moving glimpse into his life, Morné Pretorius shares how the experience of a car accident ten years ago which left him in a coma for a month, has impacted his perspective on life, leading him to living gratefully every day. He reminds us to make peace with what happens in our lives, realizing that our experiences do not define our future. Speaking from the knowledge gained from his life, he advises, “You are walking this life. Make sure you leave beautiful steps behind.”
What if you could transform your anxiety into something you can actually use during your work day? Neuroscientist Wendy Suzuki shares two evidence-based activities — breathing and movement — that can soothe your nervous system and fuel creativity and connection.
Life.
Hanging
on a fragile
Balance.
A distant
murmur
calls.
As the ghost
of a memory
begins to play
back
and over
the rainbow
of hope.
May you find
another
so restless,
gentle
and kind enough
to protect
your fragile
little branches
of life.
I walk into the hospital room. Robyn’s mother, Wilma, looks up at me from her hospital bed and smiles.
“What are you doing here, Gio? Is Robyn with you?”
“She’s at the nurse’s station, reading your chart.”
“That’s Robyn. I’m in good hands. You can tell her that.”
“Yes, I know.”
I stare up. A Paraclete floats over Wilma’s bed, a standing wave like a squared slice of cake made of ocean, a carpet made of blue, green, and gold strands woven so fine you can’t pull them apart yet with coloring so distinct you can easily see each when held in your hand, its top and edges a thick, whitish sea foam like a meringue.
She follows my gaze. “What are you looking at?”
It undulates and ripples even though it appears as an unmoving wave. It makes no sound, only waits. It covers Wilma with the sweet scent of caring, compassion, and hope.
“Do all hospital rooms have such high ceilings?”
The Paraclete waits. To comfort. To transport. To help Wilma finish her journey.
I look back at Wilma, use GrandMother’s eyes, see where she is diseased, how far it’s spread.
A disease of the heart. It weakens her body, tells her mind it’s time, asks her spirit to prepare, draws surety from her emotions.
She is ready. Also waiting. Except she doesn’t know.
I gaze back at The Paraclete. “How long have you been waiting?”
Wilma glances around. “Who are you talking to?”
She hears. It will not be long.
The Paraclete comes closer. It’s voices come on Infinity’s winds. “Long.” and “Not long.” is one word that isn’t a word at all.
I pet Wilma’s arm. “Let me go find Robyn.”
I stop her in the hall. “What did the nurses say?”
“She’s fine. A little dehydrated when she came in, that’s all.”
I shake my head. “She won’t make it through the night.”
“You’re sure?”
The Paraclete whispers. It has no sense of time. Clocks don’t exist in its land.
“I’m sure. Not long. Tomorrow morning at best.”
“I wish you didn’t tell me.”
“Would you be happier that way?”
We stand on either side of Wilma’s bed.
“Gio, would you rub my back?”
Robyn glances at me, catches my eye. She knows now. Wilma never asks me to do such things. Thirty-eight years together and her family knows nothing of my life. I’m a good provider, keep her safe, never abuse her. That’s enough.
“I never knew how soft your touch was, Gio. I always thought your hands were rough.”
A nurse comes in, tells us it’s time to leave.
I hold Wilma’s hand, kiss her forehead.
“You never kiss me.”
My kiss opens her slightly to the energies gathering around her, to The Paraclete coming closer, closer.
“I only kiss you when you need it. I’ll stay the night with you if you’d like.”
Her eyes flick up over my head, to where The Paraclete waits.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She smiles a good-bye.
We hurry back to the hospital early in the morning, an emergency call, Wilma is in the ICU, prepare for the worst.
The Paraclete no longer floats over her bed, most of it’s gone, only a small portion remains, waiting for Wilma to breathe her last. All that remains is the bottom edge of the carpet and a bit of the wave floating above and a bit beyond Wilma’s head.
Her body is on life support but most of her is no longer in it.
The Paraclete transports her, comforts her.
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
What remains of the wave forms a mouth with Wilma’s voice. “Will you be alright? Will Adam? Jeannie? Will you take care of yourselves? Will you take care of each other?”
I wait for the nurse to leave and lean over Wilma.
“It’s alright, Wilma. We’ll be okay. You can go now, if you want. We’ll take care of each other. We’ll keep each other safe. It’s okay. You don’t have to worry about us any more. And look! See? Bob’s waiting for you.”
The Paraclete opens its blanket, unleashes its wave.
Bob, her husband, gone over twenty-five years, stands on the wave, sits on the carpet, offers her his hand, a joyous look on his face, the love of his life comes to join him, welcomes her, lets her know it’s okay, her work is done.
The Paraclete gathers her in its waves, holds her next to Bob, slowly moves away.
(from The Shaman due for publication September 2023, Northern Lights Publishing)
I was raised as the only child of a hard-working single Mom. In my formative years, she taught me so much about life and business. Truthfully, I didn’t know that’s what I was learning until the day came for me to enter the business world.
Then, moment by moment, as the tests and trials of my own career began to unfold, I realized she had done an amazing job at teaching me some very profound wisdom.
Here are Her 10 Truths:1. Believe in Yourself – Seldom will others believe in you, so you must always believe in yourself. This is especially true when starting a new gig. You are an unknown. It’s only human for others to have doubts about you until you get to prove yourself. So while a period of any transition is going on, believe in yourself. Stay strong.
-
Mistakes do Happen – You will make them. But a winner will bounce back up. Learn from your mistakes and be sure to never make the same mistake twice.
-
Your Word is Your Honor – Let your word be true. When she made a promise to a business person, the thing happened, whatever it was. If something got in the way and started to delay the delivery date or prohibit the honoring of the word, she was quick to address the change and get permission or acceptance to make a change.
-
Set Lofty Goals – Dream big. Why work hard for small goals? Do something different if you have to, but hang on to those dreams. She left a steady paycheck to start her own business when I was still in school. Talk about being brave. Her dream guided her. She created a very successful interior design business that grew from residential design to large commercial (office buildings and retail) projects.
-
Don’t Let Them See You Sweat – I know that’s been said by someone else, but I watched her live it. I have no doubt she went to bed some nights and cried herself to sleep because she had a big deadline or problem in front of her, but she never let it show. In the public eye, she was steel with grace.
-
Keep Learning – Mom didn’t have a higher education. She started working right out of high school, but she never stopped learning. She read voraciously. She maintained a very open mind about culture, ethnicity, and moral code. This equipped her to be a gracious host, a warm welcome for anyone who came to visit, and a cherished memory for those who got to know her. She earned the respect of friends and colleagues far beyond her original station in life. She also taught me about the value of being mentored. Since there was no man in our house, she arranged my involvement with several very significant male mentors who taught me so many things. As a result, I am a patchwork quilt of the best qualities those men could teach.
-
Be Compassionate – Despite her steely business sense, she had a special compassion for others. Her warmth was felt by so many. She volunteered at my school and elsewhere in the community though her time was tightly scheduled for her roles as a mother and business owner. She created her own sense of work-life balance that never left out quality time for generous giving of herself.
-
Know Your Banker – Mom taught me about getting to know the banker. Perhaps that’s why I ended up in banking. Because of her tenuous financial condition as a sole provider and single-income head of household, she needed bank loans frequently. But she was shrewd. Loans were only made when good contracts had been awarded. The loans floated the projects (and our living expenses) until the payout was received. Then the loans were paid immediately. The bankers loved her as a customer. She never leveraged anything near 100%. The loans were always for less than the contract amount. That way, there was a profit to keep when the project closed and the loan was paid.
-
Create and Guard Your Reputation – She had savage competition. However, she built a brand that included high integrity. She fiercely protected that brand reputation. Once when she was accused in the local newspaper of manipulating a contract award, she had to fight the allegations. She won and even received a published apology from the editor of the paper. Business boomed after that.
-
Center on Faith – Last but certainly not least, Mom taught me about faith in God through Jesus. Her undeniable faith kept her strong through the darkest hours. She knew there was a force and a purpose far greater than herself with whom she could connect at any moment. Whether it was bedtime prayers or a quick discussion sitting in her car before an appointment, she sought divine guidance regularly. This faith even endured until her last breath on this earth. She always told me she and God had a deal, that, when it was her time to go, it would be quick. Sure enough at 1:00 AM on February 1, 2001, she had a massive stroke. She died less than 24 hours later. No pain, no suffering. Medically, the neurologist told me the brain hemorrhage that caused the stroke had cut off all feeling to her body. She needed no pain meds to ease her to the end.
My Mom was a remarkable woman, whose forward-thinking was well ahead of her time. Her unique collection of wit, grace, love, compassion, fire, and faith made me what I am today.
The poem below, by Walter Wintle, was on a plaque she gave me. She had first made the plaque for her father when she was a teenager. I was given the memento as my own family keepsake. It sums up everything I am telling you today. Very wise words to live by.
The Man Who Thinks He can
by Walter D. Wintle
If you think you are beaten, you are;
If you think you dare not, you don’t.
If you’d like to win, but think you can’t
It’s almost a cinch that you won’t
If you think you’ll lose, you’re lost,
For out in the world we find
Success begins with a fellow’s will;
It’s all in the state of mind.
If you think you’re outclassed, you are.
You’ve got to think high to rise.
You’ve got to be sure of yourself before
You can ever win a prize.
Life’s battles don’t always go
To the stronger or faster man;
But sooner or later the man who wins
Is the one who thinks he can.
Who is the person in your life who has made the biggest impression?
ABOUT THIS EPISODEFrom Fear to Fire: Secrets to Overcome Fear, Embrace your Gifts, and Achieve Success. This is the place where real people share real challenges. Where you can find a common bond and uncommon wisdom through their stories. Use tips from the breakthroughs of others to jump-start your success. Speaker, author, adventurer, and host Heather Hansen O’Neill takes you on the journey from fear to fire. Today we talk about conscious transformation and the desire to feel at home within it.
This week’s theme: Conscious TransformationPeople are creatures of habit, and change can be uncomfortable and challenging to accept even if it is a positive change. When we go through transformation, it can be disorienting and frightening. We want to feel like we belong in our new environment, and that we can call it our home where we feel loved and cared for. To feel at home in our transformation requires time and work, but it is doable with creativity and resiliency. We can develop a sense of home and comfort by exploring, interacting with, and personalizing our new environment.
Jake SassevilleJake Sasseville is a serial media, music, and hospitality entrepreneur, author, and podcaster. He is the CEO and Founder of Imiloa Institute in Costa Rica, was the youngest host in late-night TV history on ABC, and the White House named him one of the most “innovative entrepreneurs under 30.” Imiloa is booked years in advance, and clients renew at a rate of 86%.
INC Magazine wrote that Jake has “more than enough chutzpah” to scale any business, and Huffington Post wrote that he’s built an impactful career at “the intersection of culture and consciousness.”
Connect with Jake:
Website Or Facebook, Instagram, and LinkedIn
Quote of the Day:
“You can focus on things that are barriers or you can focus on scaling the wall or redefining the problem.” ~Tim Cook
As I peered out on the wet and gloomy morning today from the warmth and comfort of my home, I was once again reminded of just how thankful I was for this day. And as I reached out for my coffee cup, I recognized the tinge of discomfort in my shoulder and the cramping in my hand as I went to pick it up by the handle. They were my body’s way of reminding me there are limits to what it can tolerate.
This was to be a day that forced me to slow down and find my center, my place of peace and comfort, allowing my mind, body, and soul to mend from all they had witnessed and felt throughout the week.
A day that was to not only revitalize me but one in which my cat would also find comfort. As I sat long enough for her to sprawl out across my lap, one of her favorite resting places. I listened as her purring softly slowed down until I no longer hear it, telling me she was resting, knowing that her world was as it should be.
With the quiet solitude of the morning being manipulated ever so slightly by the soft music of my favorite musicians, I re-evaluated my thoughts on this day, realizing that this day’s rest would enable me to find the strength to face another day.
A day when I’ll once again listen to the chickadees as they play in the bows of the spruce trees and watch the rabbits run about underneath as they play. Another day of living life as it should be; seen, felt, and heard, one in which your soul can sing.
Mark Nelson O’Brien is a thinker and does something about it. He writes. “A popular expression says Everybody’s got a story- I’m luckier than most, I have many.” (descriptor for Random Thoughts: A Writer’s Notebook). His writing and conversations dig deep into the territory of entertainment and inspiration.
Our conversation/storytelling session with Mark will be chockful of stories that invite interpretation and fun! Mark tells us stories of being unfocused and confused – and yet “never afraid of change” – He just knew he was not cut out for corporate bureaucracy. Not good at being anonymous or invisible. And that’s worked out just fine.
Who is Mark O’Brien? Mark Nelson O’Brien is the principal of O’Brien Communications Group (obriencg.com), a B2B brand-management and marketing firm he founded in 2004. He’s also the co-founder and President of EinSource (einsource.com). And he’s a lifelong writer. You can see all of his published work on Amazon. Including Random Thoughts: A Writer’s Notebook ( 2022).
As some readers may know, for a time before I started writing on BizCatalyst 360°, I wrote about being an immigrant in Silicon Valley on my website US DK Expats.
This piece is about writing, not about that content. There is no need for you to go and check out what I wrote unless you are going to CA and can use some pointers on what touristy things off the ordinary you might want to experience.
Seeing Dennis’ piece about writing, I wondered if those of you who write regularly have had an experience similar to mine:
It was very easy to write the backbone of my website. Some parts were about things I had studied. Some sections I took from letters I had written back to family and friends over the years. And writing was an excuse to research a little more about California history and geography – not an unwelcome task under normal circumstances for someone like me.
What gradually became a source of concern was, however, how writing my regular blog posts made me remote from what I was experiencing. Going to a museum or an event for the first time didn’t just open my eyes and mind, taking in the experience. I had a running commentary in the back of my head, preparing how I should turn this experience into a blog post.
When I read a piece of news about startups or f###ups, there was that little voice again, telling me to have an opinion on things that were none of my concern, usually something that was not very positive – and who asked me, anyway?
It is not that I don’t stand by my words, nor do I regret writing. But I didn’t like the person I became, when I was not fully present in the moments I should just enjoy – because all the time it was like I was carrying around an imaginary audience in “my back pocket”.
Today, I wonder if the many people who don’t seem to be able to enjoy anything awesome without having to document it on Instagram are suffering from the same “malaise” – only they may not be aware of it? Could it make a difference if you post for friends and family/a known audience with names and faces rather than just putting your things out in the webby wide world?
Fortunately, writing for BizCatalyst 360° doesn’t seem to have a similar effect on me. Perhaps because I feel I write for friends and not an imaginary audience.
But I thought I would ask you, my writing friends and colleagues, do you ever have a voice running commentary/ruining when you are just supposed to enjoy your day?
We all have our household junk drawers. Probably in the laundry room or kitchen. There are two classes of “junk” in our junk drawers. Useful stuff and not-so-useful stuff.
The useful stuff consists of things like a pair of pliers, a couple of screwdrivers, maybe a flashlight, and a partial roll of duct tape and you know why that stuff is there. Then there are the other things. You have no idea why they are there when they got there, or even where they came from.
The not-so-useful stuff probably consists of things like a bent paper clip, a bobby pin, an assortment of batteries of questionable strength, a roll of string, a scrap of sandpaper, and a few screws, nuts, and bolts. There are usually a couple of thingies that you don’t even know what they are.
From time to time we need to clean out the junk drawer and toss the not-so-useful items.
Then there is the other junk drawer. The one in the mind. Oh yes, we all have them and they too have both useful and not-so-useful items in them. The useful items consist of happy memories of people, places, and events. They hold the glow from successes and good decisions.
These junk drawers of the mind also hold memories of disappointments, failures, hurts, failed relationships, and poor decisions.
Like the household junk drawer, the junk drawer of the mind needs to be cleaned out from time to time. Trash the bad and hurtful items. These are the things that spoil our peace of mind, impact our happiness, and can even lead to depression. Cleaning this one is harder than the one in the laundry room, but practice will make it easier.
How long has it been since you cleaned out your two junk drawers?
I am a poet
I don’t like to act under any duress
I love to enjoy my freedom
Not being scripted by the ruling fraternity to satiate their souls at random.
Poets are having an inherent capacity
To draw a picture of future suppose to be emerged with their audacity
None in the corridor of power like their integrity
Poets are always subjected to few nefarious faculties atrocity!
Poets are like caged bard
As long they sing to soothe their master’s heart
They are fed and nurtured with care by their masters
Failing which they unknowingly script their tryst with destiny
When masters find them futile, no longer bringing any melody
They tend to kill them for their flesh without any qualms or any sense of guilty
Their existence is just obliterated from nature’s floor by the whims
of their masters
When their voices no longer satiate the desire of their masters!
Birds death hardly having any impact on human’s faculty
They die regularly in huge number silently
But we human feel abruptly startled
When a stone block fell in nature’s surface
We could realize evidently the impact of strong force and gravity
Weak force do have a say in our available vicinity
But hardly having any impact on our mental fecundity!
Since time immemorial poets are struggling
To serve mankind with their adept style
Paving the way for a new world to emerge
Where equality overbears and makes a huge appeal to the majority to
promote a sensible ruckus!
Episode Summary3 tips to help you clarify what’s heard and said in a conversation.
Episode NotesHello to you listening in Weatherford, Texas!
Coming to you from Whidbey Island, Washington this is Stories From Women Who Walk with 60 Seconds for Thoughts on Thursday and your host, Diane Wyzga.
A man drives into a filling station and asks the attendant to fill the tank with gas. The attendant sees 3 penguins standing on the back seat of the car and tells the man, Hey! You should take those penguins to the zoo. The man says, Good idea! And drives away.
About a week later the same man returns to the filling station and asks the attendant to fill the tank. The attendant sees the same 3 penguins but now they’re wearing sunhats, sunglasses, and beach sandals. He says, Hey! I thought I told you to take those penguins to the zoo! I did, replied the man, And we had such a good time today we’re going to the beach!
Practical Tip: We think we know it all, don’t we? Most of us haven’t heard the half of it when we speak with others. Conversation is a mutual exchange. To have clarity in our conversations let’s begin by asking ourselves:
What did they say?
What did I hear?
Was it the same, or different?
You’re invited*: “Come for the stories – stay for the magic!” Speaking of magic, I hope you’ll subscribe, follow, share a 5-star rating and nice review on your social media or podcast channel of choice, and join us next time!* Remember to stop by the website, check out the Services, arrange a Discovery Call, and Opt-In to stay current with Diane and Quarter Moon Story Arts and on LinkedIn.
Stories From Women Who Walk Production Team
Podcaster: Diane F Wyzga & Quarter Moon Story Arts
Music: Mer’s Waltz from Crossing the Waters by Steve Schuch & Night Heron Music
Plant
Plant based
Plant based butter
Bought
Dark
Dark chocolate
Dark chocolate chips
Found
Flour
Flour and water
Unleavened flour and water
Boxed
Pan
Pan and parchment paper
Pan, parchment paper and oven mitts
Ready
Bubbling
Bubbling toffee
Bubbling toffee flowing
Poured
Flowing
Flowing voices
Flowing voices of joy
Heard
Streaming
Streaming lines
Streaming lines of people
Seen
Seeing
Seeing straight
Seeing straight ahead and back again
To watch
To watch out
To watch out for an attack
To survive
To survive plagues
To survive the attack of ten plagues
Looking
Looking for a sign
Looking for a sign of survival
To watch
To watch out
To watch out for water
Water
What is water?
Water is life
Life
Life
Life flows
Life flows in water
Flowing in water is a plant based basket
Basket
A basket
A basket made of plants
A basket made of plants and tears
Tears
Tears and sand
Tears, sand and sweat
Sweat
Sweat and salt
Sweat, salt water, and bittersweet tears
Sweat, salt water, and bittersweet tears of birth
Birth
Birth of secrets
Birth of secrets and servitude
Birth of secrets, servitude and freedom
Freedom
Freedom to pause
Pause
Pause to retell
Pause to remember
Pause to count
Pause to be counted
Pause to ask
Pause to answer
Answer
Answer a call
Answer the call
The call
The call for freedom
Freedom
Free
Free to drink
Free to drink water
Free to drink water from the well
Well
Well enough
Well enough to sing
Sing
Sing of freedom
Sing of freedom and dance
Sing of freedom and dance with timbrels
Freedom to sing and dance with timbrels across the desert
Desert
Desert of life
Desert of life and death
Desert of life, death and remembrance
Remember
Remember the ingredients
Remember the ingredients of your beliefs
Believe
Believe you can
Believe you can survive
Believe you can survive and thrive
Thrive
Thrive forwards
Thrive forwards with one step
Thrive forwards with one tiny might step
Steps count
Recount
Count
Out
You
You count,
Not
To
Forget
An original poem by Hope Blecher Croney
The 30days30works prompt was to do something backwards. My backwards was starting with baking desserts for Passover before cooking the first course of a meal during which we gathered to tell the story of an exodus.
I baked matzo toffee. The ingredients were plant based butter, dark brown sugar, matzah, dark chocolate chips, sweet raisins, and salty nut pieces
Why do we try and make another’s experience better for them? Is it altruistic and about them, or are we actually doing it for ourselves? Supporting someone else in having a positive emotional experience can be a wonderful thing when we are not looking for anything back and we have no expectation other than to give.
For many of us, inconsistency in our early home life had us try and make things better for our caregivers as a way to make things OK for ourselves. We learned when our caregivers were feeling ‘OK’, we had a better chance of getting our own needs met. If our caregivers were not feeling OK, it felt unsafe, and we became very vulnerable thinking our needs won’t get met. The ego came to our emotional rescue as children as we had no way to handle this type of emotional pain (abandonment, neglect, rejection). Our ego created a strategy that gave us something to do about the issue instead of seeing our caregivers as unable to help us. It told us that we were the problem. It may have sounded like ‘you have to do more to be enough for them change’ or ‘you have to change to be more lovable so they will pay attention to you, etc.’ This strategy (it’s not you, it’s me) gave us some control over the situation. Unfortunately, this strategy can stay with us through adulthood as we find ourselves still playing out experiences based on these same strategies. We may find ourselves having too much to do (at work, in relationships) as a way to feel like we are doing enough, or trying to change something about ourselves (body, dress, face) to get the attention we want. We can break this old spell if we understand our ego’s motivation.
For me, my ego decided that I must be responsible for my mother’s experience since the only times I felt safe and OK was when she was feeling relaxed – which I was able to influence. I worked hard to anticipate what her experience might be in any given situation. If I could be ‘prepared’ for her reaction, then I could help her feel better. Then, I could stay safe and get what I needed.
As a young adult, I spent most of my time thinking about the future and anticipating what may happen to stay safe. This kept me out of the present moment where my true safety lived. I saw it happening in my relationship with my husband and I decided to stop being responsible for his experience. That meant not trying to make him feel better when he felt frustrated, sad, disappointed, or struggled to gain control by controlling the small stuff in his life. Instead, I focused on my experience in the moment., What did I need or want to feel safe and supported rather than expecting it to come from someone else. I’ve learned this makes more space in all of my relationships by allowing everyone else to just be where they are without me needing to fix or change anything.
I caught myself recently trying to keep my husband from having an uncomfortable experience in the kitchen. I took over doing the chore which would have resulted in me being late for a work call. In that moment, I realized it wasn’t my job to make him more comfortable and that he can handle his own experiences – even the uncomfortable ones. I didn’t have to protect him from being uncomfortable in order to protect myself from his negative emotions. I left him to do it, made my call on time, and it all worked out fine for us both.
Now, I pay attention to what I’m experiencing inside and out. Staying embodied in what I’m thinking, feeling, smelling, seeing, tasting, and anything else I’m consciously aware of that is happening with me. What’s happening inside of and around me is the experience that I’m responsible for – I’m the one in here, and I know what’s best for me! Only I know what feels right to me in each moment without needing to impinge on what is right for others. That is the place where I can truly be responsible for my own experience and allow others to do the same for themselves.
How can you be responsible for your own experience today?
It started with an empty box and a 5-minute activity: find 10 ‘treasures’ that we may (or may not) be ready to let go of during our Find Your Simple group clearing session. As I walked through the rooms of my mostly clutter-free home, all I could see were rocks.
Seriously.
Painted rocks. Crystals. Cairns. Fossils & precious stone collections. Bowls of rocks awaiting my paint pens.
By the time I returned to our zoom room, I was laughing…a bit sheepishly. Am I the only one who collects ‘special’ rocks, bringing back one or two (or five) to commemorate a significant nature moment?
OK, so my #blessingrocks have brought many a smile to the people who receive them, and this creative outlet has been a joyful pastime. The fossils were given to us by a friend and are very interestingly sorted into categories in their ornate box inside a curio cabinet. The cairns are a reminder of sorts, bringing me back to several significant trips, pointing me toward those times of simple being.
But still.
How many rocks does one woman need?
I decided my first clearing project would be to really look at the rocks in my life, and if you know me by now, you’ll realize this quickly became about more than the physical rocks.
Yes, I did remove many of the rocks from my house, after gathering them into one space, sorting, and then choosing what I truly want to keep. The rest I moved into the garden.
As I moved rocks, I considered the projects that have started to feel heavy in my mental-emotional spaces. Most of these were taken on with enthusiasm, but together they are starting to topple my energy.
My soul wants plenty of spaciousness and freedom to flow, to create, to connect in the moment. When I am too busy with promises and projects, I often miss the miracle of showing up for the spontaneous mystery of life.
Part of me believes this sounds selfish, but being busy with too many things that don’t bring joy is like having too many rocks lying around the house: heavy.
Which reminds me of the time-management story where the professor asks her students to fill a glass jar with large rocks (most important), then tiny pebbles (less important but still necessary), and finally sand (insignificant) to reflect the activities in their lives. When the jar is filled in that order, there is room for all three. If the order is reversed, the insignificant activities (sand) take up all the space and there is no room for the most important (rocks).
So maybe gathering all those rocks is a GOOD thing!
But back to the purpose of this article, which is not only to admit that I can have a sense of humor when I discover how many ways I am not practicing the art of simplicity.
I am writing about…moving rocks!
What’s the purpose of moving (and letting go of) rocks or other treasures…and why do we gather these treasures in the first place?
Humans are made to gather…it’s how we survive times of lack. But when we gather too much, hold on too long, attach too strongly to our belongings, beliefs, and behaviors, then our energy becomes stale rather than flowing.
Movement is essential. It’s how life evolves.
Moving stuff creates freshness in more than our physical spaces. After I moved the rocks and other physical clutter from my house, my mind started to feel lighter…even before I let go of any of my ‘too-many’ projects. The physical moving shifted how I was holding all of my commitments, bringing my mind into balance and releasing the joy flow.
I’m still likely to let go of a few of the projects that are no longer serving, but for now it feels good to simply notice the spaciousness, especially after taking 2-weeks off-grid in the beautiful red ROCK canyons of Valley of Fire.
In this moment, I am also congratulating myself for returning from that trip having left ALL of the rocks in nature where they belong.
Images courtesy of the author
I’m sitting in the silence of my today
The space between the music, thoughts, memories
The space before the sounds of the day ahead emerge …
It’s a still place
A silent space
A soft space
A deep space
A knowing place
A holding space
A comforting space
A space from which to gain strength
A space in which to feel love
A space of warmth
A space of depth and richness
A space of hope
A sacred place
Life dries up for some people. Their lives become full of dryness. Dryness of hope, future possibilities, and dryness of brains.This is what I felt reading the life story of Jean L. Serio in her chapter of the great and recently released book “Mission Hope”. The book has many other stories that are worthy, but this post focuses on the story shared by Jean titled “The Universe Doesn’t Always Accept Your Plan”, pages 149-155.
Jeans’ story is a great example of her struggle with many duties since she was a child. While other children were playing and enjoying life, Jean was taking care of her ailing sister and making sure to look after her. She endured this responsibility for years. When finally she managed to attend college, her studies and dreams fell through, as again she had to care for her maternal mother and grandfather.
There is no one way to describe the pain than of the one who suffered from it. Reading Jean’s descriptions of how much she had to cope with made me realize how my life was easy compared to hers. She accepted her duties and I found almost no complaints in her writing. She suffered but with admirable endurance.
That suffering eventually had some nice rewards for her. First, when she attended church and met a wise man who irrigated her dry hopes and revived them. After graduation, she met her old love from years ago. The surprise was that both got promotion offers to relocate to two places that were very close. That was convenient for both of them to meet and get closer to marry and lead a happy life together.
A great reward is the discovery that all the hardships Jean faced enhanced her resilience and awakening to the fact helped her exceed her responsibilities evidenced by her more than doubling her sales target at work. Jean’s experiences and studies helped qualify her in moving to human resources for which she was well suited. She was emotionally intelligent and understood people’s behaviors. Jean became an authority on human resources and managed with empathy and kindness.
The pains we suffer today are the hope of having a bright future. Never let your heart dry up. Read the book and you shall find many other inspiring stories.
Life is a testing ground. The book shows you that suffering can be a prelude to a meaningful life.
I moved to Waverly Iowa which was about a twenty-minute drive from Waterloo. Turns out Tom had moved there as well to be closer to his job. I started working at a restaurant called Carver’s restaurant. I worked my way up to lead server and was able to hire and fire and do the scheduling. They had a banquet room, and I did a lot of banquets as it was a guaranteed 15 percent gratuity. However, I was working so much that I started getting speed white cross and black beauties from a brother to stay awake and keep up with the work.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS BELOW︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 9): Homeward Bound
But I was making enough to make it on my own now. I tried working in the bar as a bartender there it was called Friar Tucks my mother was a bartender during the days. I was scared for some reason maybe because it was mostly men in there. I met a guy by the name of Gary who was very nice he was tall and heavy a long black beard and long thin black hair with a receding forehead. Not at all a handsome man but he was as kind as a teddy bear, and I felt somehow calm and protected when he was around. I was to go in and work a Saturday by myself for the first tie and my anxiety was running high. I felt faint and flushed before I even unlocked the doors to the bar I went into the women’s bathroom and that’s all I could remember I had passed out and the owner found me on the floor in the bathroom. My mother was called, and she came to work for me. I decided I just wasn’t cut out to be a bartender and just concentrated on being a server after that incident but Gary ad I had gotten to be good friends and often after work I would go sit in the bar and visit with him.
Meanwhile, my dad lost his job at Sears and Roebuck company after 28 years not sure why, but they cheated him out of his retirement as well. He was jobless and fell into a deep depression. At the age of fifty. Gary and I were getting along so well I brought the subject up of living together and he thought it was a promising idea. So, I moved in with him. He worked at John Deer’s and had his own house and a nice truck and El Camino car to drive I had nothing.
I was looking for security and on the rebound from Tom and Gary was so nice to me a perfect gentleman. I was still married to Tom. He had a girlfriend or friends and was doing his own thing. Gary and I got closer in our relationship not physically but emotionally and when he asked me to marry, I said yes. As I said at that time I had extremely low self-esteem and was looking for some sense of security. And I thought I could keep working and go to college and get a degree after all Gary would pay the bills. Or I would even be able to help my parents out with bills as they still had my younger brother and sister living at home and I knew they were having a tough time making ends meet.
I was driving an old Oldsmobile of Gary’s to and from work and when he bought El Camino, he let me drive it. His friends all told him I just wanted after his money they didn’t believe I could care for a burly guy like Gary who looked like a lumberjack. That made me angry because the truth was yes, I was looking for security, but I fully intended to pay for my education and help my parents. So, I filed for divorce from Tom I was finally going to throw the towel in and start fresh. But when it came to the last day before the court to dissolve the marriage, I had to see Tom one more time I had to be sure. I told Gary I was going to speak with Tom, and I went to his Apartment. He knew I had filed as he was served the papers. I told him how I felt and that I still had a love for him. He held me in his arms all night and we talked in daylight I asked the ultimate question. If you can promise me, you won’t fool around on me anymore I won’t divorce you. He looked me straight in the eyes and said I’m sorry I can’t promise you that. I thanked him for being honest and I went to leave.
The Oldsmobile was gone. Gary had come in the night to get it. I went to the Waterloo Courthouse that day and appeared in court. Tom never showed up so the divorce was granted we would both keep whatever personal belongings we had. We never had any property to divide up as we were poor when together living from paycheck to paycheck. I felt a deep void in me at the time that I didn’t know if it would ever be filled, I had fought so hard for us to make it and in the end, I failed. Meanwhile, there was Gary to deal with.
To be continued…
While waiting in a doctor’s office last week, I came across this article in the January 30/February 6 edition of Time: “How India Became the Most Important Country in the Climate Fight”. The article noted the difference between the poor state of Jharkhand, in east India, that mines coal (bad) — and Rajasthan, a state in northwestern India, that has wind turbines and solar panels (good). As an indication of Jharkhand’s badness, the article says this:
India will soon be the most important country in the climate change effort … India contributes 7% of the emissions that cause global warming today.
Got that? Countries are important to the climate-change effort, whatever climate change is and whatever that effort is. And global warming is such a given — the science is so settled — that India can be justly blamed for seven percent of it. Done. Not a question to be found. Not a shred of skepticism or curiosity. What we do have, of course, is science. And all of it is settled.
Given the badness of Jharkhand in particular, and of India in general, what’s to be done? The article is as glad you asked that question as it is you didn’t ask any other, more pointed, logical, and objective questions. Here’s its answer:
The International Energy Agency (IEA) estimates India needs $1.4 trillion in additional investment in coming decades to align its energy system with global climate targets; that will very likely require reforms at international lenders like the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank to facilitate the flow of money.
Yep. It’s all about the flow of money. And for poor countries like India and its poorest states like Jharkhand, where is that money going to flow from? Do you have a mirror handy? That’s right. Thanks to globalization, organizations like the IEA, the IMF, and the World Bank, the money’s going to flow from you and me in the form of new national and global regulations and their attendant individual taxes. And those regulations and taxes won’t care at all about your household budget, making your ends meet, or the obscenely inflated economy in which you’re trying to make those ends meet.
Ain’t feeling good grand?
The Bear Facts
Speaking of feeling bad, we all remember our heartstrings being de-tuned and all but severed by the National Geographic video of a seemingly starving polar bear, don’t we? Jon Miltimore, author of “The Myth That the Polar Bear Population Is Declining” does. And he calls bullshit on it:
The video, shot by photographers Paul Nicklen and Cristina Mittermeier … sparked outcry over the decimation of polar bears due to global warming … scientists accused National Geographic of “being loose with the facts.” There was no evidence, many pointed out, that the bear’s condition was the result of climate change … Mittermeier admitted as much a year later. “I can’t say that this bear was starving because of climate change,” she wrote in National Geographic.
Well, then. Under those circumstances, we can forgive Miltimore for using the word, myth. He didn’t mean myth. He meant fallacy. The notion that myth and fallacy mean the same thing is a fallacy. But since Miltimore also went on to make this point, we can definitely cut him some slack:
That picture of a single starving bear arguably did more to advance the issue of climate change than any white paper or IPCC report could have. Unfortunately … The State of the Polar Report 2018 put the new global mid-point estimate [of the polar bear population] at more than 30,000 … the estimate is the highest since the polar bear became internationally protected in 1973.
Ooh. That, as a former boss of mine whom we dubbed Queen of the Malaprop would have said, is a flaw in the ointment. And it’s definitely a crimp in the narrative that’s been packaged and sold to us for decades now about anthropogenic global warming, climate change, the indiscriminate decimation of the polar-bear population, and our culpability in all of it, isn’t it? Ouch!
I Know One Place Where It’s Really Warm
It really is kind of a letdown that even the venerable National Geographic is in on the scam. Or maybe it isn’t. If you have a product to sell — as with a magazine, a television network, and a political agenda as National Geographic surely does — messages like everything is pretty much okay, people aren’t going to affect the climate of a dynamic organism like an entire planet, and don’t you have better things to do like taking care of yourself and each other? aren’t going to bring home the bacon (sorry, the plant-based pork substitute).
Ralph Waldo Emerson knew who we should trust. In “Self-Reliance”, he wrote:
God will not have his work made manifest by cowards. A man is relieved and gay when he has put his heart into his work and done his best; but what he has said or done otherwise, shall give him no peace. It is a deliverance which does not deliver. In the attempt his genius deserts him; no muse befriends; no invention, no hope. Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.
It’s been suggested to me on occasion that even God reads National Geographic. Call me skeptical, but I suspect he knows better. At the very least, he’s likely to take Commandment eight or nine, depending on your religious tradition, a little more seriously than National Geographic or your more pedestrian peddlers of political posturing do: “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”
I’ve never been neighbors with National Geographic or a polar bear; although, I did cross paths with Al Gore once. It was Monday, January 21st, 2008. I was in the airport in Milwaukee to catch a flight home from a series of client meetings. The wind off Lake Michigan was gusting in excess of 60 miles per hour that day. The temperature was at least minus four degrees Fahrenheit, and the windchill was minus ridiculous. Big Al was in town to give a speech about global warming at Lambeau Field. Nobody showed up.
All of that notwithstanding, I have to call shenanigans on National Geographic, global warming, climate change, the IPCC, the IEA, the IMF, the World Bank, and all their attendant global wealth-redistribution schemes purported to set everything right with the planet. And I have to hope there’s a special place in Hell for Big Al and his exploitative political ilk.
You should, too.
Waiting for the first bumblebee to present itself upon a favorite flower, is an optimistic delight. Hovering and buzzing wings. A wonder with the weight of pollen. Flying, let alone hovering, seeking, and finally choosing ideal blooms that come in line with fussy expectations.
Bumblebees are certainly rather incredible. In theory, they cannot fly, but Nature’s generosity allows them to be greeted by blooms as there is a distinct mutuality of mission; spreading and collecting pollen.
Having written about bumblebees many times, I never cease to be enlightened by these beautiful but gentle giants.
They sting not. Some say they should be called humblebees.
They exchange a mutual courtesy, never seemingly aggressive to one another. Should two land upon a small flower, a polite parting is exchanged; almost ‘have a nice day’.
Bumblebee Rescue!I feel they are certainly worthy of being recognized as one of Nature’s special creatures. Hence perhaps a sense of pleasurable ‘duty’ to rescue such delightful beings. On numerous occasions a bumblebee has been so weighed down with pollen, falling over, often on its back.
Last year, walking along a sidewalk, I noticed a bumblebee loaded with pollen, legs slowly moving, knowing not what to do. With some assistance, I managed to elevate it onto my finger allowing it to be ultimately placed upon a flower.
Another example is how fussy they are. One such fellow that crawled on my hand and was introduced to a small variety of blooms, kept turning around, crawling up my hand, signalling such a bloom did not meet its expectations.
Eventually, a potential flower was found. I turned it around, formerly introducing it to a bloom that came up to its expectations. With what seemed like some form of acknowledgment and an impression of gratitude.
When seen by people during such a rescue operation their looks are a balance of curiosity and wonderment. Especially when many folks think they sting.
I do trust this story has provided a buzz.
A few words can change the course of a life; they have the power to shrink, expand or transform someone’s identity — even your own. Social psychologist Mesmin Destin explores how everyday interactions and experiences play a powerful part in who we become, sharing the key moments and messages that can inspire us to grow into our best selves.
Empathy and sympathy are not just two different approaches to confronting the emotional challenges of others; they are diametrically opposite responses in many important ways. Sympathy places another’s problems at a distance from us, places us in a position of superiority, and “drives separation”, says the film’s narrator, Dr. Brené Brown. Empathy, on the other hand, requires that one internalize the feelings of another. That shared experience drives interpersonal connection, she says. “What makes things better is connection.”
The emergence of data-driven mass surveillance “is threatening to turn privacy into a relic of the 20th century,” says the anonymous YouTube creator known as Ordinary Things. Meanwhile, state-funded troll farms are spreading disinformation and curating chaos on platforms meant to connect us and revolutionize the way we live. Ordinary Things gives an enlightening account of the internet’s strengths and weaknesses, warning that the fight for a free internet is a fight for our collective future.
We all experience it: that desire to do something wrong just for the sake of it. Whether it’s walking on manicured grass or sticking your finger in a friend’s ice cream, psychologist Paul Bloom invites us to see the clever, creative, and beautiful side of these minor impulses to do bad. He dives into the psychology behind this all-too-human condition — and proposes that it helps make our world a little more unpredictable and fun.
I have always been fascinated to hear stories of people who experienced past lives. So, in the 70s, I jumped at the opportunity when I saw an ad in the newspaper about Dr. Helen Wambach offering to regress people interested in learning more about their past life. I called my friends and invited them to join me. To my surprise, they expressed various fears, so I went alone.
I arrived at Dr. Wambach’s home in Concord Ca with $20, a pillow, and a blanket. There were about twelve people, and she told us to pick a spot on her family room floor. As everyone settled down, Dr. Wambach sat in the corner, puffed on a cigarette, and spoke about her research and what to expect.
It took a while to get everyone to relax. Dr. Wambach told us to be aware of any images that appear in our minds as she named countries and centuries, Ancient Greece, Egypt, Europe, China, and America in the 1600s, 1700s, 1800s, and 1900s. I wasn’t getting any images until she mentioned the 1800s. I saw a vague silhouette of a lady in a long white dress.
Dr. Wambach said, “Focus on the strongest image.” Since I only had one, I concentrated on the lady in white. She told us to go to the home, look out the window and observe the surroundings. I was on the second floor of a large house with stables and a dirt courtyard for horses and carriages. Now go to the medicine cabinet and look inside. I saw a few small bottles and jars. However, I still thought I was creating what I wanted to see. Then she told us to look at our hands; I was surprised when I mentally looked down and saw tiny hands, which didn’t make sense because the white lady was a grown woman. Then I realized I was looking at the lady in white as a small child sitting at a table with her family. We were poor and sad because my brother had died. At that moment, I understood that the lady in white was me. I wanted to know more, but Dr. Wambach moved on to observe the death scene of the lady in white. I felt no discomfort as I considered what my children had accomplished. I felt grateful!
Dr. Wambach encouraged us to reach back into an earlier life. I saw a small Indian boy in the southwest setting a snare trap, but that image turned into a grown Indian man. I was confused as I became aware that I had raped a woman. My enemies lured me to an isolated place where an arrow pierced my chest. As I lay dying, I was angry that my enemies had tricked me.
After several hours, and more encounters, Dr. Wambach had us gradually return to reality and share our stories. One man slept through it all, while others lived everyday lives in many countries. Several people excitedly discussed their unique journeys and drew designs they had seen in their villages or on their clothing so they could do research. We all filled out a form about our experiences to contribute to Dr. Wambach’s research.
As I headed home, I realized my journey was to raise successful children despite my difficult childhood and make a positive difference as I move forward in my evolution. I understood that we are here to learn from our challenging lessons. That experience changed my life, and many years later, I am still working to fulfill my mission to empower families, neighborhoods, and communities.
Life is challenging, but we all have incredible power if we learn lessons today and from past lives. We need to evolve past anger, hate, revenge, or violence toward other people because there will be consequences in our future life.
For many years, we thought today’s humans only use 10% of our brains, which may or may not be a myth.
- What if a portion of our brain stores information from past lives that can help us develop our character, courage, and self-awareness?
- What if we teach our children to respect and listen to their elders with an open mind? Perhaps, they would be less violent and reject drugs and self-harm if they understood their life has meaning and consequences. Learning the hard way is a difficult path!
We are all on a journey of self-discovery, enlightenment, and evolution. We need leaders who have evolved to help keep communities safe as citizens work together to create healthy families that offer love and support for every child.
At some point, people working with me hear “My journey is my goal, my path is my prize.”
I don’t remember many of my teachers asking me what I wanted to learn. The few that did were more interested in learning about me, and my answers would be revealing. Most of my studies involved meeting with my teachers and them asking me about things in general or if I had any questions about the previous lesson.
They would listen to me, focusing all their attention on me. If you ever want an uncomfortable experience, sit face-to-face with someone who knows everything about you, things you don’t even know or remember, who knows stuff about you that you don’t even know yet, while they focus all their attention on you.
It can get intense.
Then there’s another level that most people are completely unprepared for; the only reason your teacher is your teacher is because they love you, care about you, and want success for you in ways you probably won’t understand until you’ve been working with them for a while.
But as I was saying (you think I get sidetracked now, take a class with me!) nobody ever said something like “Today we’re going to learn …” I’m sure they had things they wanted to teach me or things they thought I needed to learn, and those always took a backseat to what I needed to learn or what the Universe needed me to learn.
So we would talk, they would listen, and 99% of the time they would make suggestions regarding some personal problem I was having, something that was making my life less fulfilling than it could be. They would help me understand how to live my life better and always there would be some part of our work that would help me if I was willing to put in the effort.
It’s not about moving mountains and it’s not about being better than others and it’s not about being some kind of superbeing who can do incredible things. It’s all about being a better you right now right where you are right here in this moment.
Don’t expect miracles. They’ll happen when you’re ready.
Until then, enjoy the ride. Let your journey itself be your goal, let your path be your prize. Everything else comes soon enough.
But for now. Enjoy the ride.
My father passed away 23 years ago in March 2000, at the age of 66. He lived for about 3450 weeks, well short of the average life span. He worked most of his life and then had multiple medical problems which stole the ability to enjoy his later years in a way he would have preferred.
The book 4000 Weeks by Oliver Burkeman explores the idea of living life to the fullest. Through stories, advice, and personal anecdotes, Burkeman encourages readers to embrace the uncertainty of life and to find joy in the moments that make up our lives. He explores the popularized concept of time management from a different point of view, by tapping into ancient knowledge from famous philosophers, researchers, and spiritual figures, rather than promoting the contemporary idea of high-level productivity and constant self-optimization. I highly recommend checking it out if you are not familiar with this book.
The concept of 4000 weeks: the average time we are expected to live on this planet.
The real problem isn’t our limited time. The real problem—or so I hope to convince you—is that we’ve unwittingly inherited, and feel pressured to live by, a troublesome set of ideas about how to use our limited time**, all of which are pretty much guaranteed to make things worse.
–Oliver Burkeman
As I came to the anniversary of his passing, I wondered about my dad and how he might have spent the last 23 years had he survived, a thought I have often had. He would have seen me raise two amazing boys to adulthood. He would have experienced my growing love of fishing over the years, something he used to do when he was younger, and would have probably gone with me and my family for some of our adventures. He would have been able to try new things, experience some of the joy in all of our lives, and also seen all the wonderful things his wife has done in nearly a quarter century since his parting.
I am just over 2800 weeks into my journey, and am more focused on what a week brings to my life than ever before. My remaining 1200 (+ or -) are full of possibilities and potential. How about you? How are you spending your weeks? Are they all the same — work 40, shop for groceries, do some chores, maybe a night out or going fishing once in while — repeat?
Or do you genuinely try to work in unique experiences with your family and friends, to make each and every week count?
The only route to psychological freedom is to let go of the limit-denying fantasy of getting it all done and instead to focus on doing a few things that count.
–Oliver Burkeman
The drive home from Boone was a time of reflection on my winter of healing at Henry’s farm. It was now a time of letting go of the pain and finally going home after several years of playing music and helping him work the farm. I knew I had been gone for too long and I missed my mom and dad. They were understanding and caring, and I was missing them so deeply, but I would see them in a few hours.
I loved driving through the country, the winding roads and farmland calmed my soul. I knew I would always love the backroads and lost highways. They would always be the part of my life that defined me, made me who I was. Like the highways, life had many turns, bumpy dirt roads and little did I know that soon I would walk a new path.
I took a side trip to see some of the old farms where I grew up. Just past Fair Bluff, seeing Spring Branch Church I knew I had to stop. I turned into the parking lot and walked into the Sanctuary. Immediately, I was overwhelmed with thoughts of so many Sundays and so many good memories. I did my first play there and I was a cowboy, still am at heart. I closed my eyes and let the memories flow. It was a good time in my life, the best of times.
It was so quiet in the church that my memories sounded loud and slowly I shook off the memories and watched the Pastor walking toward me to sit in the pew in front of me. In a soft but deep voice he asked if I was alright. I told him that as a child I was here every Sunday. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I told him about leaving the farm and moving to Myrtle Beach. Slowly with effort, the good and the bad of the past five years came out along with the joy, the pain, the loneliness, and the emptiness I felt that forced me to stop playing music.
The Church went quiet as I fought the tears that filled my eyes and finally I told him that I had tried everything without result, so I was going home to my family. He told me he was happy for me and asked to say a prayer for the journey home and then he said, “If I might ask this one more thing, try Jesus.”
He walked me to my van and I knew before midnight I would be home again, with family and new beginning.
Here’s the scenario: life throws you a curve ball. Things don’t go your way. You suffer an embarrassing moment in front of colleagues, your spouse or your kids. You lose the deal, the game, the promotion, or the moment. The other guy wins. You failed. What are your responses?
Yes, I believe there is more than one. Of course, you’ll have an immediate response. However, the sting of losing can linger near term, long term, and for life. How do you react?
I’ve certainly lost out a few times. It’s a natural part of a competitive commerce model. The chance to win or lose is all around us.
The key question is a very simple one… Do you become Bitter or Better?
BitterDo you get bitter over the issue? Will you allow anger or other negative emotions to rule the little place in that video library of your mind? Every time the mention of that moment comes up, will you lash out, thinking or making very vile comments, turning red, and huffing off to simmer in the juices of self-pity all over again? Do you let relationships suffer over that moment?
Sometimes people make a vow to “never let that happen again”.
Staying bitter over the issue has no real positive effects at all. Being bitter has been proven to impact your health. Blood pressure, ulcers, and other factors can build over time as we stew over the bad thoughts and bitterness caused by losing moments.
Those who study emotional intelligence will tell you the way you shift out of being bitter and the speed at which you do it is an indicator of your emotional intelligence scale.
BetterOr are you the kind of person that will make it better? By better, I am talking about assessing the whole truth of the circumstance openly and objectively. Then finding a nugget of gold with which you may prosper by changing some area of your life and thinking:
- your technical/professional knowledge
- your behaviors
- your emotions
By making one or all of these choices, the next time something similar arises, (and it will), you can respond in a much more positive way.
John Maxwell says:
Experience is not good learning. Only informed learning from experience teaches us new things.
Being better also means forgiving any person or group who may have been the source of the bad moment. That little mental video I mentioned should not include the replay of the look on someone else’s face when they “got you”.
Let it go. Be BETTER!
Gratitude is perhaps the most primal expression of psychological and spiritual maturity. And that means being grateful for everything. Even struggle. Even pain.
Even Covid.
In 2012, when Dennis Pitocco conceived his publishing platform, BizCatalyst 360°, the pandemic still loomed far off in an unimagined future. But when the world shut down in 2020 and deprived us of human interaction, his online network rapidly coalesced into a vibrant virtual community of writers and thinkers. Since then, many of us have come to think of ourselves as friends, and even family.
Last week in Tampa, Florida, 50 participants closed the circle at a two-day conference to share ideas and inspiration. Most of all, we came to meet face-to-face and show appreciation for the colleagues and close acquaintances who have enriched our careers and our lives.
Other attendees will have much to say about our unconference. I want to share one distinctly personal anecdote.
Midway through the first afternoon, Allison Kenny took the mic and invited us to spend a few minutes filling out a worksheet. Her topic: belly dancing.
Allison said she would be back in a moment, then disappeared out the door. That’s when my antennae started vibrating. I quietly crossed the room to Dennis and asked, “Is she going to be dancing?”
CULTURE CLASHAccording to strict Jewish law, men are not allowed to watch women dancing (especially women clad in belly-dancing attire). At traditional Jewish weddings, a partition divides the banquet hall; women dance on one side while men dance on the other. Some halls are constructed so that men and women celebrate in different rooms.
Dennis responded to my question in the affirmative, which meant that I would have to excuse myself. I briefly explained my issue, then slipped outside onto the patio for the duration of Allison’s presentation. When she finished, I received the all-clear sign and returned to the room, remaining at the back and attempting to appear innocuous.
Although I wanted to support a fellow member of our community, there was no way for me to circumvent the restrictions of rabbinic law. Nevertheless, I wanted to make sure Allison understood the reason for my absence, so I planned to speak to her privately after the program was over. I assumed that the other attendees wouldn’t give much thought to my absence.
NOW HEAR THIS!Dennis had other ideas. Before moving on to the next phase of the program, he announced, “I think it’s worth mentioning that Yonason had to step out of the room because his faith doesn’t allow him to watch a woman dancing. It speaks well for our community that each of us can hold true to our own principles while still being respectful toward others who have different values.”
He then went on to repeat the rest of our earlier conversation:
Dennis: Would it be a problem if I got up to dance?
Me: That would raise an entirely different set of issues.
The resulting ripple of laughter might have broken the tension. Except that there was no tension to break.
Do I ever experience awkwardness balancing the obligations of Jewish law against the expectations of the secular world? Of course, I do. Female colleagues with whom I’ve grown quite cordial often want to give me a hug; occasionally, their sincere expression of collegiality arrives so unexpectedly that there’s no graceful way to avoid it. Business conversations and meetings may take place in non-kosher restaurants, where I’ll nurse a beverage while everyone else enjoys a meal. It’s happened that I can’t attend events I’ve organized myself because they fall out on Jewish holidays.
That’s not the challenging part.
Simply holding my ground and honoring my principles is not enough. Just as important is doing so in a way that doesn’t cause embarrassment, inflict discomfort, or indicate a lack of respect. That’s why I need to understand the laws well enough to know where they can be bent without breaking them and without appearing inconsistent.
The balancing act can be far from simple.
WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK?Despite Dennis’ announcement, I assumed the episode would pass without further comment. But I was mistaken. Indeed, what happened next was as gratifying as it was unexpected.
Paul Haury approached me and said, “I so admire you for standing firm in your values.” He went on to share the story of teacher-colleagues who once criticized him for allowing a Muslim student to go to one side of the room to recite his prayers. He and I rolled our eyes at those who find reason to take offense at the cultural practices of others.
A bit later, Mariah Edgington found me and said “As much respect as I had for you before, I have even more for you now. In today’s world, finding people who live their values is so rare and so inspiring.”
When I approached Allison, the belly dancer, she was beyond gracious. She thanked me for coming over to explain myself, asked thoughtful questions, and expressed how grateful she was to be able to discuss the topic maturely and politely with a member of the clergy — which has not always been her experience. We also discovered that she shares my reverence for the late British Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks and his remarkable ability to remain firm in his principles while exuding grace and respect toward people from every background and worldview.
STAND BY MEIronically, and sadly, the progressive drift of modern society has turned many traditionalists into apologists for their traditions. Jews and gentiles alike convince themselves that an increasingly libertine world will think less of them if they openly espouse their commitment to time-honored values.
Countless generations ago, the Jewish sages asserted precisely the opposite: the more we conceal or compromise our foundational beliefs, the more contempt we elicit from the culture around us. Conversely, by demonstrating that traditional values are alive and well, we may provide reassurance to those disaffected souls who feel battered by the winds of hedonism. Rather than responding with disdain, perhaps they will take heart to discover that not all have abandoned the ways of established moral discipline.
When we display commitment to solid principles, when we learn to articulate our values so others can understand even if they don’t agree, when we live lives that project integrity and dignity, then we contribute to a respectful society, a stable culture, and a more harmonious world.
I ran
Like a wild beast
Into the night
Not able to expel
Whatever it was
That was at the
Root of my fright!
I have read numerous books on the Civil War. I have learned many things, but the one most consistent is that your view of the war depends on who wrote the book. I suppose that is pretty much a certainty as there are no first-hand witnesses left around. Most of the books are a little, or a lot, slanted to the writer’s opinions and even prejudices. For example, many writers would have the reader believe that the war was about slavery. Not true. The war was about states’ rights, with the issues of economics and humanity of slavery being just one of the many sub-segments.
The two positions continued to slog along for months toward hard and fast points until there was no chance of a resolution except for the southern states to secede and if that meant armed conflict then so be it.
I am one of those that see us tripping down that same path of hardening opinions with declining options to resolve the different views. However, there is one major difference between today and the events of the 1800s. The war back then had fairly defined boundaries. There were northern states and southern states with only a few border states that were not firmly north or south leaning.
One of the hard realities of today is that our country is not run by our elected officials, such as they are. Those elected pass laws and then leave the implementation to dozens of agencies that are run by hired professional bureaucrats with no responsibilities to the electorate. That fact simply compounds the issues of diverse opinions, sometimes even between these agencies.
Today we are not faced with a single issue like states’ rights. We are faced with many issues that divide us as a people and as a country. To list them all would be a herculean task, but a few of the more obvious are:
The security of our borders;
Immigration policy;
Gun control issues;
Law enforcement issues;
The division of our judicial officials;
Division within our educational institutions;
The always present foreign policy matters;
Energy issues;
Sexual orientation issues;
The infighting within our two political parties;
Government budget, debt, and out-of-control social programs;
And of course, a mainstream media that has lost any ability to be believable.
If the worst should happen and civil war should erupt again, I’m not sure anyone can really define who the enemy is.
Worthiness is something we feel or we strive to achieve. Worthy means you have or show the qualities or abilities that merit recognition in a specified way. But why is it that people don’t always feel worthy of what they currently have or the things they dream of? Well plainly said something happened early in life that created a self-limiting belief of unworthiness. It can affect people in many aspects of life in different ways. I learned the feeling of unworthiness was impacting my life in exponential ways. As a little girl, I believed because my purity and wholeness were taken, I was not worthy. And that created a pattern of self-sabotage and resistance throughout life.
But once I started clearing that belief and taking steps to achieve my dreams things began to change and unravel. And the sense of worthiness and self-worth increased. And that brings me to being puppy worthy. I had been dreaming of and wanting a puppy for years. My kids had been dreaming of it too. We even ended up with a bird a few years ago on my search for a pet. But my true sense of worthiness came after jumping into a case that rocked my world and made me face the fears I never dealt with as a child. And in those moments of stress as I reported a case to DCF and dealt with the police all my childhood emotions, fears, and stress hit me full force.
But amidst my chaos, some magic happened and her name is Luna. My son’s girlfriend had her heart set on this gorgeous little Havanese puppy she got the same week I faced my most challenging obstacle. And as I played with Luna my stress response began to calm, my mind cleared, my heart settled and a deep sense of safety filled me. And at that moment I knew a puppy would help me heal. And over the next few weeks, I made it a regular habit to visit with Luna or stop at a puppy shop to play and relax.
And the more I enjoyed the puppies and released the stress the DCF case placed on my nervous system the truth became clear. And over time my courage grew and I finally realized that I was worthy of having a puppy. I realized I was ready and I took a leap to explain to my husband the way Luna had helped me during the DCF case and its impact on my nervous system. And suddenly something shifted and the resistance faded. And my husband said, yes. And I immediately gave a deposit for Cloe who had been born on 8/8/22, 1 week before. And I was blessed to watch her grow over the next few months as I prepared for her arrival. And on October 3rd I met my green-eyed chocolate Havanese. She blessed our home 2 days before my son’s 16th birthday. And it has been a love story ever since.
The moral of the story is that each of us has self-limiting beliefs. And we self-sabotage and resist our own dreams as a result. But when we slow down, listen, and tune in to the things that bring us joy, peace, and calm. We can develop the courage to reach for the dream with ease.
A big issue with cancer can be: How does one navigate life when you or a loved one gets cancer? How does life move forward? How do family members deal with one of their members getting cancer? Undoubtedly, this can create a very difficult situation for everyone!
When someone gets cancer, it generally takes a team to help navigate the situation. Love is unquestionably important. Allowing a cancer patient to help navigate the journey is important as well. Greg Fobbs lost his brother, who he loved dearly, and was very close to while battling his own demons. This is is a story of triumph, in the end, and how this man survived and learned from this horrible experience.
Here are Greg’s links:
- https://zenbe.co/ https://zenbe.co/resumes
- https://zenbe.co/try https://zenbe.co/blog
- https://zenbe.co/pricing
- https://zenbe.co/codething
- https://www.linkedin.com/in/gregory-f…
Join us for this riveting interview!
When you touch minds, people are willing to walk a dozen miles for you; and when you touch hearts, people are willing to walk a thousand miles for you; but when you touch souls, people are willing to walk a million miles for you.
―Matshona Dhliwayo
Denmark is among the happiest countries in the world, according to the World Happiness Report. The Danes weather their lengthy, dark winters by gathering with friends to share a warm drink or a gracious meal. The word they use for the feelings associated with those moments is hygge (hoo-gah). Hygge helps them offset the impact of enjoying less sunlight than their counterparts at lower latitudes. By circling around a simple table with loved ones, their hearts are nourished.
“Nourishing hearts” is precisely what we witnessed over the course of our two days together in Tampa Bay, as we came together for Encounter 360°. Enjoy the “backstory” behind this signature gathering here: At Long Last: Close Encounters of the Best (Human) Kind.
Our Amazing SessionMasters
This is the beginning of a new day. You have been given this day to use as you will. You can waste it or use it for good. What you do today is important because you are exchanging a day of your life for it. When tomorrow comes, this day will be gone forever; in its place is something that you have left behind…let it be something good.
Encountering each other on Day 1 (Foster Grants included)While at its core, our Encounter was a “netweaving” event, the foundation for it all was set by the extraordinary ConverSessions led by our esteemed SessionMasters, each bringing “unconventional” fresh and different perspectives to the audience, and each setting the tone for the beginning of a “new day”…
Tokens of appreciation presented to each of our SessionMasters; Melissa Hughes, Brooke Erol, Paul Haury, Temple Hayes, Heather Hansen-O’Neill, Phil Williams, Mac Bogert, Andy Vargo, Jackie Woodside, Eileen Bild, Trevor Bild, Allison Kenny, Mariah Edgington, Byron Edgington.Treasured MomentsEnjoy this special “captured in the moment” video montage courtesy of Melissa Hughes ︎
Global VoicesWe were determined to bring messages from around the world to this gathering, and each of our “Global Voices” delivered with eloquence, including Carolyn Lebanowski (Portugal), Mark Reid (Japan), Kimberly Davis (Costa Rica), Toni McLelland (UK), Minnku Buttar (India), Myriam Ben Salem (Tunisia), and Aneesa Theron (South Africa):
Chatty BusIn 2019, the Oxford Bus Company launched the instantly popular “Chatty Bus,” a bus with volunteers on board willing to talk with interested passengers. The route was initiated in response to UK government research which found that 30 percent of Britons go at least one day each week without a meaningful conversation. Four years later the Bus Company has learned that one in three people deliberately catch the bus to have some form of social interaction and two-thirds of bus passengers believe that the bus creates strong community ties.
Our two days together “in person” versus virtual, emerged as our version of a Chatty Bus, mixing, mingling, learning, laughing, and bonding, all strengthening our conscious 360° Nation community. We intentionally resisted the notion of a “hybrid” event, where people pay less by Zooming in. Because as wonderful as Zoom interactions can be, you simply can’t capture the magic of hugs and handshakes.
Ichigo IchieA special tile for everyone encountered …The actual phrase ‘Ichigo ichie’ was coined by a guy named Ii Naosuke, a Japanese tea master who lived from 1815-1860. The story goes that he was constantly threatened with assassination and so he made his tea each day as if it were his last. Every time he made it, he said the tea was unique and more beautiful than the time before. He knew that he would never have the chance to drink another tea exactly like the one he had just made, and so Ichigo ichie is a way to understand and embrace the impermanence of life. Needless to say, this idiom served as the backdrop for our time together, as we treasured every moment, recognizing that every moment, every gathering, and every encounter only happens once, and it will never be repeated in the same way again.
Picture Every MomentJust “chillin” in the Florida sunshine …We continue to gather random images and videos shared by those who gathered. Do take a moment to stroll through our ever-expanding Encounter 360° Album.
Legacy Closing
Staying true to our “unconventional” ethos, our event came to a close at the end of day two with some surprise fun in the sun courtesy of SessionMaster Allison Kenny ︎
Doing More Good WorksClick our Logo above for moreWe believe all nonprofits deserve access to the most brilliant minds in social impact. Yet much of this remarkable talent is needed in one place but resident in another. Years of corporate and nonprofit leadership experience tucked away around the world, poised to make a real impact, but out of reach to so many deserving nonprofits. How do we all come together to effectively close that never-ending passion–mission-affordability gap? We do it by “virtually” matching the need with the talent. We do it with free, virtual delivery. This was our ethos upon the launch of GoodWorks 360° circa 5 years ago. And just a few years later, we transformed our GoodWorks 360° venture into an actual registered nonprofit (GoodWorks 360° Foundation), poised to continue delivering pro bono services, but complemented by the ability to deliver qualified grants and targeted donations to nonprofits in need.
Emphasizing that our event was intentionally “for good” versus “for-profit”, our promise was to cover any loss, with any surplus donated through our Foundation to a worthy non-profit. We’ve been as judicious as possible with big-ticket items, keeping everything in-house versus pricey event planners, tech partners, etc. That said, we will now be presenting St. Francis Animal Rescue with our entire Event surplus of $2,703.53, –including direct cash donations from Kathleen (Kat) O’Keefe-Kanavos and Loree Dittrich. And thanks to the many Event food vouchers from Armature Works graciously handed back to us, coupled with excess vouchers, were able to obtain and deliver 40 hot meals to our homeless population across Tampa Bay. Finally, all of our audio-visual equipment will be donated to a local nonprofit so their voices can be heard at local fundraising events. We can’t thank you all enough for allowing us to simply “do more good” …
What’s Next for 360° Nation?While we’ve got a lot on our ideas whiteboard, we’ve decided to start by getting out in front of new tech, starting with ChatGPT and Open AI, as it’s coming whether we like it or not. We can run from it, we can stick our heads in the sand, we can throw stones at it, or we can get ahead of it. To help this along, Chip B. Chippendale has come aboard as our Special Contributor, introducing himself in a short video at our gathering (turn your volume up a bit):
Please connect with Chip on LinkedIn HERE, as his very first Article will be released soon!
Shared Humanity: If You Can Dream“If You Can Dream” was the last song he sang on Elvis, his December 1968 NBC comeback special/first live performance in 7 years. The song was written at the last minute by the show’s musical director to replace “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Because there were so many unfortunate dark events that year. He wrote it as a response to the assassinations of the famous dreamers Robert Kennedy and Martin Luther King.
As we were exploring theme music for our gathering late last year, synchronicity prevailed as we came upon this particular song, the instrumental version of which, played in the background over our two days together. The lyrics are (unfortunately) timeless and they certainly capture the spirit of our quest to rediscover humanity. It’s about uniting, it’s about peace, freedom, and happiness.
There must be lights burning brighter somewhere
Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue
If I can dream of a better land
Where all my brothers walk hand in hand
Tell me why, oh why, oh why can’t my dream come true
There must be peace and understanding sometime
Strong winds of promise that will blow away the doubt and fear
If I can dream of a warmer sun
Where hope keeps shining on everyone
Tell me why, oh why, oh why won’t that sun appear
We’re lost in a cloud, With too much rain
We’re trapped in a world, That’s troubled with pain
But as long as a man, Has the strength to dream
He can redeem his soul and fly
Deep in my heart there’s a trembling question
Still I am sure that the answer, answer’s gonna come somehow
Out there in the dark, there’s a beckoning candle,
And while I can think, while I can walk, While I can stand, while I can talk
While I can dream, Oh, please let my dream Come true, Right now
The Best ShipsMy wife Ali and I have literally cruised around most of the world over many years, slowing down a bit during the pandemic, of course. But the one thing we’ve learned no matter where we’ve traveled is that there are steamships and cruise ships, small ships, and tall ships, but the best ships without a doubt are always friendships. Thank you all for your friendships – nourishing our hearts as we treasured every moment!
During the years that I have studied the law of attraction and our essential nature, I’ve faithfully used many affirmations. One of my favourites is the abridged version of the passage found in Matthew 17:20:
If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove, and nothing shall be impossible unto you.
If the statement that “nothing shall be impossible unto you” seems too good to be true, please continue reading with an open mind. My initial interpretation of the passage was based upon a much more limited perspective; but now I know–not just believe–that all things are truly possible through God. As each of us is unique, the circumstantial mountains that we might desire to be removed will be different. For some persons, it might be a health issue or financial problem. For others, it could be a career challenge or conflict within a relationship. Whatever the nature of mountain we face, greater understanding plays a tremendously important role in removing it.
The biggest issue that all of us face is our own ignorance (meaning unawareness) of the nature of the world and our true Being. The majority of persons are unaware of their essential nature, but they are also unaware that they are unaware. Thus, they (as the apparent person) struggle against circumstances that often seem insurmountable. This was certainly the case with me. To gain greater clarity, we must let go of our assumptions and know REALITY as it IS. Let’s dive deeper into the subject by reading the following content from various books:
The Wish Fulfilled, by Neville Goddard
Before I Am, by Mooji
I Am That, Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj
Living Truth, by Jean Klein
What you have read in the quotations is true. The reason why mountains can be moved by our belief is that they are “dream” mountains, made of mind. What we habitually affirm (through our thoughts, beliefs and actions) is confirmed as our apparent reality; but when we change our beliefs and attitudes, our problems are compelled to change. The well-known placebo effect illustrates this perfectly. When a patient has absolute faith that a medication or procedure will work, the treatment WORKS! The principle related to belief is shared in the Bible in Matthew 9:29, through the following words spoken by Jesus:
“According to your faith be it unto you.”
To move our apparent personal mountains, it’s vitally important that we realize that we are–literally–not the body-mind (person). Such goes against every last bit of our mental conditioning. Therefore, we cannot possibly be the doer of actions. We are Awareness dreaming an apparently human life. This is also related in the Bible, in Acts 17:28:
“For in him we live, and move, and have our being.”
The depth of this is more easily comprehended by contemplating that we also believe–with absolute certainty–that we are the doers during our nighttime dreams. Of course, when the dream ends, we realize that such couldn’t possibly have been the case–that all of the fantastic adventures, or scary situations, were rendered via the mind. Any actions that seemed to have been performed, occurred within a dream. The same holds true for this, the waking state. In Truth, we are the witness only.
Most Beings who are tightly bound to egoic identity will find the content of this article impossible to believe or, perhaps, even ludicrous; but its Truth may be known directly via the practice of self-inquiry. Are you absolutely certain that you are the person? Can you actually be a name, or a body form that is changing moment to moment?
It took years for me to comprehend the nature of our mountains. The biggest challenge was my own lack of understanding. Perhaps you will also realize that you’ve been attempting to move mountains through an illusory character, instead of via the real YOU. Wouldn’t it be easier to let God within do it for you, and open yourself to life more abundant?
Dare to dream (and care for one another).
With heartfelt regards,
Art
Madness to one is brilliance to another.
Degrees on a scale.
An emotional crisis can upset the balance we negotiate between sick and healthy.
Always in my being has been the knowing:
Don’t let them test you.
Don’t let them know you dream while awake.
The projections of others are weighty and enough to drive anyone mad who has recognized their own individuality.
Artists, writers, inventors, people involved in creative pursuits bringing ideas from the stars into the physical world.
— we have more latitude to explore the boundaries of what others call madness and to live beyond the limits of normal.
Don’t let them test you.
Don’t let them know you dream while awake.
Something amazing happens when we find our people.
Who do we call “our people” or “our tribe” though?
They are the people that share our
values – when they are aligned we feel stronger and we stand by them; relationships do not last or go deep when the values are conflicting
dreams – our personal dreams may be different yet when our dreams for the world match we connect; we get excited about that vision together; the dream looks more possible
purpose – when we are motivated by a similar purpose we get united; we know we can do more and better together; we get inspired.
When people start to talk and share their values, their dreams, and their purpose; we get drawn to them if they are similar to ours. It happens mostly unconsciously.
Maybe we find a little bit of ourselves in them. Maybe they validate who we are in the world. We get energized by their being and their light on this earth which gives us a chance to shine a little brighter the next day.
How does the real bonding happen and how does it even go deeper though even if we are miles apart and even if we never see each other?
The magic is in the space created. The space to be our true selves. With no masks. We are drawn to that because it is an intrinsic yearning to be seen and to be heard as we are. With no pretense.
Heard years ago from a wise woman: “there is never a deep relationship without pure vulnerability”.
It is a special kind of leader who can create this space. Only servant leadership can create that sacred place. It is never about them. Even if they say nothing or do nothing, every action, every silence has a reason.
When you have this space with your people in it, there is no leaving. Even if you leave physically, you are still one. They heal you by seeing you. They hug you even when they don’t touch you.
If you find this space and your people, hold on tight. It sure does not happen a lot.
They are your
inspiration
connection
strength
your soft space to fall.
You get to be most grateful for their presence in the hardest of times.
This is how I feel with my 360° Nation crowd.
Even when I don’t see them, even if I am not in that space with them for weeks or months, just the fact that they are there somewhere makes me braver, stronger, and a better person.
If you also get to see your people in person and get lucky as I am, you also blossom.
Thank you, my people. I left you the other day but I still carry a piece of you with me.
Thank you for uplifting me.
Find your people. Life is so much better with your people.
After Humanity Rediscovered/Close Encounters of the Best (Human) Kind Event
I am a play-by-the-rules gal who does not strive to be the life of a party. I’m fine over here
A squeak to the right of the bell curve is a modest little dot. That’s me – the minuscule spec of a flawed perfectionist dangling her feet over a mid-life crisis. The date on my birth certificate pronounces me as a Baby Boomer, just barely. The end of a generational classification. Not the very end. I was born in February, not on December 31, 1964, at 11:59 p.m. Somewhere “out there” in the universe, an interesting person holds the honor of being the very last Boomer ever born. Not me. I am an average, run-of-the-mill Baby Boomer.
— Excerpt from Walking Old Roads, to be released mid to late 2023 —
enjoying the entertainment provided by those who shine much louder than me. Performers need an audience, and I am happy to oblige. I’ve considered my life in the shadows of others to be my choice. As my generation peaks the hill and heads down the other side, I begin to question whether my choice to live in the comfortable peacefulness of quiet obscurity is good for me, or good for the generations that follow.
The pharmacy staff call her Miss Mary. “How are you today, Miss Mary, and what can we do for you?’ Their happiness to see her, and their sincerity to help her, is legit. They connect to this woman in a way foreign to me. I tend to stay in my solitary bubble, avoiding eye contact and conversation unless necessary. Miss Mary begins joking with them about her aches and pains, and they tell her she is due for some vaccinations. She pretends to scold the pharmacist for experiencing too much enjoyment from the task of sticking her with needles. Everyone behind the counter is smiling and laughing as they enjoy a moment of fun together.
Once the business of medication and vaccines is complete, they say their goodbyes, and Miss Mary and I head to the checkout. I love how everyone at this little pharmacy looks out for my mom. I use the same pharmacy, but they don’t know me unless I’m with Miss Mary. I have not cultivated a relationship with them the way she has. I have not made myself visible to them like she has. I would do well to learn from her example.
I start placing our purchases on the conveyor belt and Mom chimes in, “What’s wrong with me? I should be helping you with that.” I tell her it is fine. She converses with the cashier as I load the cart with our groceries. The cart helps steady Mom’s wobbly gait as we cross the parking lot at her pace. As I’m lifting the bags from the cart to the trunk, Mom chimes in again with more distress in her voice. “Here I go again. I’m sorry. I should be helping you with this. What’s the matter with me?” Once again, I assure her all is fine. What she thinks of as heavy lifting, is not in the slightest bit heavy for me.
I deposit the cart in the cart return, as the rules suggest. Meanwhile, Mom gets herself buckled into the passenger seat. My mind has moved on from our shopping task. Mom’s mind has not. I enter the car to find her upset and starting to cry. “I’m so useless. I can’t do anything for myself. I work you too hard. I just don’t like who I am anymore. I don’t even know why I’m still here.” The weight she carries is far heavier than the bags of groceries I lift each week during our outings.
Baffled by the sudden turn of her mood, I respond with a question. “Did you not see what just happened inside a few minutes ago at the pharmacy?” The genuine confusion in my voice and on my face catches her off guard. The crying stops as she searches for an answer to my question. I do not wait for her to figure it out. “You brought joy to every person in that pharmacy. You brightened their day. Think of all the unruly people they deal with on a regular basis. You made it all worthwhile for them. You did that. You do that for friends and strangers alike. You may think you are unimportant and unseen, but the people around you see and hear you. You set a good example for everyone watching. If that isn’t useful, then I don’t know what is.”
Miss Mary could not deny the facts. Her actions had made a difference in the lives of others. I get it though. As I age, I feel insignificant, without purpose, and invisible at times. I need to follow in Miss Mary’s unsteady footsteps. I need to be present and involved with the people right in front of me. It is my responsibility to teach the next generations the importance of connection in creating a community. I’ve heard claims that the younger generations ignore the worth of the Baby Boomers.
Is that true though? Do the younger generations ignore the presence of their elders, or are we making ourselves unseeable to them?
Meanwhile, Tom was due to get out of the service soon. So, I was biding my time so we could start a new life together far away from Judy.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS BELOW ︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 8): North Carolina
We arrived back In Waterloo; IA. Tom had gotten out of the service. My parents still had that trailer on their property, so we ended up renting there, to begin with. I looked for a job and had gotten hired at Perkins restaurant Tom started working for the same company my brother worked at, it was some sort of paper-cutting business. Keep in mind Tom was a lady’s man of sorts with his beautiful brown eyes and black curly hair he could melt your heart. Stood about 6 ft. tall and lean. I wasn’t the only one that found him attractive. Things was going along well between us. Dad had bought a run-down house and Tom and I moved into it. It had bats in the attic and occasionally, one would come down to the main floor. Tom would kill them with a tennis racket.
My brother and his wife owned the house right next door to us. It had an upstairs apartment. Tom had gotten into a few drugs while in the service and mostly liked his weed and cocaine. While I had experimented with several drugs I luckily never got addicted, I did like my alcohol. I had the day shift at Perkins, so I worked 6 a.m. to 2 p.m. Tom also worked days until about 4.30. We had hardly been home a few months when Tom dropped the bombshell. He came home one day and said, “I don’t know if I loved you.” I don’t know if I ever loved you, it was your idea to get married not mine. I sat there in disbelief after all that we had been through and listened as he told me he needs some time and some space to think things through. What choice did I have either give up then or give him the time? I opted to give him the time. As I said my brother had an apartment above his house, so Tom moved in there right next door. It was to be a time of reflection not dating or looking elsewhere but time to think and process all that we had been through.
Now my brother had married one of Tom’s sisters and as I said Tom worked with my brother, he would catch a ride to work with him. On this day, my sister-in-law picked him up to give him a ride to work. He had answered the door in disarray as he had just gotten out of bed. I was already at work waiting on tables. She stopped in to speak to me after she had run him to work which was in Waverly about a 20-minute drive. She informed me that Tom had answered the door and there was a girl there that looked like they had just both gotten up. And she knew where the girl lived because he asked her to give her a ride home. I was pissed, to say the least, I told her to come back when I got off work so I could go speak to this girl. As planned, she showed up and we went to the girl’s house. I knocked on the door and her mother answered I asked for her and her mother said she was at work. I told her mother I was an old friend visiting town and would like to see her, so she told me where she worked. It was a small restaurant. So off I went to go confront her.
I walked in and took a seat, and she came over to wait on me. I said, “do you know who I am?” At first, she didn’t but then I saw the fear set in her eyes and she said yes and how she was busy. I told her she could either sit down and speak to me then or I would be waiting for her outside. She chooses to sit down there. An incredibly wise choice on her part. She went ahead to tell me Tom had told her I was divorcing him and taking him for everything. I had to laugh at that, and I replied what does he own she mentioned a boat and a motorcycle. Now Tom and I didn’t have a pot to piss in and I told her it was all lies that we didn’t own anything, and we had never discussed divorce. I was satisfied with how our talk went and left there on a mission to go and confront Tom. He was turning out to be quite the player. Tom was in his apartment in the shower when I let myself in as the door was open. Tom was just getting out and had a towel wrapped around himself and started to weave his story into a lie. I stopped him dead in his tracks and said you’re already busted Tom I spoke to your friend and know you’ve been sleeping around.
I was so mad as I had been dutifully waiting at home for his decision whether he was going to give us another try, I snapped at him and told him I was going to go home and get dressed up and go out and I screamed at him “I hope I get fucked.” He didn’t like that at all he said he wanted to talk I told him “If you can make it over before I leave, I will talk to you otherwise I would be out.
Tom made it over and seemed to be angry and aggressive yelling at me in a tantrum of sorts when I told him I was going out he picked up my dog and threw him across the room. Well, the fight was on. You won’t hurt my dog. We got into a scuffle, and I got thrown around a bit. I demanded he leave, which he did shortly after that. I told him it was over between us, and he could have his freedom I didn’t care anymore. He was just a player and wasn’t going to change his ways and I’d finally had enough I was admitting defeat. So, we separated but no divorce yet. I wasn’t in any hurry and was still reluctant to admit defeat.
To be continued…
Regular readers of my ravings already know I’m Batman. In the first post in this series (you can find the earlier installments here, here, and here), I related the story of young Seamus Hickey and my ill-fated attempt to distract him so his harried mother could get some grocery shopping done. The story hinged on the fact that, because I’m Batman, I was, of course, wearing a Batman watch.
Because I’m also a world-class chucklehead, I left that watch and another Batman watch I owned in my car. Joining them in my car was an antique pocket watch that had belonged to my great-grandfather Quinn. It had been in my dad’s possession until his passing in 2014. It was thereafter bequeathed to my next-younger brother, Keith. The good news is I’d put the watches in my car, intending to take them to a watchmaker for service and repair.
The bad news is I left the valet key for my car in the console of the car, along with the ATM card for my business checking account. That moronity was compounded by the fact that my routine was thrown off by our having invited a friend to convalesce from knee surgery at our house. As a result, I left my car in the driveway, rather than putting it in the garage, as I otherwise would have. So, when some enterprising car thieves came through our neighborhood in the wee hours of the next fateful morning and pressed the button on the door of my car, it opened. All three watches were stolen along with the ATM card and the car.
At that point, I gave serious consideration to surrendering my Batman Card and turning in my costume. When you realize the skull of the dude who’s supposed to be the world’s greatest detective (me!) is numb enough to leave watches, an ATM card, and a key fob in a car left outside overnight, you really have to wonder how much crime he should be fighting — or if he should even be allowed to leave home without adult supervision. To say it was an existential crisis would be rank understatement.
To the Batcave!But I ultimately got a grip of my knickers. I’d gotten things in South Windsor, the town in which we used to live, pretty much under control, especially after my car was stolen there. But now that we live in Middletown, there’s an entirely new set of challenges. Somebody has to fight crime. And I’m not presumptuous or naïve enough to imagine the police can handle all of it on their own. Besides, if I don’t take the Batmobile out regularly, the battery will die, and the exhaust system will rot.
So, I’m back. And yes: I did get another Batman watch.
I had to. I’m Batman.
What do you see when you observe toddlers play with toys or friends? I see pure flow, excitement, curiosity, and 100% presence. That is the definition of joy to me. And growing up, along the way, we lose the continuity of this nurturing, safe, and fascinating feeling of joy. It comes and goes. For some reason, at some point, in our day or week, we catch it from its tail and feel privileged to experience it. Sometimes we get to savor it, and sometimes we do not even acknowledge it while running from one shiny distraction to another.
And that is why when we, as adults, stumble upon an opportunity to cultivate and experience joy continuously, for hours, even days, we feel like happy toddlers.
I just had the pleasure of attending the #encounter360 event in Tampa Bay, FL, which took me back to that infinite joy of being a toddler. For two days, I get to BE and FEEL joy. During those two days, I caught myself saying twice that I felt like a child. When I reflected on that, I saw why I felt that way.
Environments where you can express yourself freely and authentically, where the only energy you receive from others is love, compassion, friendship, and support, make you feel safe. And when you feel safe, you express yourself even free-er, just like a beautiful vicious circle – a positive one for a change – that grows and grows. That takes you right to the happiness you had in your heart when you were born.
Then you get to experience,
- Oxytocin, Serotonin, and Endorphin go off the chart – as Melissa Hughes, Ph.D. shared,
- A common purpose of being – as Ozlem Brooke Erol championed,
- The dissolving of fear and imposter syndrome – as Phillip T. Williams, M.S. HRD expressed,
- A tangible version of great transformation – as Heather Hansen O’Neill described,
- The chance to unleash your innate divinity – as Allison Kenny demonstrated,
- Expansion of collective consciousness – as Jackie Woodside, CPC, MSW explained,
- A declaration of interdependence using your voice – as Mac Bogert pointed out,
- Beautiful energy that starts growing – as Temple Hayes mentioned,
- What happens when you feel you belong – as Paul Haury inquired,
- Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words: “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” – as Mariah Edgington and Byron Edgington quoted,
- The meaning of owning your awkwardness – as Andy Vargo beautifully articulated,
- How and why we want to be seen, heard, valued, and understood – as Eileen Bild and Trevor Bild presented,
- The sheer happiness of knowing from start to end that you are at a Netweaving Event and not a Networking Event. – as Dennis Pitocco shared.
An encounter that brings everyone closer to each other, where gender, religion, political opinions, status, background, age, cultural differences, and nationality disappear, leaving behind joy, energy, consciousness, loving-kindness, and deep connection.
You find yourself carrying a heart filled with infinite and unconditional love, overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of humanness, and that there is still so much hope for a bright future for humanity.
And you feel the utmost gratitude for being alive and teleported right back to where you were a joyful, creative, curious, courageous, and authentic toddler.
Positivity is a word that has come to the fore, not only projecting a can-do attitude but ‘infecting’ others with opportunities and confidence they never realised they could accomplish.
Positivity is a meaningful word, much used in articles, but I am merely presenting my belief in the hidden energy that is within us and how to illuminate a darkened space in our consciousness and subliminally hidden energy.
Being positive when everything seems to go wrong, is challenging, to say the least.
The more doubt entering the mind and heart makes optimism and positivity almost alien ideals.
To be honest, not every individual would be inwardly visited by such positive thoughts resulting in action.
However, negativity and being void of optimism can extend to a low level of as if slowly descending into a pit of darkness.
AND NOW SOME POSITIVITY!Find a location of calmness away from the everyday stresses of depression and lack of confidence you are experiencing.
Positivity is best created when it is derived from your own heart, rather than relying on other individuals, however genuine they be.
Positivity is self-driven. Positivity comes from the heart. Identify the tiniest element of your life; focus on it. Reveal to yourself what is so good about it; dwell on it and find a link to another positive element. Gradually positivity will potentially advance. And don’t dwell on the past. Be forward-thinking.
You have achieved positivity.
Any negative thoughts or elements that visit will be dealt with optimistically as you have proved possible.
Positivity and optimism are infectious, projecting energy and empathy. You’ll make a difference as you are the difference.
A Beacon of Positivity
Writer Andrew Solomon has spent his career telling stories of the hardships of others. Now he turns inward, bringing us into a childhood of adversity, while also spinning tales of the courageous people he’s met in the years since. In a moving, heartfelt, and at times downright funny talk, Solomon gives a powerful call to action to forge meaning from our biggest struggles.
When talking about the problem of refugees, we use dehumanised language, which reduces human tragedy to numbers and statistics. But this suffering concerns real people, who – just like us – have families, loved ones, friends; their own stories, dreams, goals…
Only when you sit down opposite a specific person and look into their eyes, you no longer see an anonymous refugee, one of the migrants, and notice the human before you, just like yourself – loving, suffering, dreaming…
20 years ago, psychologist Arthur Aron discovered that 4 minutes of looking into each other’s eyes can bring people closer.
Using this discovery, we decided to carry out a simple experiment, during which refugees and Europeans sat opposite each other and looked into each other’s eyes. Clearly, it is most important to give each other time to better understand and get to know each other. The experiment was conducted in Berlin: the city, which – first of all – is a symbol of overcoming the divisions, and secondly, seems to be the centre of the contemporary Europe.
We wanted the movie created on the basis of the experiment to be as symbolic as possible – and to touch upon the general divisions between people. The experiment participants were ordinary people. The situations were not staged; we wanted to get natural, spontaneous reactions. The people sitting opposite each other had not known each other before and saw each other for the first time during the experiment. What is important, the refugees mostly came from Syria and had not been living in Europe for longer than a year.
The Seven Crows have been on this land for many years and when they first started gathering here on this farm it was a small house, a few barns, a dirt road, and a pond. Like any other family, they liked to eat their morning breakfast together, talk, and they loved the dirt road. It seemed to always have the best worms. It was a quiet place, a peaceful place, and they called it home.
The Seven liked to meet on the berm that was by the pond. It was about seven feet tall, and you could see most of the farm from there. They flew in with the elder Crow coming in first, then the four youngest, and the two mothers coming in last. They would stand in a circle, and it sounded like they were having conversations. Several walked down the dusty old road, and if you listened closely, you could hear laughter. They were never in a hurry and when they grew bored, they would fly out in the same order they flew in. They repeated this ritual several times a day, starting with sunrise and ending with sunset.
As the years past some of the forest was cleared and farms sold to make room for houses. I remember the first time I saw them, they were not the least frightened, and I would sit and watch them as long as they would stay. One morning when I left to go see my grandchildren Seven Crows were standing in their front yard. I could not say if these Seven were the same ones from my front yard but there were indeed Seven.
Ever since I was young and lived on a farm, I have loved the magical Crows. They have always been near the places I lived and greeted me as a friend. My Grandmother told me of the Folklore of the Crows saying they are some of the smartest animals you find. She told me to always be kind to them and leave them gifts and they will never forget your kindness. They also can hold a grudge passing it to other Crows and they can remember faces of people that were kind to them, more importantly, the ones that tried to hurt them. Lastly, they mourn when one of them dies, gathering around, making loud sounds, much like humans.
For me they are my friends and they also live in my stories and memories. When I see them, I always feel that I am among loyal friends. It is said they can prepare for the future, and I would love to know what they are preparing for, yet my knowledge is not like my Grandmother, and I may never know all there is to known about The Crows.
Part One
The Owl And The Crow | BIZCATALYST 360°
Part Two
The Crow And The Deer (Part Two) | BIZCATALYST 360°
About 30 years ago I studied with a Buddhist monk who taught walking meditation.First thing I should make clear, I’m not a Buddhist. I’ve studied with Buddhists, Christians, Daoists, Zoroastrians, Byzantines, Russian Orthodox, Jewish and Hebrew, Systema, MicMac, Paiute, Mohawk, Tlinglet, Sami, … I’ve studied with these folks, and many others because I was taught and taught and retaught “to know any one thing you must know everything.”
This post is about one gentle, diminutive fellow with an amazing soul and what he taught me.
This teacher and I were walking down a suburban sidewalk in Watertown, MA along Rt 20 towards 128. He had his hands folded behind him, occasionally they’d swing free then return and clasp behind him. His eyes focused on the ground 3-5 feet in front of him. He moved effortlessly. If he did tire, I never knew it. He was in his 60s, I was in my early-mid 30s, and he could have walked me into the ground with plenty to spare. We walked and walked, under elm, oak, and pine that lined the streets, and along browning grasses due to a waterban that prohibited people from watering their lawns. We walked what seemed a marathon of walking, and something I was unprepared for under a hot August sun.
He smiled all the time, asking me questions and questioning my answers. He made me think and think and rethink about things I took for granted, things I thought I understood, things I did and didn’t care about.
And all the time we walked.
We were going up a hill, the heat and humidity were crushing my chest. My shirt and chinos stuck to me making the simplest motions difficult. He wasn’t experiencing any of this. I assumed it was because he was from southeast Asia and use to such weather.
He didn’t stop walking, he didn’t slow. He said, “You walk too hard.”
“I walk too hard?” I sputtered.
“Yes. Walk easier.”
“Walk easier?”
“Watch how I walk.”
Watch how he walked. I suppose that’s a normal enough thing for people studying kinesiology, body movement, athletes and athletics, actors, mimes. I had long watched people and realized I’d never actually watched people walk. I mean walking is walking is walking.
“Watch how I walk.”
Okay. I focused on how he was walking, not the fact that he was walking.
His steps were determined. Focused. Intentional. He was more than walking. Or the walking wasn’t something he was doing alone. It was a shared experience. His walking was something he shared with the earth.
He walked softly. I mean literally softly. His feet reached out to meet the earth. His walking was a greeting to whatever came along his path.
He did swing his arms, not often, but he did. And sometimes it seemed like he was reaching out for something, touching something. Or acknowledging something.
Or welcoming something.
Occasionally he did look further ahead. As if checking something in the distance.
And when he changed direction, which wasn’t often, he “lowed” first, kind of like cattle in a field moving their heads back and forth to find the sweetest grass. Before he changed direction he lowed as if looking for something, and finding it, set off in that new direction.
“Tell me how I walk.”
I shared what I’d noticed.
“Very good. You’ve told me about me. That is half the story. Now tell me about who I walk with.”
“Me?”
His head rocked back and he laughed. “Yes, you. Who else?”
I looked around, a typical BDWG (Big Dumb White Guy).
“Who am I meeting, what am I greeting? Who am I touching? What am I acknowledging?
“Who am I welcoming?”
Who was he welcoming?
“Look at my path and tell me what you see.”
Have you ever heard the expression, “Watch where you’re going”? He did that. He watched where he went and he explained to me why he did so.
“The earth and all that is in it, all that is on it, all that is above it and around it, is riddled with energies. Sometimes these energies create paths.”
“Ley lines?”
He wasn’t sure as he didn’t know enough about ley lines to say yes or no. The energy lines he was describing go and flow everywhere. “Animals in the forests make paths that follow the old ways of the earth. But these aren’t just hidden in forests. People use to see them and follow them, too. We still can, if we watch where we’re walking. Look at the shapes on the earth, how nature raises things here and lowers things there, where the streams and rivers run, how the mountains rise and the deserts and oceans flow and you’ll see where the earth’s sharing her energy. It just takes a willingness to look, acknowledge, understand, accept, …”
I frowned. They were there. Obviously so. I never noticed before.
“Follow these paths when you walk and the earth shares her energy with you. You won’t tire. Stay on these paths and you’ll find peace with all that’s around you.” At which point he jumped up and clicked his heels. Not easy to do in sandals. I would have thought him a leprechaun if it weren’t for the dark brown of his skin, slant of his eyes and shaven head. “See?”
He smiled as he held his hand out to me. “Take it. Learn to walk the path with me. Don’t be afraid. The earth is waiting.”
My next step changed my life. There is much more to the Walking Meditation than is discussed here. That’s perhaps for another post.
Teaching the Walking Meditation is now part of my Practice and I share it with others.
Now it’s your turn.
Take my hand. Come walk with me.
I remember feeling so empty, unmoored, and distant from all that once anchored me. It had been a few months since the Covid Pandemic hit, and the disconnection was deafening as I tried to make sense of the fear, loss, and confusion of it all. Staring up at the bedroom ceiling, my eyes turned downward to a framed, wedding invitation sealed in the back with brown paper and hanging there, as it always had, on the wall.
“Open it anytime,” I remembered my departed, grandmother saying, some thirty years ago to the date, (yes, today, was my wedding anniversary), or “Save it for a rainy day.” And then, in an instant, there it was.
The “Perfect Storm” of the rainiest of days, the quietest of anniversaries, and the 37-year survival of a wedding gift still wrapped behind a picture frame. It was time to open this “Time Capsule” of sorts and see what was inside.
That evening, we lit a pair of used, candlesticks on the table, enjoyed a small, anniversary dinner, and my husband ceremoniously, but carefully opened the back. On the surface were the usual mementos; an engagement photo from the newspaper, a matchbook from our reception, and an engraved napkin with our names. But, the deeper I went, the more I seemed to find; HOPE in BIG capital letters on a document containing a Novena and medal to St. Rita, “The Advocate of the Impossible and Hope of the Desperate,”; A dried rose petal, specifically for CURES, blessed at the Shrine of the Lady of The Roses; another blessed medal of St. Benedict; weekly masses offered leading up to our marriage.
As my hands touched the aging papers and medals, I could sense this wise and faith-filled woman reaching out and connecting with both of us in such a comforting and reassuring way and at such an extraordinary time. No doubt, her spirit could be felt, and she was offering blessings, HOPE, CURES, and the power of prayer for any difficulty no matter how impossible or desperate. And, at the time, and with no vaccine, Covid-19 seemed to check all the boxes.
My husband and I embraced feeling her gift of love and support traverse time as the contents from behind the picture frame now lay there on the table in the candlelight. She had been there with us through the early stages of our courtship, so light and carefree, always dependable with a great sense of humor, and it only felt sturdy and right to feel her presence once again during fragile times.
As I look back today, several years later, (and with a mild but persistent case of Covid 19), I think of the profound impact The Time Capsule had on us that evening. My grandmother knew what many people know; that married life, and life in general, presents its joys and challenges, in sickness and in health, but the gift of a strong faith helps guide us through the Perfect Storm, especially if you make the choice as I did, to unwrap the gift at just the right time, or at any time, as my grandmother suggested, over and over again.
I once had a life that was filled with action.
Working in Times Square, there was always something “happening.”
Someone would be having a mental illness. There would be a suspicious package. Naked women with pasties on their tits. Guys selling weed. Lots of Elmo suits. Gas leaks. Jackhammers. Break dancing. Painters. People exercising on the scaffolding. “Gang Initiation.” (In the 2000- early 2010’s it happened every Easter Sunday- here’s a NY Times article about it)
You could say that I was always overstimulated, but I was completely stagnant.
After my shift each night in over-stimulation, I went and drank. Multiple shots and beers. 4:30 a.m. I’d roll into the street, smoke way too many cigarettes, and topple myself into a cab.
My friend Jim used to say “we’re Beats,” and how right was he?
Through all of that, my drunken nights, and the times I shared with people during this hyperactive, hyper-stimulated period of my existence, nothing was happening.
I mean sure, that’s an exaggeration. We can’t have complete inaction, despite my best attempts at it. But in terms of my deepening my relationship with myself, and getting closer to who I wanted to be? Very little of that happened while I was drunk at the bar.
Most of the time when I was drinking at the bar, it was with many people who were essentially “warm bodies.” I had a few friends and a zillion acquaintances. I wasn’t really interested in the conversation. It was mostly about 1. other people (who cares?) 2. our job (replaying the what happened) or 3. things that didn’t interest me (like movies) After about two hours, those conversations became more like dribble (as all drunken convos do) where we would just take turns “speaking at” one another.
For all the times I spent bonding with people, I never really was. I remember getting a lot off my chest, because when you’re drunk, you’re just blithering ego. I don’t remember too much of what anyone else said, and my guess is, they don’t remember too much of what I said. Nothing profound came out of those times.
When you’re out drinking, nothing enjoyable is happening that requires the drink. And if something enjoyable is happening, the thing that you’re enjoying is not the booze. The thing you’re enjoying is being dulled by the booze, because your entire human experience is being dulled by the booze.
For example: Drinking at the beach- what are you enjoying? The beach.
What is happening when you drink at the beach? You become a dehydrated clam baking in the sun. You grossly have to piss in the polluted ocean once an hour. You dry out passed out on a towel. You end up eating something later like a ravenous rat and don’t taste the food you order. You wake up the next day with a headache and a sunburn, and you don’t remember how you got home.
What takes away from enjoying the tranquility of the beach? The 6 nutcrackers you bought from some guy who made them in his dirty kitchen.
Annie Grace says that 80% of people who drink wish they drank less.
Andee Scarantino says from her experience, that’s true.
People come to me all the time and tell me “I just want to be done,” and then somehow, the excuses start coming in.
People want to “defend” their decisions because the word sobriety holds the same weight in our society as the word God.
Both of the words provoke STRONG reactions that make people DEFEND THEIR POSITION.
“Ohhh I’m not drinking but I don’t have a problem.”
Literally, nobody asked you that. As MartinJon says, “sobriety is a beverage choice.”
When you drink heavily all the time, you f__k yourself out of being able to enjoy your own life to the capacity you want to enjoy it.
We’re not in third grade. We don’t need other people to understand or dictate what we drink at lunchtime. We don’t need to tell Chad over there why we don’t like milk. We just don’t drink it.
My experience is, when you’re wishy-washy and afraid to say you’re not drinking, people may try to coax you into having one. This is because they believe that your experience won’t be as enjoyable without alcohol.
But when you’re firm, people respect it. Honestly, they’re a little bit jealous. None of us truly likes to drink. We were sold a bill of goods.
We really only like our life experiences, and everyone wishes they could enjoy those in a more uninhibited state of clarity.
Today’s podcast is all about this. If you’re sober curious, it’s here for you. The typical bag of hot air to start your week.
I hope you all had a great weekend.
Stay Beautiful
Andee
Hey, there! AmyK here.Dropping in from San Jose del Cabo. I’ve been witnessing a lot of magic these last few weeks. Watch this quick video for how you can generate more magic in your life too. To creating everyday magical miracles … one conversation at a time.
Hugs, AmyK
I wonder whether I inherently possess any fire
I am utterly engulfed with an unrestrained ire
I am craving to infuse myself with energy
Along with other in the ambiance I am living with synergy
Life itself is ephemeral
But the continuity of evolved matters exist which is eternal
Change alone determine how a matter evolve
Human brain only capable to capture such transition with a distinct role!
We need to concentrate only on a single matter
That only makes huge clatter
That is the human brain
That only enables us to script all matters configuration with an amazing train!
Centuries long a process we human inherently possess
Not knowing how our brain act with continuity to ingress
This is what we define as progress
Decimating majority by denying the fruits of development to access.
We are conversant with fire
Which kindle light with flame to symbolize a sign of aspire
It contains a prism effect
Scattering light to stimulate and energize myriad
Human civilization progressed with huge acceleration
Where utterances of myriad find their presence in nature’s floor with sheer jubilation!
Huge, huge and huge
Only usher to make deluge
Where old are washed away
New usher with sheer gay
Change is the only continuum
Makes a nature’s adhered referendum!
Fire and water both are essential to us
To ensure out entity from sunshine to sun set in chorus
Making our available ambiance delightful
Where we all living beings thrive in colorful!
Sound, heat and light
Enamored us with utter delight
How can we segregate one to highlight
Where all ingredients express their gravity with might
Nature’s floor is a grand surface
Where all creatures express their entity in behest!
What better time than now to ponder the words of George Bernard Shaw when he said;
The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want and if they can’t find them, make them.
While having lunch with my friend this week, she was complaining about how bad life has become during this recession. It seems her gasoline and cell phone allowances have been cut. That is unfortunate, but compared to the thousands of people who have lost their jobs, that’s not so bad.
Having our jobs cut is unfortunate, but compared to all the people who lost their homes and life possessions in the floods of New Orleans, that’s not so bad. Losing our homes is very unfortunate, but compared to being tortured in a prison camp or losing our loved ones on 9/11, that’s not so bad. In other words, our circumstances are not so bad they couldn’t be worse, so get busy and make the circumstances you want. We are creative beings. We have been given the incredible ability to think. We live in a country that allows us the freedom to try out new ideas.
Success is like an apple — if you never plant a seed — you’ll never get a tree. Without the tree, you’ll never grow an apple. Start planting those idea seeds that you have in your mind.
This economy may be the best thing that ever happened to our country. It may be the spark that ignites us to look at new ways of doing things. It may get us to meet our neighbors and share our resources. It may push us to think of new ways to live — to do what makes us happy instead of what just makes us money.
Too often we find ourselves putting off what we really wanted to do – like playing ball with our son or spending a quality afternoon with our daughter, sister, or mother. Too often we put our dreams and desires on hold while we slave away at a job we don’t even like. Maybe we’d be happier and not have so much to complain about if we didn’t have that cell phone attached to our ears as we rush around burning up our gas allowance.
The next time you find yourself complaining, remember that you, and only you, can make the circumstances you want. Look around. Find them. Take the first step in that direction. What better time than now?
I didn’t crack a book or look at a note card or practice any skills that first week of break. I enjoyed not worrying about the upcoming Saturday and dealing with four hours of mental anguish and then having an hour to get home, eat, change and get to work. I had an entire week to devote to learning and practicing a few range of motion exercises. Easy peasy. I figured I’d start on the following Sunday.
ENJOY ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE︎
Certifiable (Part 3)
I indeed started looking at the instructions on Sunday for the range of motion exercises. Not too difficult. OK, I’ll make proper note cards tomorrow, I thought to myself. Monday came and I got lazy and skipped making note cards or practicing the terms used in the exercises. Mondays are a tough work day in particular, so I decided I’d take it easy before work knowing what I had to look forward to later.
Tuesday came, and it was my first day off. I slept in like I usually do on my first day off. I ate and waited a bit, went down to the gym for a little exercise, showered, took a nap, and then it was too late to do any studying as I had to get ready for our buddy’s newly freed-of-a-cancer diagnosis party, at a favorite martini bar. I tested the number of martinis I could safely have without the inevitable hangover the following day and failed, badly. So, consequently, Wednesday was a bust in terms of studying.
Hmmm… Ok, there was still time, I thought. Thursday arrived and I felt human again. I put in a concentrated effort and make my notecards, memorize the steps, memorize the terms, and review my green notebook one more time and SH*T!, WHAT?, how did I not see “feeding” on my list of skills for the last class? Ugh, ok, well, I’ll study again after we come back from our weekly Thursday happy hour wine bar get together with 20-30 of our pals. Thursday evening arrives, post happy hour, and I am absolutely not interested in studying. Que the slow but consistent flood of anxiety I can start to feel as the time ticks away toward Saturday.
Friday came, and it was the start of my work schedule again. I used the morning to make the note card for feeding but didn’t practice the steps or memorize anything about the skill. I told myself I’d wake up tomorrow early and put in a couple of hours before class. Friday is the busiest and craziest time at work of the entire schedule, but there’s two of us behind the bar so it’s more manageable than when I’m by myself. Friday night usually ends with a meal at home and staying up late while I let my head calm down from the buzz of going 100mph behind the bar. I also let my body digest the food, as I did that night, while I thought about how I maybe shouldn’t have wasted that first week of break.
I woke up early on Saturday and re-studied the skills I had to know, though I was nowhere as ready to demonstrate the skill for “feeding” as I was for the ROM exercises.
I got ready and headed to class. I arrived and settled in while the others arrived and took their seats. Someone asked the instructor how it all went at her father’s funeral. She let out a deep, “oohhhh, too much drama!”…and dropped it.
The first part of the classroom portion was us exchanging about 8 quizzes with each other that we were expected to take during the first three weeks of class. The instructor waited about two minutes and then startled rattling off the answers to the quizzes. We graded each other’s quizzes and indicated the correct answer if someone answered incorrectly.
After the quiz grading, we all went back to the skills room. It is at this point, she took us all again, for probably the 8th time for real, and showed us again, how to properly wash our hands.
We all sat down again and she said, “OK, who has Range of Motion, let’s go, c’mon, no wasting time… Ryan, come, be the patient.” What, why me? She told me to get into the bed nearest her and lie down. I had become Ms. Suzie, our full size plastic manipulatable patient.
The first person attempted the exercise and of course, failed at most of the steps, but the instructor is less harsh on this Saturday. She hadn’t become Ms. Geniality or anything, but she just asked the student to step aside and she started doing the skills on me herself. But, she couldn’t help but feel my inability to relax my limbs, and kept telling me to relax, like simply telling me to do so was going to do it. I felt like an absolute ragdoll and could not for the life of me “relax” any more than I felt I was, but she kept insisting I was too stiff. It became a bit of a joke and offered some levity for the situation but it was eye opening to me that she could feel I was tense. I’m probably more obvious than I think, but I definitely tried to let go mentally and go limp physically with my entire body, but it apparently wasn’t happening.
A couple of more students tried practicing on me, with varying degrees of success. I blamed it on the patient.
After ROM, the instructor had us redo the vitals skills. I went second and from indirect care to the “end skills” (common end steps attributed to every skill, no matter what), I carried them out just about perfectly. So much so, the instructor laughed when I finished by saying, “I am finished with this skill” which is the way you end all skills, and said, “Perfect, Ryan, you pass entire exam.” A rare glimpse of humor from the instructor, and everyone giggled a bit.
After everyone did the vitals skills, there was about an hour and change remaining in the class and she asked if anyone had questions. No one spoke up at first and she started in with the sarcasm, “So, everyone is perfect on every skill, any one of you can do Peri-care, Footcare, Transfer the patient, Mouth/dentures care, Feeding, Partial bed bath, Catheter care – you all have no questions and can do each of these, and all the rest perfectly, yes?” Sheepishly, people started asking a few questions, and I asked a question about bedpan changing. A few others asked questions and then that became what we were going to do for the remainder of the class, which was whoever asked the question would attempt that skill. Oh man, I just walked back into a trap. It’d been two weeks since I did the bedpan thing and I never did it totally successfully in class. I started to sweat again but others were called before me, and when it finally got to my turn, the instructor said there wasn’t enough time, so she’d just do it.
The class ended with her handing out folders that contained the certificate we received for completing the class. Though it’s not worth much beyond the paper it’s printed on, I gave myself a thumb’s up for sticking through it when I didn’t feel it was doing for me what I hoped it might. Upon leaving class for the last time, the instructor called out to me and said I owed her lunch after I took and passed the certification exam. I think she might be waiting a long while.
I came to the realization that while I could and would offer this type of care for people I cared about, I don’t think I have it in me emotionally to carry out this work as a profession. I have deep appreciation for people who commit their working lives to be in service to others, especially in roles like these, where the need for genuine compassion is just as important as the actual care.
With that, I offer my thanks and gratitude to all who work in a caregiver role, a demanding but critically needed service which all too often goes thankless.
What did my journey bring me? How am I leading my life? I wonder and check in with myself quite often.
Do you? Because….
The universe is asking… Show me your new vibration, I will show you miracles!
There is no way we can Fake it!
Firstly, our Universe’s higher energies are integrating within our consciousness like never before, and as part of humanity’s collective consciousness, zeroing into what/who uplifts your energy, what/who zaps it, and cutting out all that is toxic (people, thoughts, habits), becomes our personal responsibility. Only when our frequencies vibrate on a higher energy, can we become contributors to planet earth. So, I have consciously become a witness to experience the “eternal dance” and reality of the mind’s consciousness, perception, sensation, and my own reactions to all stimuli around me.
Secondly, we must truly heal, at the cellular level, and that will mean re-opening of old wounds, burn old illusions, and a courageous confrontation with our pain, for in that darkness you will encounter your wounded inner child. And if you were raised with only conditional love – meaning you had to meet certain conditions and criteria in order to be loved, cherished or valued – then that is how you’re fulfilling and showing up in your adult life too. “Cutting Ties” with my wounds, and lingering traumas (as taught by my mentor, Phyllis Krystal), connected me with the here and now, brought me closures to conflicts, confusions, antagonisms, and attachments to the idea of being “hurt”. It brought me closures to conflicts, confusions, antagonisms, and attachments to those ideations. After so many years, irrespective of my brokenness I was falling in love with myself, knowing fully that I will never allow anyone to ever dull my sparkle again.
Thirdly, I have forgiven all who contributed to my “injured-ness” over the years. Resentment, grudges, unjustified judgments, and anger, traps your life energy, limits you, and makes moving forward difficult – like trying to ride a bicycle with the brakes partly on all the time. As I often say, “If you don’t deal with past hurt & traumas, they will deal with you!” So, why carry baggage? Be selfish and drop them. Reserve your time, intensity, and spirit exclusively for those who reflect sincerity. I want my garb to be strength and dignity; Can you see it? Feel it?
Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that ~ Martin Luther King, Jr.
Fourthly, developing a “grateful disposition” has not only been a social glue fortifying my relationships, but has inculcated optimism, joy, and a humility and surrendering to what will be, will be. Fearlessly, and curiously, I am exploring this new-founded oneness and harmony I feel with others. Like all of us, I am living on borrowed time, light wanting to merge with light. So, I want to exist with an intimate, restful, yet curious connection with the world. I am willing to allow life to unfold at its own pace.
Fifthly, the key to the paradox is within us all. It’s called “unconditional Love”. Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around. I have been waiting for a new dawn and Tribe, till I saw, “A Gathering of the Tribe”, (a powerful short film by Charles Eisenstein w/Jon Hopkins & Aubrey Marcus), and I know that, the longing in my heart is an intuitive knowledge that even though loneliness, betrayal, drudgery, anxiety, the pain of separation, and degradation seems normal right now, we will witness the burst of the miraculous flame from the inextinguishable spark that lies in all of us, we will find our Tribe again. For now, I allow the veil from my eyes to be torn, wipe the mirror of my mind clean, and the doors of perception to stay open.
“You are That already” ~ wise sage Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj.
What if this, right here, right now – this one eternal present moment – is it? What if life will always be a mix of positive and negative, pain and pleasure, success and failure, enlightenment and delusion, nirvana and samsara? What if there is no beginning and no end? And what if there is space Here/Now for all of it to be just as it is?
What if Joy is a sustained experience in this “now”?
What a Relief?
The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. And I thought…What if our society has forgotten this gift?
~Einstein.
(The above are excerpts from my Anthology: “MISSION HOPE – Thriving through seasons of the Soul”, written with 17 other Authors. I am Chapter 17. In Chinese Mythology, No.8’s (1+7=8) always experience a spiritual awakening and progression in life, and during challenging periods of life, the help and guidance of your angels will be there for them, leading to wisdom to discern, personal empowerment. In 2023, it’s predicted that I will enter a new phase of my journey, involving meeting new people/ changing your lifestyle or habits in some significant way.)
Bring it on!
So, I have moved a lot in my life! We moved every couple of years when I was a kid. It seemed like just when things were going well in my life, my parents would announce another move! So, we packed up again and moved to a new home, a new school, new friends, and more. It was difficult, but it was our life and I did not know any different.
As an adult, I have also moved many times. I moved when I went to college. I moved when I served a full-time mission for my church. We moved all the time as missionaries! I moved back home, back to college, back to home, and so on! I moved when I got married. I moved when we needed a bigger home for a new baby’s arrival. I moved to go to graduate school. I moved when I got my first job! I moved when I bought my first home. I moved when I was transferred for work.
While most moves are the same, there have been some key similarities! There are boxes! Lots of boxes! Packing all your things and loading them into a truck is a lot of work! And there were trucks! Lots of trucks! Big trucks! Then, even bigger trucks to accommodate the large and growing family! Once, we had a paid move where most of the work was done for us! Most of the time, we packed our own boxes, loaded our own trucks, broke our own backs, and relied on the generosity of friends on both ends. Moving is a somewhat common thing in our life. We like to move it move it!
However, we are moving to a new nation this time! I have never done this before! It is so different and requires a different kind of packing and unpacking. It is more stressful than any other move I have ever undertaken. This move is killing me. It is unlike any other adjustment and stress, and I am having a hard time with it. This move has been in the works for years. I am still trying to figure out how to do it all.
For those of you who are worried at this point, thinking we are heading out of our beloved country, please know that we are staying here. The move I am speaking about is a different kind of move. It is the move to alienation. We did not choose this move, but it was thrust upon us by people who seem to just want to hurt us and blame us. It is the most painful move I have ever been through. My wife and I try to comfort each other as we face this move to alienation.
Parental alienation is when one parent seeks to alienate or distance the children from the other parent. It is seeking to destroy the relationship between the other parent and his or her children. It is most common in divorce situations and it is a deadly move. Parental alienation takes on many forms. It can look like an active meeting pulling together all the kids in a group and bashing the other parent, labeling them with things like narcissist, borderline, bipolar, abusive, and so forth. It can take the form of crossed boundaries, sharing texts or emails out of context, and criticizing the other parent. It can take the form of isolating, restricting visits, controlling conversations, and pushing out interactions. It can take the form of cruel accusations, court actions, and demanding changes. Most insidiously, it involves whispered innuendoes, accusations, judgements, blaming, and more into the ears of vulnerable and innocent children. There are so many ways to move into alienation. All of them are deadly to the children. All of them cause incredible harm. This move is hard on all.
Parental alienation is a major problem and there is so little that can be done about it. In this day of social media and internet connection, it is even easier to do and harder to stop.
In fact, there is little that can be done to stop parental alienation. Unless the targeted parent witnesses it or has others who have witnessed it, there is nothing that can be done in the courts or other forums. Even misaligning social media posts cannot be used in a court of law because they are not conclusive. Those parents who choose to alienate the other parent have all of the power. They can whisper their distorted lies and accusations and cruelties in the ears of their children and there is little or nothing the other parent can do. It is maddening and so very sad.
Children suffer the most from this move to parental alienation. How can they be expected to navigate this particular move? When one parent chooses to pack up and load up vicious and cruel comments, accusations, and criticisms of the other, how is a child supposed to manage that? They have no context! Sometimes they have no memory of things that happened. They are limited in what they can see or not see in a parent’s relationship. They are not qualified or able to assess what is real and what is not. Especially when a parent chooses to take any weakness, any sentence, and interaction and turn it into a weapon, when that same parent is willing to tell any lie and go to any length to alienate, it destroys the child stuck in the middle. This move destroys children!
Even more, the alienated parent struggles with the loss of one of the most important relationships in his or her life. This out-of-control feeling and the powerful and devastating grief associated with it is the worst feeling ever. In these moments, this parent may respond out of grief and hurt. The patterns of abuse and cruelty in the marriage, caused him to get out of the marriage. He was safe. His children are still stuck in the middle. As he loses control, connection, and closeness simply by the dissolution of the marriage, it can be terrible. And, whether we like it or not, courts are not friendly places and the adversarial legal system is hardly the place to solve things. So, the alienated parent loses control. He may try to fight for his kids. When he is met with challenges, often his very actions are twisted against him and the offending spouse uses that as more ammunition. No wonder many alienated parents (especially dads) give up after trying so hard.
Once the offending spouse has administered the poison of parental alienation, it is hard for the other parent to find an antidote.
This is a major problem in our society and throughout the world. More needs to be done to address parental alienation. I wish I had the answers. I wish those involved in my world would think of the children first. That is really the answer. I know there are abusive parents, but too many good parents are alienated from their children by the other parent. It is never healthy or good for a parent to shame, blame, misalign, criticize, or belittle the other parent. Even in bad situations, this creates a difficulty for the child who is naturally curious and connected to both of her parents. It can be impossible for even the brightest and best children to navigate what is true and figure it out.
As my sweetheart and I talked about this move, we pondered on our past. Each of us grew up in a home that included divorce. Each of us had a parent who alienated the other parent. Each of us had our journey and struggle with what happened. Eventually, we grew up and matured and became curious about the so-called abusive or terrible other parent. In each of our cases, we finally saw things more clearly. We finally were able to have more perspective and discern more of the truth. We are grateful we eventually were able to see the light of day after being so fully kept in the dark by abusive alienation tactics of one of our parents. We still struggle with some of the hurt. We would not wish that upon anyone–especially our own children. The cost is too much.
We can only hope that our children will one day be able to see clearly. Until then, we struggle with this move to this nation. There is nothing good about a move to alienation.
You know, people here (on Medium) are starting to suck, big time. Take the writer who works as a vet tech and has written story after story detailing her problems with co-workers, clients, and the Universe as a whole. We all have problems, some direr than others, so I empathize. Hell. I’m a frazzled mess these days.
I followed the writer because I adore animals and was interested in how she was able to remain relatively sane in a profession where one must experience so much sadness on a daily basis. I’ll go a step further and say that I had mad respect for her as I’m a total wimp where animals are concerned. To care for people’s beloved pets who are sick or injured or need to be peacefully ushered into the next life must be relentlessly heartbreaking.
A recent piece by this writer centered around people who share their lives and homes with both prey and predator animals, such as rats and cats. Or snakes and rodents of any kind. You get the picture.
She shared an incident in her clinic where an eight-week-old kitten was brought in, badly injured after its owners decided it was time to introduce the wee baby to their pet rats. Now, in fairness, the rats did not bite the kitten, but young as it may be, that kitten is still a predator and being such, thrust its little paw into the cage, got stuck, and when she was finally able to pull it out, the paw was covered in blood and she was “howling in pain.”
Apparently, the clueless owners thought that if they raised the kitten around those rats, she’d be less inclined to hunt them. What the f__k is wrong with people? Note my link to an older story of mine that begs an answer to this question.
As a result of the enforced “bonding,” between predator and prey, one of the kitten’s claws was ripped clean off, requiring surgery, and going forward, she may experience ongoing discomfort due to the f__ktards who were supposed to protect and care for her.
Now, this writer got her panties in a serious twist when I commented that I thought the kitten’s owners should be forced to rehome her, and, that I thought their actions bordered on animal abuse.
People, if you’re going to have cats and rats, rather, predator and prey, in the same household, grow a friggin’ brain cell, yeah?
But, what is really upsetting is that the writer jumped down my throat for commenting the way I did. How dare I bring up animal abuse when that wasn’t the case and she sees it every day and BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH. And I’m just a big, f__king idiot who, even though I’ve lived with animals my entire life, knows nada.
To this writer, I say, “screw you.” I stand by my opinion and believe the kitten’s owners are a couple of dumb f__ks who should share their lives with cacti instead of animals.
Also, even though this individual has written countless stories detailing every problem and challenge she’s ever faced, I’ve been nothing but sympathetic. I’ve left supportive comments on her articles and in return, what do I get? A nasty, public put-down.
Adding insult to injury, she never reads or comments on my stories, which she attributes to her being so busy, unlike an unemployed slug of a fossil like me. Ergo, I stopped following her and no doubt will be blocked.
And just to clarify, I referenced “self-professed” in my subtitle as that is how this individual comes off.
I’m sharing this with you so that newer writers, especially, will understand this important tenet: Your readers are not here to agree with you. If you choose to share certain experiences that others may have opinions on, that don’t jibe with yours, get over yourselves and suck them up. Thank them for their comment, reiterate your point if you feel it necessary, and move on.
I’ll add a disclaimer here and say that anyone who disagrees with a writer’s take on a particular issue or subject, needs to be respectful in their point-counterpoint. Your knee-jerk reaction, fueled by emotion, will only make you look like an asshole. Trust me. I know.
And, we don’t need any more self-important putzes on Medium, do we?
So, that’s it. It’s a shame that my opinion went down the way it did, but, C’est la vie. And I still believe the following: If you’re going to force the issue with pets that are both prey and predator, expect that there will be blood.
After I arrived back home, I stayed in a trailer that my parents had on the property. I was still alone but was waiting on Tom to get back from Okinawa. I had been back home for around three months when Tom’s term was finally up in Okinawa. He was to have a thirty-day leave and was at Camp Lejeune.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 7): The Bus Station
I was so excited he was finally coming home, and we could give our marriage a chance. He went to Okinawa right after we got married. We were both young and neither one of us had been faithful to the other. Well, much to my surprise and disappointment Tom went to California with his best friend instead of coming home. This wasn’t a particularly good start to giving our marriage a try.
I didn’t hear from him until Tom was at Camp Lejeune. He was saving his money up to get us a trailer to rent. Meanwhile, I had a friend whose husband was in the service and also stationed at Fort Bragg. He was in the army while Tom was in the Marines. They were kind enough to let me come stay with them until Tom sent for me. One night I don’t know why or whose idea it was, but we went skinny dipping. I was leaving my bra and underwear on. There were five of us I believe. A couple of friends of her husband’s from the base. We were far out in the water when we noticed a van pull up and several marines got out. We scurried back to shore when I discovered my clothes were gone, they had floated down the river. My friend’s husband gave me his shirt and it was long enough to cover me. The guys in the van never came down thank goodness. We drove back to the trailer, and I dressed immediately. Why did I agree to that in the first place? I continue to make bad decisions, which always had consequences.
It seems like I was at their house for a couple of months still waiting on Tom. Finally, I heard from him that he had the trailer. Finally, we were going to be able to be together and give our marriage a try. I wanted to have children eventually and he did too. Things were going well for us, so we decided to try. Money was very tight for us, and we often ate macaroni and cheese and hot dogs and fried-up diced potatoes. I wasn’t working. I was finally staying home being a homemaker.
About six months later I got pregnant, and I couldn’t be happier. Toms’s best friend had sent for his wife as well and they rented a trailer in the same park too. I had become good friends with her. About a month into my pregnancy, I started spotting blood and having severe stomach pain. I started praying to God and saying “please God don’t take my baby. I am so sorry for everything I’ve ever done, and I won’t do it again.”
About a month went by and I was having severe pains. I was breaking out in a sweat, was dizzy, and felt very faint. I passed a large mass, and I was sure I had a miscarriage. I went to the Camp Lejeune emergency service and they said yes, I had miscarried. So, they proceeded to do a D and C (Dilatated of Curettage) which is scraping the walls of your uterus. They proceeded without giving me any pain medication or putting me under anesthesia. I never felt more pain in my life. I screamed and screamed for them to stop but they wouldn’t. Tom was in the waiting room, so I started screaming for him. But he never came. They sent me back home after that. Tom and I were devastated we had lost our child.
I was continuing to have pain and it kept getting worse and unbearable. I couldn’t understand–if I lost the baby, why am I still in so much pain? I made a doctor’s appointment which took about a week to get in. I asked him –why am I in so much pain? I had severe pain. He got on the phone and called the lab. Then he said we must assume the baby is still in you and it’s in your fallopian tube. We must do emergency surgery. Oh my God, how can this be happening?
They had already told me I lost the baby and now they are saying it’s in the tube. I called my husband and told him I hadn’t lost the baby. I had to have emergency surgery and I couldn’t come home. Tom was at work, so he didn’t come up for the surgery. I was extremely sick and after the surgery, they said the tube had burst and I had lost several pints of blood. I lay in that hospital for about a month without any visitors, not even Tom. I felt so alone and deserted. The only thing that made sense to me was that I must have been having twins and that one was in my uterus and one in my tube. I had miscarried the one in my uterus and the other baby was in my tube. I read somewhere in my records later it was a male embryo. The doctor had told me while in the hospital that they took the baby and the tube however one tube remained but was all scared up and would need surgery to get pregnant. He called it endometriosis. I knew I couldn’t get pregnant and so I stopped trying and never worried about a contraceptive with Tom. I fell into a deep depression after this and often cried myself to sleep asking God why me?
About three months later, my friend Judy, Paul’s wife, was pregnant. I envied her. I had just lost my baby and she was pregnant. I wanted to shout at the world this isn’t fair! But I did settle down and told her how happy I was for her. She must have been about six months pregnant. One night Judy and Paul came over at one A.M. Tom woke me up and said they were here get up. I couldn’t understand why it couldn’t wait till morning. I got up to find Judy sitting in the rocking chair rocking away. Paul said, “tell her Julie, tell her.” Judy looked me square in the eyes and said, “I’ve been having an affair with Tom.” I was both angry and in shock. Here I had befriended her, and I thought we were the best of friends and to cheat with my husband while pregnant. I wanted to reach over and smack her and throw her on the floor, but I couldn’t because she was pregnant. She claimed it was Paul’s but went on to say she was in love with them both. Oh, wow the nerve she had. I shouted at her then “Bitch! You don’t know what love is.” She went back home after that, and Tom and Paul took off in the car to talk. I don’t know to this day what was said during their talk, but Paul and Judy stayed together.
I never was friends again with her after that. When Tom got home from his talk, he started packing his bags, I yelled at him, “Oh no, you’re not leaving! I didn’t do anything wrong. I should be the one that’s leaving and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not ready to give up on us.” We would go to the same parties and Paul and Judy would be there also. It was exceedingly difficult as she was staring at him across the room and their eyes met and gazed upon the others, making me feel like I was just a piece of garbage tossed about. Meanwhile, Tom was due to get out of the service soon. So, I was biding my time so we could start a new life together far away from Judy.
Diane is a story artist. She’ll tell you a story to ‘listen a story out of you’. For example, she muses “Remember the first time you rode a bike and took your hands off the handlebars? And then because it felt fun and scary you did it again until you were streaking down a hill with the wind blowing in your face and your hands up over your head screaming, “Look ma! No hands!” That’s been the story of my life. Showing up – maybe scared but not afraid – because you fall down 7 and get up 8.”
As Ipek Williamson (Insight Coach and Meditation Teacher) commented “Being in her presence is like quenching your thirst that you didn’t even know you had with infinitely refreshing water.” We’ll be covering and discovering connectedness, community, creativity, and potentially how to discover what real honest dyed-in-the-wool leadership presence looks like to us.
A recognized global podcaster, (Stories From Women Who Walk & Daily 60 Seconds) Diane shares wisdom and interviews designed to help others become successful story creators; a Speaker and Founder of Engaged Storyism® Method, and Quarter Moon Story Arts (her consulting space), Diane helps people find the words, they didn’t know they had so they can get their marketing, messaging, presentation, origin story image out of their head and into the world to connect & succeed.
I search for silence from the noise
the noise that takes over –
my space, my thoughts, my life
I need to retreat
to retreat
to silence, to space
for me, to find me
away from the noise
that encroaches on my everyday life
my heart, my soul …
cries out for freedom
freedom to be
freedom to breathe
freedom to rest
freedom to love, freely,
freedom.
Most visitors to The Kings and Scribes Exhibition at Winchester Cathedral have never heard of Queen Emma. I had also not heard of her until becoming an Exhibition Steward.
Queen Emma was born in Normandy in 984 and passed away in Winchester, on March 6th, 1052. She was the Great Aunt of William the Conqueror of Normandy. (1028 – 1087).
The Battle of Hasting in 1066 is probably the most important year in Britain’s history. The Norman Conquest.
Queen Emma was the daughter of Richard I of Normandy.
She was married twice. Her first husband was the Anglo-Saxon King Aethelred ‘The Unready’ and when he passed away, married Danish King Canute (famous for sitting in a chair at the seafront; tried and failed to stop the tide coming in. It resulted in his feet becoming rather wet.
Queen Emma had two sons: Harthcanut and Edward the Confessor.
She is the only Queen to be Queen twice and the only Queen to have a mortuary chest in Winchester Cathedral.
There are many many ancient buildings in Winchester High Street, one of which is a half-timbered former residence and Queen Emma’s principal home.
‘God Begot House’, now an Italian restaurant. The translation of the name has changed over the centuries and is now thought to be ‘the good getter’. This was her principal home. The building still has the ancient inside structure with beams and a room that is thought to be haunted. The outside frontage is, to say the least, awesome.
Queen Emma and her sons helped to a degree in planning the Norman Conquest of 1066.
Why most people had never heard of her is a mystery. She played such an important role in the history of the Kings and Queens of Winchester.
Winchester is home to the world-famous 1000-year-old Cathedral. And has the longest medieval nave. The Cathedral Contains remains of many ancient monarchs in mortuary chests, including Queen Emma.
“You are constantly becoming a new person,” says journalist Shankar Vedantam.
In a talk full of beautiful storytelling, he explains the profound impact of something he calls the “illusion of continuity” — the belief that our future selves will share the same views, perspectives, and hopes as our current selves — and shows how we can more proactively craft the people we are to become.
EPISODE DESCRIPTIONAl-Darkazali, known as “Big Al,” is an Iraqi dentist. At first euphoric over the ouster of Saddam Hussein, he grew so discouraged with the outcome that he gave up everything and left home to rebuild his life. After false starts in Cyprus and England, he settled in the US. Hear Big Al’s perspectives on the Iraq war and life in America.
Unused IdeasIt is possible that ideas, hopes, and dreams live in a place where anyone can go. They are like the vast shelves of books in a bookstore. Are our unused ideas like books in a used bookstore still there but just forgotten and waiting to be remembered?
Lost HighwaysI like the lost highways, where time has passed by, leaving its mark then moving on. A moment captured in time, then forgotten. I like the sound of gravel crunching beneath my boots and the sound of a rusty sign swinging in the wind.
I like the intensity of looking into the old men’s eyes that sit in front of the old gas stations and seeing their journey written on their souls.
The ViewWe spend a lifetime striving for all that we can get from life. Often at the expense of missing all the meaningful things that life gives us as gifts. How many times have we promised our self that we would get up early and watch a sunrise, sit out on a porch, and listen to the rain or walk down a country road with someone you love with dogs in tow? We never know how many tomorrows we have left. Choose today to find those moments.
Legend Has ItLife cannot give you courage. It has to come from within. It has to be something that you have faced in life and conquered. Fear is something you must face often in life. It has many faces. It can be personal, business or the fury of nature. Regardless of what it is, life has given you the tools and the knowledge to face anything. It is up to you how you face your fears or rather embrace your courage. As my sister always told me, in life, be strong, be courageous, and be a dragon slayer.
Stories are best when they are shared. We learn by listening and sharing tales of our journey. Each of us has a story to tell, a bit of knowledge to share that will help us along our way.
A very common regret people have before death is in relation to what they did not do in their lives, for instance, the regret of working too much and not dedicating enough time to their family and friends.
Such moments, however, can also awaken feelings of gratitude—for one’s spouse, children, and friends surrounding them in their last moments. Indeed, why do people think of what is more important in life in their life’s closing moments?
It is because they are making their final calculation in life, and they see their inability to do any more good. They thus feel regretful. Then they think that they should simply forgive everyone and ask everyone for forgiveness, and conclude by asking the Creator for forgiveness due to their inability to correctly connect with Him.
While many people awaken with such thoughts in their life’s closing moments, we should exercise these thoughts throughout our lives, from the moment we gain some self-awareness.
The end of this line of inquiry should awaken in us the question: “Do we find favor in the upper force?”
And how would we know whether or not we find favor in the upper force? We would not know. But by asking ourselves time and again, we correct ourselves bit by bit.
Moreover, we should be grateful as much as possible to the Creator for everything we have endured. Gratitude is important because we do not truly know what is good or bad, and so we need to bless the bad as well as the good while trying to be good.
A different kind of shock rocked me on this particular Saturday. In walked the instructor and gone was the long-flowing-down-her-shoulders hair and in its place was what I now know is a sort of Bantu style of tied knots of hair that some black women choose if they style it short. It was a 100% change and did nothing to soften what was already a hard exterior.
ENJOY ALL PRIOR PARTS HERE︎
Certifiable (Part 2)
Leading up to Saturday 3, I studied a bit more, made notes on note cards, and enlisted John for patient role demonstration skill purposes. We have a small, twin-sized fold-up bed in the rare instances we host more than two overnight guests. I dragged that out and gathered various props that would serve as the needed supplies. John played the role of “patient in coma”, which meant he was not responsive in any way and didn’t provide any “patient help” at all.
“Please, Mr. John, cross your arms, now cross your legs, now shift toward me, now please, Mr. John, roll to your side, and outstretch your arm to support you” – all fell on deaf ears and closed eyes, which meant I was crossing his arms and legs myself, trying to pull him toward me myself (not by the neck!), and pushing him over instead of him rolling himself. “This is how it is in the real world,” smirked John, the immovable patient. “Yes, but for entry CNAs, I doubt they’re going to place them in the Coma ward!, ” I shot back.
I practiced a bit more and knew that I had to know how to dress/redress a patient. But I was a nervous wreck. And this was the first where there was an inkling of internal questioning about why I was putting myself through this; what I hoped to get from it; and whether it was worth it.
The classroom portion came and went and back again, and we found ourselves in the skills demonstration room. I was sitting there and the inkling of doubt turned into a big desire to bolt. I actually sat there and debated on whether to just leave. I wasn’t going to demonstrate my skill to the standard this person was judging, and I was just having anxiety over this entire part. I’ve been a performer on stages for a long time and absolutely love that, but being “on display and subject to criticism” when I’m not as prepared as I’m expected to be is the absolute worst. But therein lies the rub, right? “Not as prepared as I’m expected to be…” I did prepare more for this third round in the ring, and just tried to let go of the expectations part, but I’m not naturally wired that way, and that takes a real conscious everyday-thinking-kind-of-effort to let go of the expectations of others, real or just perceived. But again, I was sitting there and thinking, I don’t need this, I’m outta here. But just as I was about to gather my stuff and get up, an internal voice out of nowhere shot through my brain and speared right through all these doubting and lousy feelings, and told myself to sit my ass back down and complete the rest of this very short commitment.
Once again, the instructor started hollering out the commands, “Who’s up, let’s go guys, you’re too slow, you need to get in the habit of doing things quickly but not rushed, and to do that you have to practice. Let’s go, c’mon, who’s up?” Someone else was up and I just concentrated on my note card and went through the steps as I had memorized them. Even though I knew I was going to stumble, I felt I had some of the parts down, in the order they were supposed to be executed.
And then I’m called, “Ryan, c’mon, dress/redress, let’s go.” I successfully and correctly did the indirect care, and made my way over to the sink to wash my hands. At home, I taped a card to the bathroom mirror with all the handwashing steps and for three days leading up to this Saturday, literally talked the steps through while I was washing my hands for the full required three minutes each and every single time. The waste of water bothered me but I had to practice. I decided to do the same “talk through each step” process as I washed my hands there in the skills room.
I was quick to get my supplies, and quick to start the process, doing each step mostly correctly, and the instructor was helping with her comments mostly and let me get through about halfway when she stopped me. I had done one part completely wrong, but that didn’t matter, she was impressed that I had clearly practiced and was talking through each step of the skill which no one had been doing. She used me as an example and said, “See, when you read, you study, you practice, you can do it – good effort, Ryan.” I decided to inject a bit of humor and said, “Thanks, I just didn’t want to get yelled at!” Everyone broke up at that, and even the instructor cracked a half smile. We all watched her finish up my skill and sat back down. My classmate to the left turned to me and asked if I was already in the medical field. I laughed and said no, but that I had practiced a bit during the week.
Like a kid, I was riding high from my effort being recognized, but that was short-lived. We finished up Saturday number three with the skills of recording pulse and respirations. For these two skills, we used each other to take a pulse and observe respirations. The fact that we were using each other (obviously Ms. Suzie wouldn’t work), and that we both were sitting in a chair opposite one another, as opposed to addressing an unresponsive plastic mannequin lying in bed, totally threw me so I messed up by not even doing indirect care the first time when it was my turn. I screwed up a second time, but the instructor let me go on, and then I couldn’t find the person’s pulse, and the instructor told me to just sit down and relax.
I was the final student that day to demonstrate those skills once more, and despite the anxiety, I overcame it and ended up recording the exact data that the instructor recorded as she was observing. Sometimes what feels like insane internal pressure works for me rather than against me, but not often.
The afternoon ended with her telling us that in fact, the school said she was not allowed to adjust the time of the class, which meant that we would instead meet in two weeks for the last class. Thank goodness, a break!
One of the people I’m working with needed some help sensing the energies around him. I suggested “The Solitaire Meditation”.
It’s straightforward. Play solitaire and win.
Simple, correct?
Well, there are some hitches. Aren’t there in everything? For one, we define a win as knowing, before you start to play, whether you’ll win or lose. Did you believe you’d win and you did win? Then you score +1. Did you believe you’d lose and you lost? Then you score +1. Did you believe you’d win and you lost? Score 0. Thought you’d lose and you won? 0.
Do you recognize what we’re doing? Does it make sense? It’s not about winning or losing, it’s about knowing what will happen before it happens.
Granted, this precognitive training is only a few minutes into the future.
A few minutes into the future? Meh.
Months back a friend asked how I start my day. I shared I play four different games of solitaire each morning, one hand each usually. I’m not interested in winning each game, I’m interested in how winning or losing each game affects me.
My goal is to stay centered, not let winning or losing pull me off balance, fill me with pride, or crush my ego. I can tell by how I’m playing if I’m starting my day off-balance unawares. When I am and when I recognize it, I center, I focus, I slow, and lower my breathing. I shuffle the cards and play again. Sometimes I’ll be playing different kinds of solitaire for 15-20m before I’m centered enough I win every game.
But wait a second…didn’t I write above that it’s not about winning?
That’s right, it’s not, and I’ll get back to that in a second.
Train yourself to understand the future will happen no matter what you do about it – even if it means losing at something, even if it’s not what you want or things do go as you hoped – and you learn to accept whatever the future has in store for you. You don’t have to like it and if you can know what’s coming before it comes you can better prepare yourself for it.
That part, that understand-accept-prepare part, has to do with getting rid of your ego. Ego in the sense of “I’m somebody and I can do something about it.”
Lots of times you can and lots of times you can’t. And sometimes letting go of your ego is a real pain in the ass.
It can also bring you an amazing amount of peace, surety, and confidence. If you know what’s going to happen, even if you don’t like it, at least you’re better prepared for it and you can meet whatever it is with lots more confidence than if you didn’t know what was coming at you and got blindsided by it.
After you master winning or losing a few minutes into the future, push it further and further into the future. Time is a distance, like any other. Somebody somewhere convinced you that you could look down a street to an intersection but you couldn’t look down a street to what happened five minutes ago or will happen five minutes from now.
But isn’t that knowing if you’ll win or lose at solitaire before you pick up the cards? You can know what’s going to happen with the cards in five minutes but not down the street in five minutes? If you train to do one, you’ll be able to do the other.
Years ago I wrote about playing Russian Bank, a two-handed solitaire game, with Susan (wife/partner/Princess) and knowing who’d win just by the initial lay of the cards:
Susan (wife, partner, beloved, Princess, …) and I play a card game called Russian Bank, a two-deck solitaire. Each player puts four cards from their deck on the table face up to start the game and I can predict who’ll win (accuracy well over 90%) simply by seeing how the cards are laid out at the start. This accuracy climbs as the game is played, and I’m usually able to pick the exact point where the outcome is finalized and why. …
(if you have a real need, ask me and I’ll explain how it’s done)
Let’s focus a bit on that “knowing” part. Let’s chunk it down. How about instead of knowing whether you’ll win or lose, let’s focus on knowing which card should be played where.
I mean, if you can know whether or not you’ll win or lose, and that’s a few minutes out, it should be much simpler to know if the card you’re about to play should be played the way you’re going to play it.
Heck, we’re going from minutes to seconds. Probably less.
Now, if you’re really paying attention, you should pick up that if you know you’re going to win the game anyway, it shouldn’t matter which card you play when because you’re still going to win.
Absolutely, completely, uninterminably correct.
Maybe.
What if you don’t want to teach yourself to sense whether you’ll win or lose? What if you want to teach yourself to sense the energy of each card?
And not for the sake of being correct – remember, lots of this stuff is to get ego out of the way – but for the sake of knowing how to know.
Think about that. Knowing how to know.
If you can teach yourself to sense which card should be played, you can teach yourself to know which foods to eat, which cars to buy, which people to ask out on a date, which jobs to go after, … Hot dang but the list is endless.
And much of that involves teaching yourself to be patient (and if you don’t think being patient is a test of ego… The number of people who are impatient with themselves is staggering).
And think about this for a second. If you can’t be patient with your own learning – because that’s what this is, your own learning – why should you expect others to be patient with you when you’re learning. Now push it out one step further; If you’re not patient with yourself, can you truly be patient with others when they’re learning?
So, as Susan often shares, learn patience with yourself so you can be patient with others. As one of my teachers taught me, learn to listen. To be aware. To care. To pay attention.
To yourself first and you’ll be shocked how self-compassion becomes compassion for others.
As I explained to one of the people I study with, once you get your ego out of the way, a whole new world opens up to you.
And just so you’ll know, statistics and probabilities don’t account for such things as we’re discussing here except as outlyers. These are the things that get thrown out of research studies because they don’t fit the curves or “the norm”.
Remember what you learned about the difference between probable and possible? Probable means (for example) “Out of 100 attempts, it’s happened 80 times therefore if you do it 100 times you’ll probably succeed 80% of the time.” Possible means “We don’t know of anybody else who can do it but you can do it therefore it must be possible even if we don’t know how you did it.”
The real moral of this piece is Be Limitless. Some time some where somebody imposed limits on you, on what you could do, what you could be, what you could know, what you could feel, what you could believe. The Universe rarely imposes a “can’t” on its children except in the sense of “it can’t be done this way” and that “this way” part makes a lot of difference.
I learned long ago not to define myself by others’ limitations.
And to find other ways to make things possible.
One of my teachers gave me an exercise and I immediately responded, “Impossible! It violates the laws of physics!”
She nodded. “Oh. I see. Tell me, are there laws of physics nobody knows yet?”
“Well, of course. Einstein discovered laws that compartmentalized much of classical physics. Quantum is rewriting some of Einstein. Bohm demonstrated working alternatives to Thermo. It happens all the time.”
She leaned towards me and stared directly into my eyes. “Then use those unknown laws nobody knows of to do this.”
ShaBoom!
Be Limitless.
Welcome to the world of possible.
Have you ever blamed someone for what they did / didn’t do?
Have you ever taken a stand against someone’s actions … only to finally see how that person’s life was partially shaped by how you’ve helped them?
There’s someone whom I’ve “helped” in several ways for a lot of years, always feeling love for them and feeling good about being able to help.
Even as this person moved from teenager to young adult to middle-aged, I’ve been there helping (or so I thought), rescuing, ensuring their life wouldn’t suddenly collapse.
But yesterday, I got a real metaphorical slap in the face when this person, whom I love a lot, needed just a small favor, one asked for many times over the years.
I wasn’t happy about it – it seemed like they could easily have done it on their own – but as this has been our “norm,” I said sure.
But something bugged me.
More than usual.
It actually felt wrong. Really, really wrong.
Surely they could have taken care of it alone … ? It wasn’t a huge emergency, but once again, there was a lack of planning on their part and a rescue needed from me.
How did they get so close to having nothing to work with? How could they not see it coming?
I stewed over it for a couple of hours, and suddenly, BANG!
Finally, I realized that we had danced to this tune for about 25 years, and I had trained them to be unable to manage on their own.
I thought I was being kind. Loving. Supportive.
Wrong.
I was enabling them.
Squashing their self-confidence.
Ensuring they wouldn’t even think about doing something proactive like planning / budgeting / organizing … because, why should they?
I was always there, ready to be kind, swooping in to save the day when things didn’t work out well.
Now, I finally realized that what I had been doing all these years – with the best of intentions – was enabling, which is NOT kind.
NOT loving.
It’s actually hurtful.
Totally wrong.
My actions stopped this person from growing up in a couple of essential ways, and that knowledge took far too long for me to even realize.
Finally, I did.
So, I rolled up my sleeves, reluctantly took off my “cape,” wrote, rewrote, and rewrote an email, explaining that I had been very wrong for too many years.
I apologized for never “forcing” them to think beyond asking me for help, for never saying “no.”
For never pushing them to think for themselves, to decide to take control of their life and live it.
For never working with them to figure things out, to put their abilities to work for them, to make their own decisions for now and for their future.
While I might have touched on those topics, I never enforced them. I just said “sure” when asked to help.
So.
I finally closed the door, letting them know that I will no longer allow similar requests, because they need to work on their own future and figure out what they need, what they might need, and organize for all that.
Phew!
Writing it was tough … sending it about killed me.
And so I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And … I got a most excellent and marvelous response! Agreeing and telling me they had already reached out to a friend who had offered – more than once – to help them with their planning. Supposedly they’ll meet up this week to do just that.
I can hope, right?
Of course, they’re not the only one who is learning. I’m also learning about boundaries, about how to help without enabling, and about keeping the communication lines open and honest.
Have you been in a similar situation on either side? How did you resolve the needs of both (or all) parties? What can we learn from YOU on this type of issue?
The phone rings and I hesitate as caller ID flashes into view. I don’t have to press ‘answer’. I already know the question.
My eyes wander back to the screen where the half-written email waits patiently for the return of my attention. Reaching for the phone now. “This isn’t a convenient time,” I thought. “Say, no. You have to say no.”
There’s a laundry hamper brimming with activewear – after all, we are busy people. And our fridge is stocked well for a feast, as long as it’s made completely of condiments. I desperately need to go shopping. The dentist appointment tomorrow and the hair appointment the day after that.
The phone has now rung twice.
Oh shoot! I promised to babysit all day Thursday. And when will I find time to write get-well cards? My thoughts are like springs, bouncing from cell to cell, gathering reason.
The phone has now rung three times.
The freelance editing job I promised to complete lays on my desk, thesaurus and grammar guide wide open, purple ink pen at the ready. This job I prayed for, and now time escapes as though the Earth has cracked and minutes are slipping through.
The request just inside the ringing phone is not convenient. But I answer.
The voice on the other side is weak and tearful. “I’m having a hard day,” she says. “Would you be able to take me to lunch soon?” I think, but then do not say, what I’m thinking. I already know the right answer.
“Could I take you to lunch tomorrow? I can pick you up right after my dentist appointment.”
Doing the next right thing colors outside the lines of convenience.
Retirement has turned the virtues of a non-scheduled life into a teeter-totter of chaotic commitments. The things that are convenient rarely align with those of highest value.
Instead of clambering to meet a deadline, I took my friend to lunch, and afterward we took a long, quiet drive over miles of country roads, revisiting the area where she once lived, married, and raised her children for over 90 years.
Love isn’t a matter of convenience, it’s a matter of compassion.
The Lord is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, and rich in love. – Psalm 145:8
For many years, some Danish crosswalk lights have been showing not only how many seconds you have to make it across the street, but also how long you must wait before the light turns green. This started out as a nudging experiment, and it is a huge success with much fewer pedestrian/vehicle collisions in these crosswalks.
What is going on here?When we don’t know how long we have to wait, we might “chance it” if we are in a hurry to catch a bus or are rushing towards a meeting. Had we known that the lights would change in five seconds, we would gladly have waited. Likewise, if we know that the lights will not change for another 30 sec, we might take out our phone and send a text, meditate, look at the pigeons, do some neck rolls,… or just BE.
The model has been taken to other traffic situations, with a countdown signal 100-200 feet before an intersection e.g. If cars are lined up waiting for green lights, the drivers don’t need to be in “get ready mode” longer than necessary. And bikers know whether to tread the pedals hard or be safe to coast.
To a certain degree, this idea was already incorporated in most European traffic lights: It is Red → three seconds Amber (together with Red) → Green. Amber with Red means “get ready” so while the lights are only Red, you know you can relax. American signals go directly from Red to Green with no “get ready” signal. (We are advised to wait three seconds before we enter the intersection, anyway, not to get T-boned by somebody rushing over for “dark amber” red light.)
When we don’t know when to expect to go, we are in perpetual “get ready” mode; the same part of the nervous system that activates the “fight or flight” response.
We may not even be aware of it.
Does this apply to other situations than traffic lights?Think about a time when you were entering a room where you hardly knew anybody, and a lot hinged on a good outcome.
- A job interview
- Meeting the in-laws-to-be for the first time
- Teaching or keynoting
- Going somewhere that because of gender, age, class or… you were not “the norm”
We know and acknowledge that these are stressful situations. (At least we acknowledge it when we are the oddball ourselves.) Part of what makes them stressful is that we don’t know how people will react to how we behave or what we say.
When we don’t know what to expect, we are in perpetual “get ready” mode; the same part of the nervous system that activates the “fight or flight” response. We may not even be aware of it.
Predictability is an important element in trust. We trust ourselves when we are pretty good at guessing the next move of the people around us. When people behave like we predict and are otherwise cooperative, we also trust them. We don’t necessarily trust all individuals because some may be “difficult”, but when we can predict how to maneuver around them, we trust in our own efficacy in the situation.
We trust people less if we don’t know them or if we assume their reactions are far from what we could guess – unless we actively choose to trust them despite this uncertainty.
In a comment, SB Rawz wrote: “A colleague who spent most of his life in Europe before a move to the States once told me that in the States, the pressure of good communication is put on the speaker while in Europe (or at least the areas in which he lived), the impetus is on the listener to assume best intent, listen hard, etc.”
What might happen in discussions if we have a high level of general interpersonal trust vs. if we don’t?
If I trust you by default, and you say something unexpected that could otherwise tick me off, I am more likely to think that I might have misunderstood what you meant and eventually check back with you. If you say something that could be interpreted positively or negatively, I am more likely to opt for positive – why would I think a person I trust would want to hurt me?
If our trust partly is based on predictability, would it make sense that living in a place where everybody around you is like you and behave like you makes it easier to be trusting by default than if a significant number of people came from somewhere else and behave unpredictably?
If I don’t trust you, and as my “fight or flight” system is already activated by assumed unpredictability, I am more likely to interpret a neutral but ambiguous comment as a snide than as a compliment, and if you say something “out there” I might more readily punch on it.
Would it make sense that people, not knowing what to expect in an unpredictable environment, will be more careful with their words if they wish to build up a relationship?
And would it make sense that people, already stressed out for whatever reason, not just the strangers around them, might more often react with an activated “fight or flight” system?
Research shows that general trust – the idea that other people can normally be trusted – is about twice as high in Scandinavia and the Netherlands as in the US (30-40% vs. 70-80%.) Whether that is the leading contributor to the impetus on listening vs. speaking thoughtfully isn’t researched. But, as it mirrors my own immigrant experience, I believe there is a strong case that SB Rawz’s friend could be on to something.
So, my question with this post – think with me here – is: how can we reduce the number of situations where we are put in get ready, set, set, set… mode?
Might our communication patterns become smoother if we started adding Amber before the Green light and got rid of this and other unnecessary stress elements in our already overloaded lives?
Have you ever wondered how to “bridge the gap” between you and another person when neither of you speaks the same language? Too often, when there is a communication barrier between human beings, the tendency is to build a wall separating us, reinforced by the discomfort we feel. A lack of understanding establishes the cornerstone of such a wall—and fear is the mortar that strengthens it. An alternative is to build a bridge mindfully that unites us, reinforced with love, compassion, and non-judgment. The practice is to start by focusing on what we have in common with that person (or people). Common ground naturally offers us a place to stand that allows us to dismantle the invisible walls our assumptions and judgements construct. Irrespective of the communication gap, it’s easy to find what we have in common with another human being—if we are willing and know where to look:
We all are born; we all die.
We all laugh; we all cry.
We all know joy; we all know pain.
We all share the same planet.
We all share the same name:
Human Being…
Several years ago, I had the honor of making a series of keynote presentations at the International CSL Convention of The Americas in Lake Chapala, Mexico. It was the first time I had spoken before a group with the help of a translator using wireless technology, allowing each person who spoke only Spanish to hear and, simultaneously, understand my words as I spoke them in English. It was quite remarkable to meet face-to-face with so many sweet people, knowing it wasn’t just my words they heard; the translator did an exquisite job of conveying the content of my heart—which was teeming with gratitude and a feeling of oneness that transcended any language or cultural boundaries. Likewise, when my new friends spoke to me, their hearts lead the conversation; I know this is true because I could see it in their eyes; their words (most of which I could not understand) were secondary. The realization I had was, while some people have talked about building a wall separating “us” from “them” they can never build a wall high enough to separate hearts that know, in truth, there is only One of us here.
When we can look beyond age, gender, nationality, color, culture, language, religion, or any of the other many labels we mindlessly place upon others and ourselves, we realize we are all very much the same.
All it takes is a simple gaze into another’s eyes while remembering that who we are looking at is actually a reflection of some aspect of ourselves…followed, of course, by the universal language of a smile to bridge any perceived communication gap.
THE TAKE-AWAY: What we each have in common with one another by far outweighs what we don’t. May we all focus on that golden thread in the tapestry of life to which we each add our unique essence, called “Human Being,” and celebrate the beauty and diversity found in the humanity of our oneness. Now, more than ever, this seems to be the call of the soul to which we must respond as a species. Building bridges is why we are here.
Peace, Dennis
Lve is a mysterious journey
as paradoxical as life itself
straight as an arrow sometimes
yet as uncertain as wandering
through virgin woods
with no clearly worn path
no guiding star…no map…no compass
Lve is a tender journey
from heart to heart
and back again
in a never ending circle
of true caring and
unwavering commitment
Lve is a journey unbounded by
conventions like space or time
or even life itself
with a reach that can be
both infinite and immediate
both forever and now
Lve is a magnificent journey
at times fleeting and foolish
unpredictable as weather or wind
other times as stolid and sure
as a mountain range
as certain as the sun rising
day after day
in all its splendor
Lve is an ongoing journey
like a flowing river shifting
and adapting
shaping itself
to whatever is there
just beyond the bend
Lve is a never-ending journey
available to all who are willing
to feel their way
moment by moment
through the tumultuous
complexity of emotions
that rise and fall
breath by breath
from the heart, mind, and pen of Minx
Our culture is built on expectations. We expect our partner, our co-worker, our boss, our parents, our children, our favorite politician, our neighbor, and everyone else in our little picture of life to behave in a certain way.
We expect life itself to go a certain way.
The problem is that nothing always goes as we imagine it. And this is not because life is unfair, but because it is deeply uncertain.
Expecting something to follow our plans or for someone to behave as we imagine it in our minds means believing that we are masters of the infinite range of possibilities of which life is the guardian.
Expectation is a mental prison that it is important to get rid of if we want to live more peacefully.
It makes us emotionally fragile, limits us in considering alternatives to achieve our fulfilment, exacerbates relationships with others by making us forget that each person is an evolving world, waiting to be discovered, and that we cannot harness them in a role that responds to our needs.
The problem with expectations arises precisely when we expect things in life to go the way we want. And everything that happens differently isn’t good, it’s wrong, and it makes us feel bad.
What do unfulfilled expectations lead to? To illusions and disappointments simply because reality cannot be modeled on our expectations, just as our expectations may not be what others want.
When people focus on their goals and ideals, they may achieve more. They may pursue things with a passion they rarely have when pushed.
Often the initial expectation is not reflected in reality precisely because it is not based on real data and turns into disappointment. The intensity of disappointment depends on two factors: the importance of what is expected and the time spent waiting. In an effort not to disappoint, one is disappointed.
Letting go of expectations can be difficult, but it’s also very liberating. For example, we begin to understand that we don’t need to meet other people’s expectations because we are in touch with our own desires and passions. And that can even empower us to build better, more balanced relationships.
I also think that when we don’t expect anything – from a person, from an event, from life – everything that happens is a gift. Yes, because we remain open and curious about what can come.
Let us, therefore, abandon the claim to control events and people, and learn that, in order to be able to control reality, it is necessary to accept its constant changeability, recognize and welcome events, learning to attribute the right importance to them.
Making an objective examination of situations that really takes into account all the positive and negative variables involved, at least helps us to nurture healthy expectations towards contexts and towards people.
If we want to expect something, let us expect it from ourselves. The only expectations that we can somehow “control” are those towards ourselves and it is essential that we focus our efforts on these. We abandon the claim to be able to change the other or to be able to change situations and focus on ourselves and our needs.
Rather than constantly having expectations, it is better to have aspirations. Aspirations are a call to look up, beyond, and outside the box (“strong desire to achieve a noble, or at least legitimate, goal on the part of individuals, nations, social groups”). Expectations, on the other hand, are those that lie there, lurking, determined to squeeze us into a horizon drawn by others to which we can respond.
This summer will mark eight years since I signed emancipation papers from a 22-year failed marriage. Yesterday I spoke this thought, I failed to love. Tears welled in my eyes as this statement felt true in my heart even as I knew I wasn’t a failure at loving. I had failed to love and so had my ex.
I then noticed the depth of healthy anger I voiced to a friend about how he had lied, manipulated, and betrayed my trust, how he had used money as a weapon. I remember the moment he called directly when the divorce process was close to being complete. Prior to this moment, most communications had been through email, our attorneys, and a judge during courtroom proceedings. I chose to answer the call.
“What do you want? I asked meekly, tearfully as I slowly curled up in a ball on the floor in a corner of the kitchen. He angrily demanded money from me and for me to create a document indicating the money he believed I owed for the health care costs of our son’s medical care and the amount I would pay to him each month. Terrified and exhausted, I wanted his raging to end. I agreed and created the document. I signed the paper and faxed it to him for his signature. When I thought about the checks I had written to pay for an award-winning lawyer, I fell prey to his direct bullying tactics and his manipulative presentation of our colluding against any more attorney fees. I now cringe at how quickly I capitulated to my ex’s bullying tactics rather than saying I must talk to my lawyer. He knew he had worn me down. I knew how much I wanted this hell experience to end. I wanted out more than I wanted to fight or abruptly end the phone call.
The whole life insurance we purchased happened because of my excellent health. The nurse came to our house to gather all my health data required by the life insurance company. He had not been a good candidate for coverage as the insurance company discovered unpaid speeding tickets and other red flags of concern about his health. I released the whole life insurance policy to be fully in his name. In these instances, I gave away my power.
My reactions became a grown-up less noxious re-enactment of past experiences including when my older sister stole my brand-new birthday gifts, and my mother threw my favorite beloved toys in the trash as punishment for what I still do not know and will never know. And like my powerless, sexually molested toddler self, I felt suffocated, strangled, and became a curled in a corner petrified participant while whispering internal pleading mantras for my life, my escape.
These direct experiences became the latest gateways into untangling myself even further from these past childhood experiences of terror, worthlessness, powerlessness, and victimization.
And when and where I could, I chose new, brave responses. No longer a child, I took many actions for my freedom from this failed marriage. I sold the former family home and placed a down payment on a house. When I sold my house in central Ohio, I paid my ex in full according to the paper I created, and we both had signed regarding our son’s medical expenses. I managed my finances going forward with a great deal of integrity even as I continued to break my pattern of financial capitulation and discerning financial scams from integrous transactions with decent, good people. I have no debt and an excellent credit score.
Challenging life circumstances happen which allow you additional opportunities to see fully your past survival patterns, to continue to heal, to rewire, and ultimately, transform the choices you make in the present even as you understandably react in familiar ways as you had in the past.
Healthy anger happens when your boundaries are violated. When your body is touched or hurt without your consent, underneath the freeze and fawn, you experience healthy anger. When your healthy body is used as the foundation of a purchase of whole life insurance that you never receive any benefits, then this becomes fuel for healthy anger. When a person lies, manipulates, cheats, and steals from you, then healthy anger is a valid reaction. When you allow another to steal from you with your consent, you experience healthy anger simultaneously towards the bully and the part of you that capitulated. You can have a compassionate conversation with this part of you.
Releasing this healthy anger involves allowing yourself to feel it, to express this emotion in ways which do not harm you or any other person. Roaring like a lion while sitting alone in your parked car, screaming into a pillow in your bedroom, smashing coconuts on the ground are some safe ways to release healthy anger. Grieving the loss becomes the next layer which often emerges inside the release of the anger, and then maybe laughter will bubble up from an even deeper, conscious place which can restore you to this present moment. Letting go, processing through the layered impressions of every one of these experiences becomes a pathway to soul liberation and lessons learned.
May you not ever abandon, betray, or reject yourself. May you refrain from bullying yourself and take fresh, brave actions now that you know you can. May you see new possible pathways for growth, learning, and deepening experiences of healthy agency. May you feel the release and connect with your personal power and peace.
An Author’s, observations, and opinions regarding race and gender on social media On-Line, Writing, and Ezine Magazines sites.Just how diverse are they? Do we have a lack of difference in ethnic groups submitting to them or are some turned away? How far back does this issue go really and what can we do? Is it because of the educational injustice of equal education for all that’s to be blamed for it? No child is left behind and yet the evidence continues to grow in the literary world around us. There is a disproportionate group of writers that are submitting their works in the literary world. I am seeing a lot of Caucasian contributors and far fewer other ethnic backgrounds, one that stands out to me especially is African American. The big question is why? It’s a proven fact that children are falling through the cracks even today with the no child left behind efforts. The era of the pandemic and covid pushed all kids further behind in their learning and education. Not to mention social skills. We have more people now than ever with mental health issues due to the isolation caused by covid for many.
But what about the adults the high school graduates and college degree graduates? Where are these people in the writing world?
As both a poet, author, and writer and a member of Facebook, I see far more fellow writers that are Caucasian than any other ethnic group. It would be interesting to research how many Facebook members belong to each different ethnic group there is. Is there a disproportionate number of African Americans on Facebook as well? I don’t know but it’s a question I find myself asking this night as I draft this article on not only writers, authors, and poets but journalism as well. How far does this disease spread and how does it affect our society such as the news and what are prominent issues for all?
I find this issue quite important especially as this past month of February was Black History Month to celebrate African Americans and their accomplishments and to acknowledge the hard journey their ancestors had before them and still today.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning was the first woman poet that was a renowned poet and considered for poet laureate after Wordsworth death however Tennyson received the honor. When only men were known as poets before her. She took a stance in her writing against child labor and slavery. It is known that she believed she was of “African blood” her family had originated in Jamaican sugar plantations. However, she grew up in England and was free in her writing which circulated widely in her time. She was a woman of Christian Faith. Born in 1806 near DURHAM, COUNTY, England where she had a happy childhood until she took ill at the youthful age of fourteen. She passed away on June 29th, 1861. She was an English Poet of the Victorian era. The eldest of twelve children and wrote poetry from the age of four until her death at the early age of fifty-five from chronic lung disease. Her major achievement was her long-verse novel, Aurora Leigh. She took an active interest in the position of women in society and throughout her career wrote about the need for gender equality. She dealt with political issues of the day war, nationalism, industrialization, slavery, religious controversy, and the fight for liberty on numerous fronts. She has just recently been acknowledged as a Feminist of her era!
Now it’s interesting to note that my observations have found far many more women writers on social media sites than men. There seems to be a disproportionate number of men writers over women writers overall as well. So, there is a double whammy for Black males it seems. I don’t have any exact numbers or facts to substantiate my findings as they are a causal look into the social media injustice today, and sites with which I am familiar. I however did pay close attention to one site I am on out of three hundred featured writers there were only forty-two I counted that were African American. Yes, you heard it right forty-two out of three hundred. I must say I found it staggering, to say the least. That’s about 7.5 percent.
It’s a real issue that we need to investigate more and expose to change the clocks of time. Be conscious of the articles you read and who write them. Do they speak to you as an individual as a writer, author, poet, or journalist? What can we do as individuals to tip the scales of injustice and promote equality for all? This is your wake-up call on social media bringing things up to date in 2023.
Source: Remembering Elizabeth Barrett Browning, the first female poet ever to be considered for poet laureate
Episode SummaryBe inspired by the potential of this book, Ascending at the Speed of Surrender by Zen Benefiel; a timely piece for peace and harmony among people and planet.
Episode NotesHello to you listening in Hickory, North Carolina! Coming to you from Whidbey Island, Washington this is Stories From Women Who Walk with 60 Seconds for Motivate Your Monday and your host, Diane Wyzga.
My very grounded astral friend and colleague, Zen Benefiel, has published a book entitled Ascending at the Speed of Surrender. As he wrote to me: “I’m going into realms most don’t travel with this one.”
What could he mean? Zen is a world-bridger. His work embraces the process of a planetary civilization in evolution and the “other-worldly” help it receives along the way. If you are someone who looks deeply into the conundrum of the human condition and finds answers beyond your scope of understanding Zen can help. How? Research, a lifetime of personal interactions with non-human intelligence, and the willing suspension of belief systems about so-called inner and outer realities to investigate our collective quest for a better world.
Instead of holding back out of fear of rejection, Zen chose to Be the Dream, the dream that he has been living, to share what he has learned. I hope you’ll be inspired by the potential of his book, a timely piece for peace and harmony among people and planet.
Click HERE in the Episode Notes to access Zen’s book on Amazon.
As well as read his bio and how to get in touch with Zen.
BIO
Orphaned at birth and six weeks later adopted on the anniversary of his adoptive parents, Bob and Lou Benefiel, Bruce was curious and explored questions few could understand, let alone answer.
Zen has four children, 9 grandchildren and 6 great-grandchildren that inspire his efforts to make a better world. He currently lives in Arizona with his wife Luba, an extraordinary classical pianist and music/piano teacher from St. Petersburg, Russia. Zen has played golf and drums, his two favorite pastimes, since his youth. His favorite music to play is improvisation with a progressive jazz/latin/rock mixture.
The moniker of ‘Zen’ came from one the crew of a TV show he produced and hosted called One World. The concept interview is on this author’s page in the video area. Zen was a guest on Dr. Jeffrey Mishlove’s New Thinking Allowed which came about in a serendipitous sequence in 2018, fulfilling a 28-year dream come true scenario. Hosting One World, Zen’s host/interview favorites to emulate were Dr. Mishlove and Bill Moyers, with hopes of someday being worthy of an interview with one of them.
Luba’s first Christmas present in 2017, an Ancestry.com subscription, brought another gift in January 2019, Zen was reunited with his birth mother. A synchronistic event through a friend with skip-tracing software also led to realizing he’d met is birth father in Phoenix in the late 80s, unbeknownst to either, at a UFO conference. Now that is some spooky cool action up close and personal.
Giving his wife credit for beginning again, he hosts a new version One World in a New World , coming off a 30-year hiatus, engaging apocalyptic chats with professionals and thought leaders. It’s unique in peering into the bridging of inner and outer worlds
Get in Touch With Zen:
Website: https://ZenBenefiel.com
YouTube: https://youtube.com/@OneWorldinaNewWorld
You’re invited*: “Come for the stories – stay for the magic!” Speaking of magic, I hope you’ll subscribe, follow, share a 5-star rating and nice review on your social media or podcast channel of choice, and join us next time*! Remember to stop by the website, check out the Services, arrange a Discovery Call, and Opt-In to stay current with Diane and Quarter Moon Story Arts and on LinkedIn.
Stories From Women Who Walk Production Team
Podcaster: Diane F Wyzga & Quarter Moon Story Arts
Music: Mer’s Waltz from Crossing the Waters by Steve Schuch & Night Heron Music
All content and image © 2019 to Present: for credit & attribution Quarter Moon Story Arts
In dharma studies recently, our instructor told us about the analogy of “the pen” to illustrate for us emptiness and karma. She held up a pen and asked us what it was. Of course, the whole room agreed that it was a pen. But then, she asked, “and if a dog saw this, what would the dog see?”
There was some debate. Maybe, the dog wouldn’t even notice. Likely, though, the dog would see a chew toy of some sort.
“Humans see ‘pen’ and dogs see ‘chew toy.’”
The exercise was to show us that your mind is where the meaning is made about anything, any person, or any object. Everything and everyone are empty, and it’s our karmic seeds and our mental projections that give things their weight, their meaning, and also, our suffering.
I began to think more deeply about the pen, and about emptiness. I mentally trekked back to pandemic times, swirling around with thoughts of someone I considered a light bearer and teacher.
I spoke very openly about it with a friend, who said to me:
“Andee, you were in love. He could have taken a shit, and you would have said ‘THAT is the most beautiful shit anyone has ever taken.'”
It was quite profound for me to think back to those times. I was experiencing space in my mind for the first time in years, and in the mornings, I heard nothing but quiet and promise. There was finally an “out” for me, from all the rigor and repetition and abuse from strangers at a job I held for 11 years. I was also just a few months out of addiction, and I was awake.
I loved him since I first heard his voice. He had a simple delivery, and I understood the words that he said.
When my mind started making space in those quiet, uncertain months, I didn’t know how to love whatever I was feeling. Those mornings in solitude running ten miles and then sitting for an hour watching the water… I would stretch as I watched him stretch. His body was my body. His spirit was my spirit.
I made him the figure in my mind that represented freedom.
I read the books he told me to read, listened to the things he told me to listen to, and all those teachings permeated my mind as my feet thump thumped, one after the other, every day. Every minute, more healing. Every moment, my brain repairing itself, becoming creative, becoming coherent.
I re-listened to one of his mediations from two years ago recently and I heard in it just a regular guy, saying regular words. When did the words of this man I once likened to a great messiah become regular?
As I think back on it now, it was the opening of my inner enveloped heart that was bliss; the long mornings and connection with myself, and the absence of anyone to infiltrate the purity of this new being I was channeling. This new being was whom I was to build, and as I floated and disassociated from old story, I anchored to him. But he was just “regular.”
And I know more than ever, it was never him. I was waking up, and I didn’t know how to be awake, so I said “it’s him. He does this.”
It wasn’t him. It was me. He was the pen.
The Crow flew over the fields and forest toward the river wanting to see his friend. The first time he saw the deer it was just a small fawn and was all alone near a creek. He was afraid, extremely hungry, and wandering the forest looking for his mother. He had seen his mother cross the highway telling him to wait for her to come back. Sadly, she never came back, and it was up to the Owl and the Crow to raise the fawn.
The Crow flew high over the forest, wetlands, and fields looking for a place for the fawn to live and be safe. The forest provided nuts, shrubs, and security. The ponds and lakes had water and the fields had many grasses. Each day the fawn got bigger, and the Crow flew over to the pond where he would always bring the deer treats from bird feeders. Then one day the Crow told the Owl that they needed a name for the deer. The Owl being wise and the Crow cunning, they decided to name him Benny, the name of the old farmer where the Crow and Owl met every morning.
It was the night that Benny feared the most, the sounds, the predators, and most of all, the loneliness. The Owl watched over him during the long winter nights. A silent friend yet one that would always be nearby. Benny always looked forward to hearing the birdsongs knowing that soon the morning would light up the sky with pastel colors and the new day awakening the forest.
The Crow was flying over the forest and near a field, he saw deer drinking from a pond and he flew back to Benny telling him to follow him and hopefully find some new friends and become part of the herd. He wandered slowly over to the herd eating the grass from the field. He gradually came closer to the deer and finally, a doe came close enough that they touched nose to nose.
Benny had finally found a family and was able to be a part of the herd. The Owl and the Crow were always near but they knew they had done the right thing. They would talk often about Benny at their early morning fence post.
Read part one:
The Owl And The Crow | BIZCATALYST 360°
I am to blame. Society is fractured and it’s my fault. I chipped away at civility one encounter at a time, pointing a finger toward everyone else as I accused society of being meaner than it used to be. Gazing out my window and across my lawn, it occurred to me one day that society did not stop at my property line. I am part of the society to which I refer to as broken and unkind.
The year was 2020, and I had returned to the sanctuary of my home from a trip to the grocery store which meant dealing with thoughtless, rude people clogging up the aisles, and sharing the road with careless, indignant drivers. Impatient shoppers pushing me aside to get what they wanted was bad enough in a normal year. The violation of my personal space took on a whole new meaning at the beginning of the pandemic. Knowing how a regular upper respiratory illness tends to hit my lungs, I was a little anxious about inclusion in a statistic of which I wanted no part.
Returning to the safety of home, I closed the door to the world and breathed a sigh of relief. Washing the danger of illness off my hands, I looked up at the woman in the bathroom mirror and came face to face with the problem. I had become a meaner person than I used to be. The kind young woman who left the nest decades ago wearing a smile she meant was buried inside an embittered woman peering out of jaded eyes.
How can one average person like me be to blame for the degradation of humanity’s civility? The answer is lying right there in the question: Because I am average. I am not one; I am one of many.
I am a drop in an ocean of people massive enough to effect change without realizing we have done so. I did not wound civility in an instant, and I did not wound it alone. Sure, we like to blame the ones in the spotlight. Politicians make it easy to lay all the blame on them. They are not without blame, but the average people have the numbers. Compared to our ocean of average people, politicians are nothing more than a single martini glass filled with self-serving lawyers and garnished with a narcissistic businessman who keeps stirring up the mix.
Humanity has not been injured just by politicians. It’s been injured by the masses. Picture a bell curve. There are a small number of extraordinarily good people on the right side (Mother Teresa, my grandmother-in-law Hazel, etc.) and a small number of unthinkably bad people on the left side (Hitler, Charles Manson, etc.). Most of us reside in the large area in the middle, in the land of average. Together we ordinary people have the power of numbers to turn the clock back to civility one encounter at a time.
Since that day in 2020, I’ve been in search of my lost benevolence. It took a while, but I found it on the front porches and neighborhood streets of the hometown that raised me. I found it in grade school classrooms and under the shade of a tree on a playground. You can read about my discovery in Walking Old Roads, set for the bookshelves sometime in mid to late 2023. In the meantime, I’m trying a little each day to be a kinder version of myself and extend my definition of home beyond the boundaries of my property line.
I don’t want to play the blame game anymore. How about you?
The story of how one conversation between two strangers led to thousands of lives changed. Pat Divilly is an Irish author, speaker, and fitness expert whose client base has grown from 5 clients locally to 5000 clients nationally in just three years. Pat prides himself on building powerful communities, instilling belief, and promoting authenticity. His groups have raised over €250,000 for local charities in the last 12 months.
Jackie Stiles is one of the most renowned basketball players in the history of the women’s game. However, if you knew where she came from, most people would have never thought someone from a tiny farm town in Kansas could have such a profound impact in basketball. Jackie’s story teaches us an important lesson.
It doesn’t matter where you came from, all that matters is where you are going.
Jackie started small by being the best in her town, to the best in her state, then the best in the area, and finally one of the best to ever play college basketball. What’s even more impressive is that she wasn’t the tallest or the fastest, she just continued to work to be the most skilled. She was focused on being the best and she was willing to do what it took to be the best including being the best teammate as well.
The greatest players are at their core some of the greatest people.
They know it takes a team to accomplish anything of significance, therefore they uplift others and don’t ask others not to do anything they also wouldn’t do. Players like Jackie lead by example, then use their words to encourage and uplift others.
There are many lessons we can learn from Jackie Stiles but I think there is one that stands out the most.
Great players make others great around them. They don’t care who gets the credit, they just care about the team’s success and the well-being of their teammates.
I remember well one of the places I grew up in. It was the town of Stettler. My father was a bowling proprietor so no doubt, I grew up around the sound of bowling balls being lofted on the lanes and teams cheering each other on. At the other end of the building, it was billiard balls being racked and clacked by the youth who were on lunch break from school. It carried on through the evening.
I used to have to take my Dad’s supper up to him at times, but he was never far away; a few blocks at most. I always knew where to find him though he was seldom home. Then there were the summertime memories of the Lake season. This started in May and took us into September long weekend yearly. We had a family-run General Store for many years which consumed our summers. It was a whole lotta fun as well as it was the hangout place. Nothing fancy just a few booths and jute boxes and my parents let kids write on the walls. I still remember one of the sayings clearly: “Never smoke in bed… the sleeping bag you burn may be your wife.” Hmmm! Not nice but in the sixties to 80’s smokers were seen. Another sign too said something like…”We’d like to help you out…which way did you come in?” There were many and it all added to the graffiti section. I also well remember my friends and how we free spirits all flocked together each summer.
I also remember the birds on a wire outside my window that awoke me every morning. I remember the hills and the dirt roads and the black nights with not hardly a light to be seen. I remember my portable radio that brought music to my ears and the lake dances where we whooped it up on weekends.
If you didn’t like to dance there were ball tournaments and other things too for the younger generation. All this, thanks to my father who was a lifetime promoter of people and used to sing: “The More We Get Together…the happier we’ll be.”
There was the Simpson’s Boat Rental not far away in the crescent of the Bay area. We all knew each other well. I was also on very good terms with them and many others until the night of the “Peanut Butter Plaster” Not many were happy when we took to this. Toilet seats, outhouses, car handles, etc. Hardly a family unaffected. I’m still not sure why a young girl’s birthday party and sleepover got so out of hand and I’m not sure I got another one after. Call it temptation, mischief, or truthfully one of the worst things I was part of at that age. My mother grounded me for the remainder of the summer but my Dad who always lightened things up when he knew I was truly sorry, bought me an oversized jar of PB with a handle for my birthday that year.
I always tell others that: “It’s o.k. to be a live wire, as long as you are well grounded.” And I was! I was always surprised by how forgiving the lake people were. I think it’s only because of the love they held for my parent’ who established a name and besides, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree as the expression goes.
Backing up a bit I must say that early childhoods were memorable for the youngsters at Buffalo Lake. Who needed toys when all it took was a piece of cardboard and a short walk and you were at snake hill ready to toboggan down? In the afternoon a deck of cards and a few snacks and you were set for the card party. There was no such thing as fear and few bullies ever surfaced. My parent’s kept them in check if they did.
What memories live in your mind? Would you care to share?
As the weight of the words begin to swell and settle in my heart as ballast in the bowels of a ship, begin lining up in my mind, as the letters on a Scrabble rack, or swirl about me as a great storm, I know that at some point I will need to find relief, either from the weight, turbulence, or the sting of them, being unable to embody all the emotion that they contain in them.
Sometimes it may mean taking a memory that is held dear, an emotion, or a confusing feeling and searching deep within myself for the word or words which accurately describe it, to share it at some point, if able to.
Whether it be words, memories, or an indescribable sensation, they often come wrapped in overwhelming emotions. Both love and comfort, as felt in the caress of a beloved, while at other times they can show themselves with the sharpness of a bone-chilling winter wind, cutting through to the very soul, or as calculated facts, cold and emotionless.
But whatever the case may be, taking those words, feelings, and memories whence they come is sometimes easier said than done. Sometimes they come with enough emotion that it escapes me, finding release through my eyes before getting them written, blurring my vision and splashing to the surface as I write, or the words fall heavily from my pen and with each impact the reverberation seems to be felt throughout my inner being, causing a pause in my writing, a time of reflection.
But as the morning sun comes up, or as the nighttime stars smile down on me, when I finally put a title to whatever I’ve completed, I’ll know that it was done with heart and soul.
It’s never too late to be what you might have been or do what you might have done!Often I hear people say they once wanted to do something or go somewhere, but they were too busy and life passed them by. They wish they could have been or done whatever it was. Well, think about this! You are still alive. As long as you are alive, you can do whatever it is that you wished you could have or would have done. Don’t give up on your dreams! As far as I know, this is the only life you are going to get. This is not a dress rehearsal. You are not going to get another chance to come back and do this over again….at least not in the form of who you are now. So you must do whatever it is that you wish you had done.
Did you see the movie, “The Bucket List?” If not, go rent it and watch it. It’s the story of two men who decide to do all the things they ever wanted to do. After watching it, make yourself a bucket list.
Marcus Aurelius, the Roman philosopher, said, “If the mind of man can conceive an idea and believe it, the man can achieve it.” If we have created the image in our minds, we can produce the physical manifestation in our lives, even if such an image has never existed before. When you visualize something, you are establishing new patterns in your brain, the same as if you were actually doing what you are visualizing. You are directing your brain to give you the result you want. When you plan your day, it works the same way. You are visualizing your day. As you go through your daily activities, you may have to adjust and modify your actions in order to achieve the result you want.
So what is it that you want? What is your dream? Is it a trip? Where will you go? Who will you go with? What will you wear? What transportation will you take? Car? Plane? Train? Bus?
Perhaps you’d like a mate or a person to travel with? What kind of personality will he or she have? What values? What interests? How will this person treat you?
Maybe you’d like to volunteer? What kind of organization would you be most suited to working with? Would you prefer to work with children, adults, or the elderly? What time restraints will it have? What skills do you have to offer?
Don’t settle for things as they seem. You have been given free will in order for you to determine who you want to be and what you want to have and do. Your life is as limitless as your imagination. If you believe it can be done, your mind will start thinking up ways to make it happen.
In his book, The Magic of Thinking Big, the author, David Schwartz, states, “Believe, really believe, you can move a mountain and you can.” So think of something you wish you had done or been, or somewhere you wish you had gone. Write it down on a piece of paper and make a list of all the reasons why you can have, do, or be this. Just remember, as long as you are alive, it is never too late to be what you might have been or do what you might have done. Now take that first step!
There was more reading, although, after day 1, I was never called again. I chalked it up to there being very real cultural differences between myself and the rest of the class including the instructor. Perhaps even with the word mispronouncing, she felt the class probably had just as difficult a time understanding me as I did them.
ENJOY PART 1 BELOW ︎
Certifiable (Part 1)
It was in this second class that the second male was late to class. The instructor revisited the fact that she was trying to get the school to adjust the class time of the very last class an hour and a half earlier so that she could make her flight back to Nassau where her father was being buried.
Ten minutes in, and the guy was still late. The grandmother-type in front of me broke the awkward silence and asked the teacher how she’s doing/feeling about her father’s passing. It was like a relief valve suddenly was activated. The instructor launched into a story that flipped our collective heads on end.
She began by saying a few weeks prior, she had been chatting with her father on her way to work, and he admitted to not feeling that well. She said she told him she’d call to check on him after she got off work, which would be around 9 pm. She said she got off work and proceeded to call the care center only to find the calls go unanswered. Apparently, this phone number she called was supposed to be manned 24 hours, so given her calls went unanswered, she decided to make the twenty-minute drive to the care center where her father resided.
Because it was past visiting hours, the main entrance was closed. She went to the back door and waited approximately 10 minutes until someone came out. Someone eventually came out and she asked about her father, to either see him, or if not possible, to get an update.
The nurse said she’d go see and return with an update. 10 min passed, 20 min passed, 30 min passed… after 45 min, the nurse came back to the door with the update. The nurse said her father was conscious but unresponsive and that an ambulance was being called to take him to the hospital.
Our instructor said she and her cousin, who drove to the care center to offer support, were completely blindsided by that information since they had not been contacted to inform them there was a change in his condition.
It gets worse.
After the ambulance arrived and the EMTs went in, our instructor and her cousin waited another 30 minutes until they brought her father down. When they did, an EMT took our instructor aside and said, when they were transferring him, his urine bag had blood in it, and appeared that it hadn’t been changed or cleaned in some time.
Her father passed away in the hospital two days later. He was already battling cancer and was likely going to die within months perhaps, but the complete breakdown of care absolutely sped up the timeline.
And it is because of all this that I think our instructor was mostly emotionless and maybe a little impatient and a bit harsh during this five-week period. Not only because of the emotionality of what had occurred and what she and her family were dealing with, but also, and I think this is why she shared the story, to emphasize how critical the care we were learning to provide actually is in the real world.
The late classmate finally arrived and the reading of chapters continued, with each of the other four students reading 2-3 chapters. All but me. I figured she didn’t call on me to read again because she saw how emotionally I’d reacted to her story, with full-on crocodile tears running down my face as she was sharing this incredibly personal and terrible event in her life. Probably a good call on her part.
We finished in the classroom and walked back to the skills demonstration room. There was a row of plastic chairs against the wall, and we all took a seat in every other chair. In front of us were two hospital beds with two plastic cabinets separating them.
In the bed on the right was Ms. Suzie, the full-scale plastic female patient body we were to manipulate this way and that, to demonstrate the skills. There was a bed table at the foot of Ms. Suzie’s bed. The instructor stood on the side of the other bed, behind a bed table that was raised to waist level.
We were getting settled in and my classmate to the right turns to me and shocks me to my core by asking if I’m ready for my skill. “What skill?”, I ask. She answered, “the one the instructor gave you last week.” I said, “What are you talking about, she didn’t give me any specific skill.”
“Yes,” my classmate said, “she did. Don’t you remember, she made us write down what we’d be doing each week?” With that, I ran back to the classroom, picked up my green notebook, tore into it, found where I’d taken notes, and almost peed my scrubs. I was supposed to demonstrate how to change Ms. Suzie’s bedpan. Panic does not even describe what sets in, as I wasn’t even remotely prepared to demonstrate this skill.
The instructor started almost shouting, “C’mon guys, who’s up, who’s doing what skill? C’mon, you’re wasting time, let’s go, let’s go.”
Thankfully, someone else was called to demonstrate their skill and while that student started and failed multiple times and the instructor took over to show the correct way to execute the skill, I used the time to furiously take notes on how to change Ms. Suzie’s bedpan.
“Bedpan, bedpan, c’mon, Ryan, bedpan, let’s go.” I nervously got up, stumbled my way through indirect care, and left to go to the end of the room where a sink was to wash my hands. I failed horribly at washing my hands, fumbled my notecard, gathered supplies, put some of them on the bed table, then went to the plastic cabinets between the beds and pulled out the toilet tissue, the wet wipes, and the bedpan. I also placed those items on the bed table and suddenly heard, “STOP, YOU FAIL!” “Where does it say in the book to put the bedpan directly on the bed table?? Where, you show me?” the instructor shouted at me. “Why didn’t you put down the plastic barrier over the table first?” she asked. “Automatic fail, sit down,” she said, completing her tirade.
I awkwardly went back to my chair, and she demonstrated the skill the correct way. This pattern was essentially repeated for the other skills being demonstrated by the other students.
But again, cultural differences were on full display in the skills room. I’m not sure, but maybe in Jamaican culture, it’s perfectly acceptable to ask a woman who is clearly not pregnant if she is in fact pregnant, which our instructor absolutely did of one of the students. And going further by asking that same woman if she wasn’t pregnant, why she didn’t have a flat stomach. This young woman was in perfectly fine shape and wouldn’t be mistaken for pregnant by any stretch of the definition. This all came out of nowhere.
Another female student, she of a larger size, then spoke up. She tried defending the woman who the instructor asked was pregnant by saying that wasn’t nice to ask. The instructor responded by laying into her, asking why she herself was the size she was. This was the student to my right who clued me into the fact that we were responsible to demonstrate a skill that day, and she was a sweet and gentle soul. I think she tried to elicit compassion from the instructor when she responded by saying she had had two kids by C-section and it had been a long recovery. The instructor shot back, “I’ve had two kids too, and I also have back problems, but I don’t look like you.” The teacher wasn’t heavy or obese, but she also wasn’t thin by comparison. She appeared like a Mom in her mid-40s with two jobs and all the stress that comes along with that responsibility. I just sat there in my hard plastic chair the entire time trying to hold my jaw from hitting the floor at hearing these zingers going back and forth.
Whenever we’d stand around Ms. Suzie’s bed, to watch the instructor demonstrate the various skills correctly, I found myself looking around the room. I hadn’t noticed it before but there was a corkboard above the chairs where we sat. It had paper of various different colors and sizes tacked into it. It was all mostly bland information-type stuff. But there was one flier that caught my attention. It was a reminder which said… “Never grab a patient by the neck, always support the patient with both of your upper limbs to ensure safety, because…” now, one would expect the last part of this sentence to say something like, “the neck is fragile and must be treated with care” OR …”patient safety is key in everything you do.” But oddly, the last part of the sentence was, “you could kill the patient and go to prison for murder.”
Duly noted!
“GiveAways” are marked by what is exchanged, usually something which has special meaning. Traditionally GiveAways involve exchanging things carrying great emotional energy. A typical modern GiveAway ritual is the passing on of family heirlooms, literally entrusting one’s history to another.
The “trust” factor has more importance than the items exchanged in the GiveAway, and often the binding of the GiveAway is given by an oath of some kind. Melodrama uses terms such as “I’ll guard this with my life” or “This was my grandmother’s, then my mother’s, then mine. Now it is yours.”
Some anthropologists consider the oath aspect the start of verbalized social contracts.
Another important factor in items exchanged is knowing we must part with the item in order for something else to come to us. This can’t be something we give away and then take back.
Most importantly, we must GiveAway something that we know has value to everyone involved. Again traditionally, this meant GiveAways involved exchanges of symbolic or real power, symbolic or real value, symbolic or real information, and there’s always an exchange involved to preserve the balance between the parties taking part.”
____________________
Eliana, a farmer-strong, middle-aged woman with waist-length, thickly-braided dark brown hair, cerulean-blue eyes, and wearing a paisley blouse with matching peasant skirt, sat opposite me.
Carefully, almost religiously, she placed a small, well-worn, red-velvet pouch tied with an equally old, faded red ribbon in my palm. Once there, it felt heavier than I would have thought and I realized there was something inside.
Once the pouch was in my hand, Eliana fixed her eyes on mine for a moment then returned her gaze to the pouch, ribbon, and whatever was hidden within. “Please open if for me, Joseph.”
Only an old ribbon – which looked it would split if I breathed on it – secured whatever the pouch held, and I was unsure of her offering.
As if understanding my thoughts, Eliana shivered and closed her eyes. “I can’t. I can’t let it escape.”
I focused on the unmoving pouch in my palm. “Is there something alive in there?”
A deep sigh lifted her blouse slightly and she shook her head. “No. Do you know what it is?”
My other hand’s fingers felt the form hidden within, touched it softly, gently, respectfully. “Some kind of horse? With a crown, I think.”
“It’s a unicorn.”
“Ok. You can’t open it because it’ll escape, and I can open it? Are you sure you want me to open it?”
Tears flowed from her closed eyelids. Her head fell back, her throat hollowed, and deep, quaking sobs escaped from some long, hidden place as if she were a volcano rending the bowels of the earth.
“This is very important to you. A memory of some kind and you’ve managed to put it in one place, to tie it up, to bind it so it can’t hurt you anymore, to put a noose around it and keep it and you safe. I’ll accept your gift and I won’t open it until you’re sure you want whatever this represents set free.”
She looked at the pouch again. “Do you know what the memory is?”
“No.”
“My father repeatedly raped me when I was a child. Every time he raped me he would go out and buy me a unicorn. Through the years I’ve given away all the unicorns except this one.”
“Because…?”
“Because he stopped raping me when I had my first period. This was the last unicorn he gave me.”
The symbolism of the unicorn bound in the red pouch astounded me. Even more so because she did it non-consciously, unintentionally.
Through all the work she’d done she was finally able to GiveAway, to release all that energy. She was ready to give it away, ready to move beyond.
“I need you to open it. You won’t let it hurt me. I trust you not to let it hurt me.”
GiveAways are exchanges and Eliana was giving me an incredible gift. Now it was time for me to offer a return.
“Let’s open it together. I’ll hold the pouch, you untie the ribbon and let the unicorn out. The moment you feel that the unicorn is going to hurt you again, I’ll close my hand so it won’t escape.”
She nodded and her sobs returned, except now she was releasing all she carried, all she withheld. She burst the dam and let the water run free. Sobbing and rocking, she untied the ribbon and pulled a beautiful, tiny carousel-style unicorn out of the pouch.
“It’s beautiful.”
Eliana nodded.
“You released all that energy, Eliana. It no longer has power over you. You’re free. And beautiful.”
There were some stains on the unicorn and she used her tears to wash them away, then placed the unicorn back in its pouch, tied the ribbon back up, and curled my fingers over it.
“Thank you,” she said.
I still have that red pouch, the unicorn back inside, and haven’t opened it since.
Eliana’s GiveAway was an incredible healing because that’s what giving it away was, a statement that the last of that pain no longer had a place in her life while recognizing it had been important to her life.
To her, the red pouch, ribbon, and unicorn within were a symbol of familial abuse and pain. There was incredible emotional power and energy there. But power is simply power. There’s no good or bad, there simply is. She trusted me with that power and, in Giving it Away, she utilized that power as an incredible healing by releasing herself from it’s hold.
Eliana’s gift to me was her trust. My gift to her was honoring that trust.
Dedicated to all the women out there, I salute you for being YOU!I have many battle scars recovering from life’s unending struggles. I’ve learned at a young age to slay villains, demons, monsters & my own internal dragons. Whilst standing tall amidst these dark nights of the soul periods, there were times I silently yearned to be rescued by a saviour or hero.
When calamity strikes my natural disposition is to seek solutions or alternatives to grow through whatever was/is in my path.
I showed up as a heroine across my social, professional & family circles. Unawares I was co-creating how others perceived or treated me. This resulted in hardly anyone showing up during many of my darkest hours of need.
Even through these tumultuous times, my energy was redirected towards helping anyone other than myself. I had no inclination that this behaviour was an adaptation, deeply rooted from a conditioned narrative and a wounded trauma response.
I felt alone, abandoned & often lonely, even with many people around me who naturally gravitated towards my magnanimous personality.
Well my personality, or rather personal reality, became one where I often felt bitter. Little did I realise my need to keep the peace, and take care of everyone’s wellbeing, was not in service to me or others. I found myself reactive, silently harbouring resentment, disappointment & sheer disgust. How could those near & dear not see or appreciate I needed reciprocation for how I served them?
Having two life-defining experiences, a retrenchment & more recently a conscious uncoupling (divorce), very few people came to my aid. Fast track today, navigating being a single mom of 3 with 2 teenagers, has its fair share of challenges. There are feelings of isolation with no one to turn to.
I value the gift of these very important experiences which bring forth many life lessons. Somehow I could not see this clearly before.
You see, the universe will give us the push we need to step out of feeling like a victim. Where we are deeply entrenched in seeing only barriers & obstacles, almost blinded by them. It forces us to first accept our hero’s journey quest, to conquer the adaptations we assumed from our childhood. These vary from I’m not good enough, I don’t belong, Who am I to think I can be great, I have to be the good girl, I’m the black sheep…
When we finally connect to our authentic truth, we unveil the many personas we’ve been shackled by for years. This is when the hero’s no longer refuse the call, stepping courageously out of their ordinary world into the fearful unknown.
This is what women do daily, each day approaching uncertainty, yet forging ahead valiantly amidst the volatility they face in life.
So whilst we are indeed co-creators in our lives, we can create a life design by fully embracing who we are at our core. Acknowledging ourselves for just how far we’ve journeyed, & continuing the cycle over and over again.
An Emotional Breakdown Is All I Have Left My kids are the only reason I am still functional…
I don’t know how I kept going. You just do. You have to, so you do.
— Elizabeth Wein
For the past year and a half, I embarked on the most rewarding, yet most heart-wrenching, mission of volunteering for my city stray kids — both kitties and doggies — and granting decent living to as many as possible. I had to instantly regulate my feelings over and over again since my crazy days required gigantic amounts of energy, especially in the absence of any backup option.
Last week, multiple dreadful events contributed to reaching my maximal endurance capacity. I thought I was having a bad day until I went back home, and headed to my neighborhood tribe to serve food. That’s when I discovered the unimaginable level of human cruelty, a level that defies anything I could have ever expected… It wasn’t the first incident. I wrote about the previous one here.
The tribe lives in a private area. For some reason, the owner and janitor decided to keep some members in a protected space and leave the other part outside — a trashy piece of land on the main road. Two mommas gave birth a month ago. The first one had four puppies and the second had seven. When I figured out they were starving, I bottle-fed the latter siblings for 10 days. It was exquisitely undescribable.
At the entrance, I noticed the field was different. My gut started aching but I kept walking until I heard the concierge talking to a guy who referred to three terrorized tiny puppies.
Eight puppies out of the eleven were buried ALIVE by the workers…
Two days after the most horrendous crime I’ve witnessed so far took place, I woke up at 1:30 am to the violent sound of a car hitting something. It turned out to be a living being: the alpha of the same tribe.
You need to know this sweet boy used to be extremely aggressive because of his long abuse history. After tons of patience and daily unconditional love, he started to approach me and ask for cuddles. When he sees me from distance, he runs in my direction and begins to playfully turn in circles as his way to show his excitement.
It took 30 minutes between cruelly and remorselessly hitting him and reaching the vet emergency clinic. The monster kept cursing for his car’s damages. I wanted to kill him but he wasn’t my priority. Looking at the vet’s facial expression when helping me take Max inside, I knew something was terribly wrong. She did her very best to save him. It was too late. Seeing my mess, the genuinely compassionate vet refused to take fees. Moreover, she volunteered to take care of the corpse. I still don’t know how I could drive back home.
As if all these events weren’t enough, one of my four indoor babies has been missing since last Thursday. His name is Mustache. He was supposed to be a foster kid along with his brother Zorro. They were extremely sick. We had long weeks of treatment cycles, each time for a different health condition. During the first two weeks, they had to take five different medicines per day. Eventually, I adopted them.
It has been 16 months of shared pure affection and memories. He never missed fighting with his sister to sleep on mom’s arm…
In my former world, I would have easily fallen into a guilt trap. I would have bitten myself so harshly for not being able to protect my kid by letting him go outside. Today, I know a little better. I know that given the circumstances of living in a tiny flat with not much “catification” and how little energy I have left for playtime, I couldn’t have compromised his emotional health and mojo.
Here is my treasured boy:
Last wordsToday, I am soliciting your wisdom. For the very first time in a year and a half, I am struggling to make sense of the last week’s succeeding events. I am having frequent crises of hysterically shouting and crying till complete exhaustion. The only reason keeping me functional is having to care for all the remaining kids. I am thankful for all the precious and priceless moments I have had the privilege to share with all my lost babies. Nonetheless, starting my grieving process seems impossible this time.
- How am I supposed to grieve nine cowardly murdered doggies?
- How am I supposed to grieve a missing kid when I don’t even know what happened to him and everything in my place reminds me of him?
- Even if I move, how am I supposed to heal my heart while my back is full of his scars since my baby loved to jump on his mom’s shoulders?
I would greatly appreciate some piece of advice. I know I can count on my people. With heartfelt gratitude…
And if you can find it in your heart, please visit and donate whatever you can to my cause by clicking below︎
A DECENT LIFE FOR STREET ANIMAL CHILDREN
Shaky Science About NothingThere is a fascinating book, The New Science, which is the memoirs of Wilbert Smith. Smith ran Canada’s UFO investigation program, Project Magnet, in the 1950s. The material was discovered and published after his death in 1962. It’s groundbreaking still, with references to conversations with ‘people from elsewhere.’
I’m not an astrophysicist, but the idea of a ‘nothingness’ like Smith speaks of resembles the notion of the Void… from which all things come, or so we believe. This idea of nothingness is surely not understood because we really don’t have the language to describe it, yet if there are repeating patterns, fractals, in creation perhaps this is one that requires a spin around Self.
The entrance and exit within the door to the void within us, inside the tiny point of light of our soul consciousness, may reflect this same notion on a much smaller scale. We’re sorely lacking in our understanding of physics already, developing equations to account for anomalies instead of seeing the universe as anomaly-free and equating it.
We interpret the light from stars with our existing understanding, which may not be so understanding of the myriad of life forms and their location. We think we have ‘something’ and no longer question its validity, yet Smith notes that ‘people from elsewhere’ have a much different understanding of the nature of creation, and ours is in at least slight error.
Given that spin around self, and the assumption that Smith wasn’t fibbing, our questions for discovery may not have developed enough yet to fully comprehend what those structures we think are black holes really are and how they function. Seeing things at a distance makes it almost impossible to fully grok, imho. What is up close now?
Are you aware that you are aware of your awareness at any given moment? Are you able to observe yourself deeply, question your behaviors, beliefs, and bewilderment by them at times? Do you have moments of reflection that seem to evade the notion of time?
There’s been more than one time I’ve been sucked into some kind of ‘tube’ that feels like a conduit of travel. It began with out-of-body experiences as a youth, then progressed to traveling elsewhere, though I never really knew where. There was a sense of movement, though.
I don’t know if it is inner space, outer space, or a combination. The difference is having my eyes closed as I explored, initially believing it to be my imagination. It would seem that, all things functioning as ONE, the combination is probably true. Experiencers (those explorers of non-human contact), at some point, seem to corroborate such ‘trips,’ although descriptions are slightly different.
I agree that the form doesn’t have much to do with it, and yet consciousness needs to have some form of manifestation for interaction to take place. I was shown as a teen that our point of light (the anchor of life within us) can give access to infinite intelligence. For some time we’ve been experiencing a variety of mechanisms and styles of contact, not to mention various life forms. As this process continues, perhaps we realize we missed the idea of ‘nothing’ that is the foundation of everything.
Pick Up the Phone, Please!We receive communication in ways we can understand it, for the most part, and it’s usually subjective and unique to the individual; a real spin around Self. I still think there are patterns we’re not seeing yet. Perhaps we weren’t ready to until recently when the spike in awareness or the culmination of the calendars indicating an evolutionary leap is about ready to take place, has us at least looking for something more.
Perhaps there is a primer, an igniter, that unlocks our understanding and increases our ability to manifest appropriately from our nature instead of our intellect and science. The latter will catch up in time. We’ve spent most of our time in destructive testing to figure out the makings of the universe. What about constructive testing, inquiry into the natural state as it is, not what we believe it to be? Many relate that is the first step; to just BE… empty with inquiry.
I’ll use the Urantia Book as a reference that at least offers the notion of considering a plethora of types of beings and responsibilities in universe administration. The book is esoteric, compiled, and presented by an intelligence or collection of intelligences in an effort to share a greater reality. Like everything ‘from elsewhere,’ our tendency is to attempt to fit the data/information into models we’re familiar with.
Neppe and Close, with their Quantum Theory of Everything (Triadic Dimensional-Distinction Vortical Paradigm), say that consciousness, time, and space are tethered across 9 dimensions. Smith says the ‘people from elsewhere’ relate that the tempic, magnetic and electric fields in the Quadrature Concept span 12 dimensions, all in the spin around Self, a point of observation.
It seems consciousness is capable of experiencing all the above and the bridge between body/mind/spirit/soul is just now appearing. Or perhaps it’s been there all along and we’re just now able to conceive of it, explore it and ruminate without the fear of persecution or rejection. It’s obvious we need to evolve toward something better, something greater, for humanity.
What’s it all mean for us in a practical sense? I’m not sure, though I get the sense ‘we/they’ are trying to get us to understand that from ‘nothing’ everything emerged in perfect order; there is an order to nature and the cosmos we haven’t understood as the natural order, which indicates a natural order in human experience and understanding as well.
We approach it from destructive testing, like CERN, where perhaps an approach from another direction is more appropriate; a simple change in perception that includes consciousness in the equation. I think we’re off to a good start, a silver lining in the Great Reset, perhaps a Great Weset instead, with an uprising in our wise-cracking and scoffing at things we don’t understand.
Coming out of an ‘old’ normal and transforming into a ‘new’ normal might include a deeper check-in. The obsession with self-hygiene and sequestration opened the door to exploring self (our persona) and Self (our Being) in perspective. Ponder your future well in your new spin around Self. Ponder the twist on the pronoun craze going on now and consider these… I Am / We Are.
In a recent LinkedIn post, Ali Anani wrote:
“One example is two peas in a pod are close together. Two brothers may seem as the two peas in the pod but hardly speak to each other being busy chatting with friends. We can be very close in distance, but very far in hearts. Are we living lives that two peas in a pod are no closer together?”
I sensed some wistfulness in these words. For a time when the two brothers were close and not distracted by the rest of the world. For hearts connecting.
Way back in history – 30+ years ago – I had some fairly small planter boxes hanging on the edge of my patio. Most of my neighbors grew begonias and that was just not my thing. I put in some peas and broccoli, lettuce, and a couple of strawberry plants. You don’t get much of a harvest when the roots can’t go deeper than 4” into the ground, and Ali’s two peas in a pod reminded me of the pods on my plants. None had more than two peas. Some only had one.
Reading Ali’s post, I, too, sensed some wistfulness for a time gone by when I was young and naïve and optimistic and curious enough to try to plant peas and broccoli in a planter box, totally unsuited for the purpose. No attachment to outcome, whatsoever. Only curiosity for whether it could be done.
When was the last time you did something with no investment in outcome?
What are peas? They are the babies of pea plants. They go into the ground and a pea shoot comes out. A pea shoot is a pea plant kid. The shoot grows into a teenager pea plant, and eventually, the adult pea plant sets flowers that hopefully, sometimes, not always, turn into pods with pea babies – and the process starts over. No peas ever grow well in as close proximity to another as they are in the pod.
Do we really want to be like two peas in a pod?
Is the wistfulness for intimacy? Or for the innocence, the non-worrying about worldly things? The care and love and being held we didn’t need to do anything to earn?
The answer is important because we can’t command anybody to hold us and care. But if we let go of our shell, it is entirely within our power to build intimate, supportive, and trusting relationships.
We just shouldn’t fool ourselves that shelling is easy-peasy.
Grace is the voice that calls us to change and then gives us the power to pull it off.
~ Max Lucado
Meet my Guest speaker Elizabeth (Beth) Urabe (CEO: C(osmic) E(nergy) O(rchestrator) of URABE OFFICIAL, Spirit Art Medium, Spiritual Midwife, Abstract Artist Extraordinaire, BIZCATALYST 360° Featured Contributor). With a surname that belongs to a family of divine origin…these Ideations were bound to come through: Planets’ diverse cultures have divine gifts to contribute so we must respect that. Watch the Episode to know more.
You are incorrect if you think you are the same person all the time. If you do not acknowledge that you have at least one other persona, you will not understand how to blend these images.
How many personas do you have? Do you have one for work, one for your family, yet another for friends, and then another for the parents of your kids?
This persona, this mask that you wear can be beneficial or not. If you have a work persona that is different from your home mask, what is it and how does it help you with your peers and your boss, if you have one? Or do you have a separate persona you wear when you are in direct contact with your boss?
This may sound frivolous, however, we all have different personas. And yes, it can be confusing to others if they catch on. It can also be confusing to you, the one who holds the power over these masks.
Who are you and who are you pretending to be?
It must be exhausting to carry all these personas with you day after day. What if you could be only YOU every day?
This act of masking is what many do to feel safe in different situations, mostly social.
We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.
— Kurt Vonnegut
We’ve all seen it, the pretenders. They certainly run rampant on Facebook. You see people wearing these masks and then you speak to them, if you are lucky, and discover they are illusions of themselves. They are not real, they are following others’ paths, allowing us to think or imagine that they’re very, very successful or equally as powerful. The truth then appears at a break in their persona. A word, a gesture, appears and you go ‘Whoa! What was that?’ – not what you expected. And I do say the word expected because people who attempt to force their personas or masks onto you for their benefit, know that this is the persona you expect to see. And they gave exactly that to you.
Bosses and leaders carry many personas. If only they could afford to be more authentic, we would appreciate their skills more so we say. However, in many cases, we EXPECT them to have many masks and personas. It is expected in the society we have created. And when the supposed truth about who they truly come out is, we are shocked, and surprised, and yet, we are part of the game in supporting their personas.
Any of us can be kind, strong, sad, and cranky without a persona. We can be genuine humans and stop wearing personas or masks to enjoy our lives.
The fewer masks we wear, the closer we are to having more peace in our lives.
Wouldn’t you like to live a life of truth and openness?
Along your path toward truth and peace, check this out.
I‘ve been writing on the internet for years, in the beginning mostly on social media. It’s only been the last two and a half, really, that I’ve expanded to a bigger audience.
When I was just posting on …. ugh… Facebook, what I noticed again and again is that when I wrote when I was angry, I used to get a lot more engagement than when I wrote when I was calm. That’s because when I was angry, I wrote in an agitating way. There’s a difference between agitation and brute force.
People often double down and resist any time they feel oppressed. The best way to create harmonious love and growth with a friend, a boss, a partner, etc, is to not use brute force. And yet, I think there’s a really beautiful place for agitation. We wouldn’t change without it.
I DO NOT think humans should live their lives agitated. I think we should live in peace in the here and now. Yet, if you’re not living in peace in the here and now, there’s a place for agitation.
Like, for example, are you unhappy with your body but you’re drinking several nights per week? Do you really not think that drinking is not contributing to your extra puffiness and overall poorer physical and mental health? Why do you not want to look at your drinking? Are you unwilling to examine the cultural influences you live under? Are you unwilling to acknowledge drinking is just a symptom of something being unsettled, having unresolved issues, and not being close to yourself?
OR- are you unhappy in your job but want to justify religiously why you’re SO HAPPY there? Why it’s “not so bad?”
I posted a screenshot of a text I sent to a friend in early 2020 (right before COVID) about how happy I was at my abusive job working 35 hours a week and not doing much else. And how I’m “not passionate about podcasts or sales.” (Ahem… that’s basically a giant chunk of what I do now.) I was lying to myself to stay comfortable. Because I was being a little bitch.
Like, where are you lying to yourself? Maybe you do need some agitation.
Like, I tell people all the time, “just show up every day and things will happen.”
It’s that simple. Show up and do one stupid tiny thing every day. One tiny stupid thing. In your whole f__king day, do one thing.
In the hours and hours of lying around and masturbating and watching reels on Instagram, do one f__king thing that serves you. One thing. Can you not do this? Maybe you need some agitation. Maybe you need to examine why you can’t break away from cooking reels to do a tiny workout? Do you need that much dopamine? How sick are you?
I’m all about self love– it’s how I got here. And I’m also about action.
What changes your life? Changing your thoughts, and repetition.
There’s a good place for agitation.
I was watching a Dr. Joe video yesterday and he said “most people quit when they come up against the boundary of the known self.” I see this in my work all the time. Everything you know about yourself, the world, and reality is a complete load of bullshit.
I am “one of those people” who has made massive transformation post age 35. I’m one of those people who “got out of the loop.” I’m one of those people who acknowledges every bit of bullshit I tell myself and others.
I’m one of those people who, when I want something, often sits in perpetual discomfort until my neural pathways are rewired. I do this by doing work, examining my story, and being open and present to what is.
There’s a quote “discipline is prioritizing what you want most over what you want now.”
Maybe you don’t really want the things you say you do. Maybe you gotta look at that.
How agitated do you feel?
If it’s a lot, you’re welcome.
Stay beautiful
Andee
Here,
Here I stand
Observer.
Observer of time,
Time passes,
Sunrise to sunset,
Sunset to sunrise.
Time,
Time to observe.
Here.
Here I stand,
Protector of buck and bear,
Guardian of fox and feather.
Beware, buck and bear,
Heed the sound,
Hear the wind,
Hear.
Hear as I stand,
A listener,
Listener of Mother Nature,
Listener of conversations.
Hush and howl,
Whoosh and crunch,
Listener of love.
Love.
Here, I am,
Whole.
Wholesome as the warmth of the sun,
Chilled by the wind and water,
Weighted by the snow and bricks.
Here, I am wholly,
Wholly yours.
Here, I am.
Here I am your helper,
Becoming one with you
To take the weight,
The weight of the brick and block,
To take the weight off of your shoulders.
You put it on me,
We become one,
Whole.
Here,
Though I stand,
I rust.
Yet, it is me you trust.
Here, I stand
Protector,
Observer
Listener
Helper
Wholly yours.
This, I ask of you,
Hear me,
Through the wind’s gust,
Through the sun’s warmth,
Through the hole.
When I falter,
Please recall
Where I stood
For one and all.
Here, I stood
Waiting to wander
With you, my friend
Here, I Stand an original poem by Hope S. Blecher Croney. Hope’s Compass of Creativity and Curiosity: I connected some of this to the feeling of the Shema. As I wrote and looked at the wheelbarrow, I became curious and found this explanation related to the Shema, Why Do We Cover Our Eyes for Shema? – Chabad.org
I had a two-hour layover on the bus in San Francisco, so I was sitting around. There weren’t very many people there. It was early afternoon. A guy came up to me and asked for a smoke. He had long brown curly hair and was short–my height–and slender. I gave him one, and he sat down and started talking.
SEE ALL PRIOR PARTS BELOW ︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 6): Engaged
Eventually, he asked me if I wanted to get high and go to his apartment since I had a layover. Being stupid and naive back then, I decided to go with him. At the time I did not realize the danger I could be putting myself in. I don’t recall his name. He had long blonde hair and looked like a hippie. We got to his apartment which was a ten-minute walk from the station. He pointed to a picture on his dresser that was of Patty Hearst. He told me he helped hide her. Keep in mind this was back in 1976.
The apartment was a studio with a bed, dresser, small fridge, and microwave. There were no chairs, so I sat on the edge of the bed feeling uncomfortable. He proceeded to take a handgun out of his dresser drawer and swing it around. He was staring at me. I knew when I saw the gun and picture I was in for some trouble. I thought to myself how are you going to get out of this mess? And not knowing if I would ever get out of there. I did what I only knew to do. He was a man. He wanted sex. So, I pretended to be attracted to him and was very suggestive to him that I was more than willing to participate. This appeased him as he lay down the pistol. All the while I’m blocking him out of my mind, the act of the violation of my body, and wondering to myself will I ever get out of here alive?
As he had his way with me, I kept reminding him of the time. How people at home would be expecting me. They would be there waiting for me. I had to get back to the bus station. After about a half-hour, he said let’s go. When we left his room, five other guys came out of different rooms and walked with us. I never felt so scared in my life.
I got on that bus on time and never looked back, thanking God that I got away. My heart was pounding so hard I could hardly catch my breath. I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Things could have gotten so much worse. The thought of it made me cringe and feel like vomiting all over that bus. I realized it could have been a gang rape with not just one man waving a gun wanting sex from me. To this day, I can’t remember his name, nor do I care to. I had long blocked it out of my mind until the writing of this memoir. It seemed an important event to mention in my already messed up life and the unbelievable control men had over my life.
Once again, I found myself wondering if it was my fault somehow, did I deserve this too? Was I destined to have these run-ins all my life with the abuse of men? Was I only good for sex?
What about me, the person inside, that little girl wanting to be loved, what about her? Would she ever know peace?
When I arrived back home, I never told anyone what happened, not even my best friend at the time. Certainly not my parents. Somehow, I felt a little wiser from it all. Things hadn’t changed much when I got back home. Tom was still in Okinawa, and I was still alone. I started to live at my parents’ trailer, on their acreage at the farm. I wasn’t going back to that motorcycle gang; I was staying clear away from them. I was taking a break from men and feeling like I was loved. Tired of the race and the abuse. Tired of lies and deceit. I was plain tired of my life in general.
The beginning of February!? Just when content and safe beneath the grass that was often cut by ‘humans’ (if that’s the correct word).
Very early Spring. Time to see the light that filters through soil and grass. Time to be brave and show modest majesty, which happens rather quickly. Awakening to open space, blue sky above, with fellow crocuses. Exchanging smiles that promote a positive element; a feeling life begins once more
Now it snows. We close our petals enveloping warmth. Strangely, snow mellows sound; a blanket subduing noise of birds and small humans on two wheels shouting (if that’s the right word). Snow melts leaving only patches where trees deny sunlight.
Sunlight! A signal from the Universe that we crocuses understand to be a brightening of human hearts. At least that is the sense as humans stop and witness our conceited glory.
No modesty on our part. We only bloom for a relatively brief period when our dear friends the daffodils replace our myriad colors with bright yellow. They also smile at us and also prompt smiles from humans.
A poet has never blessed us crocuses with words of description, but our relationship with our friends the daffodils, allows us to enjoy an extract from a poem written by Wordsworth.
‘Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze’.
Our crocus family loves this poem, even if it is not about crocuses.
The days illuminate, sensing rapport between ourselves and humans.
Occasionally a piece of metal in their hands (an iPhone?) is lowered towards us and goes ‘click click’. Not in a threatening manner, but with pure pleasure and smiles as human hearts view our colors in a strange form of empathy. Dream-like countenances.
As we crocuses grow in splendor, our faces shine with joy. The fact that Spring sunshine blesses humans with observable appreciation is clear to us.
As weeks pass by we crocuses gain a synergy as we witness a form of gratitude in their eyes. And more humans become closer to clicking away at us. We seem to recognize some humans as they regularly crouch and absorb our beauty. Not modesty but honesty. We crocuses are beautiful.
And so, the Universe signals departure; once again to hide our beauty below grass and soil.
We continue to engage with one another, reaching out as tree roots; maintaining contact, and exchanging experiences of our world and the joy we seem to have provided for those appreciating Nature’s glory.
We seem to give more than we receive, but giving is more precious.
We predate such ‘human’ beings. We are infinity. Our world, the Universe blesses our gift of giving and receiving glances of awe and beauty.
As with my dear family, I am proud to be a crocus. Even though Wordsworth sees us not.
We are here for all and love the joy we bring. We now await rebirth of next Spring.
On March 1st, I went to an appointment with a new doctor. Well, he’s actually a very well-established doctor. But it was my first visit with him. I approached a receptionist who was seated behind an open, sliding window. I had a mask in my hand. I held it up so the receptionist could see it and asked if I was required to wear it. When she told me masks were optional, I put mine in my pocket.
While I was checking in with that receptionist, a woman to my left was checking in at another window with another receptionist. Since the woman talked quite loudly, I could hear her say she was checking her husband in. I looked around the waiting room and saw no one. Assuming her husband must be parking their car, I turned my attention back to my receptionist. When our business was finished, I took a seat and waited to be called to see the doctor.
The entrance to the waiting room was to my right. I heard the door opening, looked that way, and saw an elderly man shuffling in, walker first. Though he was significantly older than the woman who said she was checking her husband in, she turned toward him as he entered. He immediately snapped at her, loudly and angrily, “Have you ever tried to take your jacket off in the bathroom?!”
You only get one chance to make a first impression.
Maneuvering his walker across the room, he sat opposite me, facing me. His wife approached him from his left and handed him a clipboard.
He snapped again: “What do you want?!”
She explained, gently and with more patience than the old bastard deserved, “You have to sign this form.”
He did. She took the form to the window and handed it to the receptionist. Then she took a seat to his right.
When she was seated, he said again, just as loudly, “Have you ever tried to take your jacket off in the bathroom?!”
She said, “No.”
Then he pointed across the waiting room at me and said, just as loudly as he’d said everything else, “What the hell’s the matter with that guy? And why the hell isn’t he wearing a mask?!”
I looked up and smiled.
His wife said, “I don’t know.” Then she got up, walked across the waiting room, picked up a magazine, and took a seat on my side of the room, three or four chairs to my left.
I sat quietly, occasionally glancing at Mr. Sunshine and waiting for him to say something else to or about me. He didn’t.
The Aftermath
Two days after that experience, I saw a post on Substack called, “I’ll Never Forgive the Coronamaniacs”. The entire post is worth reading. Its anger and resentment are completely appropriate and justified. But this jumped out at me:
I’ve seen on-line graduation ceremonies and gowns mailed to students so they could take photos in their backyards, and prom dresses and sports uniforms that were never worn. I’ve heard stories of teens breaking down and crying in their rooms because their youth was being stolen. I’ve seen people unnecessarily unemployed for eight months, desperately seeking work, via computer, ten hours a day, seven days a week. Tens of thousands more people fatally overdosed than in an average year. I was barred from visiting my very ill mother in the hospital. How many families couldn’t gather, either to break bread or to mourn the death of a close relative? Marriages have been postponed; how many children will not have been born because of Corona theater? Overall, how many billions of memories that could have been made, weren’t? Stolen time is irreplaceable.
I’ve seen many of those same things. I’ve seen my grandchildren terrified of wearing masks because they thought it meant they had the virus. I’ve been prevented from seeing my mother in the memory-care unit in which she lived before passing away in January. I’ve known people who postponed marriages. I’ve known people who were denied funerals for their loved ones. I’ve seen families fractured and friendships ended. I’ve seen all manner of panic. And I’ve seen vituperation directed at those who refused to panic.
I don’t know if the bug up the ass of that old son-of-a-bitch in the waiting room was the coronavirus or COVID-related. And I’ll forgive him and forget him with equal alacrity; although, I’ll never figure out why his wife puts up with him.
But I’ll always wonder: who was that masked man?
January was cold and stormy in the Lowcountry and the winds coming off the ocean and marshes were always misty and cold. The full moon would crest across the dunes at Huntington Beach working its way to Brookgreen Gardens where the Veil will open above the ancient oaks. At midnight he would see Rose again, and for a few hours, they would be together.
He parked his car in the grassy area near the entrance gates. The wooded area had many paths and he knew he could walk hidden until he got past the ticket entrance. It was quiet at night, and he heard a white owl hooting in the distance. Feeling the chill, he pulled his coat collar up around his neck knowing the owl would show him where the Veil was open. He felt a strong anticipation knowing Rose was waiting for him under the live oaks.
He walked quickly now as he saw the shimmering of the Veil and the shadow dancers seemingly floating across the sidewalks. As he passed through the Veil, he saw Rose standing near their favorite oak tree. He couldn’t help but notice that she wore all white, even her pearls and hat. They embraced and headed over to where the jazz band was playing and people were dancing. He looked deeply into her eyes telling her how much he loved and missed her.
Rose smiled and held him closer, saying that soon they would be together for all eternity. He knew that he was growing older, and it was getting harder and harder to get to the Veil. He could see the light that danced around her head as she took him by the hand and walked toward the stairway that led to the river. The closer they walked to the river he saw his hands seem to shed the many years and when they looked into the fountain, he could see his hair was no longer grey.
Rose told him that she had watched him from behind the Veil and she was so sad that he never remarried. She was happy when the Veil opened on the Harvest Moon so they could be together for a very few hours from midnight until the first light of morning. It was a magical time those hours, filled with a love so powerful that the Veil would open for them to spend what seemed like moments before Rose had to let him go back across where they would be apart until the Veil opened again.
Tonight, she told him of the tears she shed each time they were together. Rose said there were no tears in Heaven, and it was only here that she could cry. He held her close as the dawn grew nearer. Rose said this night was special and they would walk toward the light together. The light was just beyond the live oaks down the old brick stairs leading to the river.
They walked slowly knowing they would be together for eternity. An Angel waited by the boat that would take them across the river to live in the light, never to part again.
The strength of their love allowed them a love without end.
Amen
Read the complete series from the links below.
Shadow Dancers | BIZCATALYST 360°
The Shadow Dancers | BIZCATALYST 360°
The Shadow Dancers | BIZCATALYST 360°
Going in small steps is a virtue that has its ugly side that we all should be aware of. Three recent comments from leading thinkers shall serve in the explanation of what I mean.
Aldo Delli Paoli commented, “In reality, I believe that we don’t trust people but their behavior”.
Harvey Lloyd commented, “Behavior is typically driven by intentions. When our intentions are not being met, emotions follow, generating certain behaviors”.
Alan Culler wrote, “I trust the person’s information, based upon a track record of timely and accurate information”.
In essence, the three quotes show that the intentions-behaviors-track record serves in understanding human behavior.
Is this conclusion valid always? To answer this question I want to remind the readers of an old Arab Fable about the camel in a tent.
It was a cold night. The camel asked his owner for his permission to put his head in the tent for warmth. The owner granted him permission. Soon after the camel asked if he could enter his neck in the tent to feel warm. The owner said OK. The camel kept asking for more permissions until all of his body was in the small tent. It was too tight to accommodate both the owner and the camel. The camel then told his master “It will be best for you to stand outside and will then be room enough for me.”
The camel used small steps to move in and occupy the tent. There are examples in life where humans do the same.
One case is a man who used to ask his friend for small loans. He promised to settle each loan on time and he did. The man established trust with his moneylender friend. He then asked for a much bigger loan. Being trusted the loner agreed only for the man to disappear. He established good credibility and gained the trust to cheat. The behavior had hidden bad intentions behind.
Another example of doing things in small steps to gain trust is an employee who logged out a few minutes more than he actually worked. The next day he added more minutes and so on till he added more hours than he worked.
Intentions hiding behind behavior are examples of the dupers’ delight. People who act this way find delight in wrongdoings. Delight increases with the increase of their cheating. Nerve cells release a shot of the neurotransmitter dopamine into the brain, which brings on pleasurable feelings of self-satisfaction. And this high is what can lead to a desire to repeat the behavior until it becomes an addiction.
I conclude that behaviors hide intentions. It is the identification of those intentions that will make the behavior of humans more predictable.
Devon Michael was a child actor living in poverty when he auditioned for the part of Anakin Skywalker for the Star Wars movie, The Phantom Menace. He saw this opportunity as his way out of poverty and he felt this might well be the most important thing he would ever do. In the aftermath, he learned that he can tell his own story, as he does so rivetingly in this film. “It depends on how you tell your own story, how you tell your story to yourself. Maybe that’s what the Force is, giving yourself permission to see things differently.”
The opposite of depression is not happiness, but vitality, and it was vitality that seemed to seep away from me in that moment.
In a talk equal parts eloquent and devastating, writer Andrew Solomon takes you to the darkest corners of his mind during the years he battled depression. That led him to an eye-opening journey across the world to interview others with depression — only to discover that, to his surprise, the more he talked, the more people wanted to tell their own stories.
I knew that time was precious and fleeting.
I felt it in my soul as my heart was quickly beating.
Who better to turn the hands of time?
It begins with the very first nursery rhyme.
I can tick and talk, then suddenly it’s just too painful to walk.
So I dance and dive and be creative.
I look outside the shadow box and live.
Too many bowling pins are spinning in my head.
Thoughts become elusive once I’ve gone to bed.
Memories of old clash with all that is new.
What I did yesterday; I no longer have a clue.
Take in stride these words I provide.
A promise won’t be kept if you run and hide.
Sure it’s just a melting pot; a miniature mess of all I forgot.
It was my second day preparing a long list of much-required paperwork as part of a tiresome and long process. It’s not that the level of nonsense and unprincipled behavior was surprising.
The adult in me knows why people do what they do. She has been pushed by life to get educated psychologically — most importantly, seriously work on her distorted narratives. Thus, she realizes that when we are merely operating on auto-pilot and are driven by fear, we are in a survival/protective mode.
Whether hurting others is intentional or not, our behavior toward others mirrors our inner turmoil and is not personal when dealing with a stranger. The inner child of my psyche, though, can’t take BS or accept unfairness and/or accountability-avoidance tendencies, and I can wholeheartedly understand and support her! That’s where accessing our self-awareness and enlarging the gap between the stimulus and response — also known as Emotional Regulation — comes into play, hopefully.
If developing one’s EQ is something of interest to you, maybe you might find some value in this essay.
P.S. The left brain plays the adult role of the psyche, while the right one is linked to the inner child archetype.
This is how the discussion with my inner child looks like, in general, when faced with challenging situations and/or dealing with difficult individuals:
Acknowledgment & ValidationI feel you, sweetheart, you know! [Fill in the blanks] is not okay, and you have all the right to feel the way you do.
Pointing out subtly the futility of being attached to the external worldBut here is the thing, love: this situation or behavior is out of our control. We can’t change people’s hearts, sadly enough, baby girl… All we can do is wish them inner peace, lead a virtuous life independently, and enjoy the fruits.
The “Substitute”Do you really wanna lose time and energy we could use for play and creative endeavors on meaningless things that will never add a single value to our sacred world? I bet you don’t! Let’s move on, shall we?
I should probably specify that when the anger emotion is translated to compassion or pity feeling, my action will depend on the circumstances.
When inappropriate behavior is directed at a human being who feels powerless, I will undoubtedly defend them gently but firmly. A calm demeanor helps embarrass the perpetrator and soothe the victim. Sometimes, I feel that the bullies give themselves permission to abuse others because nobody ever stopped them. That’s when I decide to stand up for myself so that the grandiose and delusional individual may think twice before repeating the same behavior with other people in the future. Granting compassion or pity depends on whether my intuition is telling me if the person in front of me is an inherently good folk or an antagonist. In both situations, I can send my unconditional love to the lost parts of the soul, though!
The precious encounterI was on my way back to my faraway car. My heart was peaceful but my vessel was exhausted; first from physical actions and running in all directions, and second from all the Emotional Regulation instances. That’s when I saw that man at the corner of a street filled with cars and people during a peak hour. He had two crutches to help him stand.
I stopped and greeted him warmly before adding, “Do you need any help?”
He smiled beautifully, “I’m looking for a cab.”
I spent around 10 minutes looking for one. I felt heartbroken since I wasn’t aware of how difficult it was to find cabs in my city, and sent some healing love to all those dealing with such a struggle daily… When I eventually caught my cab, I was around a mile far from my friend of the day. I explained I needed him to pick a guy and showed him his spot. The taxi driver firmly notified me that, if I wanted him to do me a favor [yeah… it speaks volumes about entitlement and lack of empathy, you guessed right!], I needed to get into the car so that he doesn’t stop for another customer and may start charging right away… He said that; your eyes are not playing games, nope!
When we reached my friend, I handed the important papers folder to a lady standing next to him and didn’t think twice before helping him sit by gently manipulating his motionless legs. His whole face shone brightly, “I genuinely don’t know what to say to thank you for your generous heart and kindness!”
You don’t need to, my friend! My heart is fulfilled whenever I can contribute to making someone’s day a little better! In fact, I should be the one thanking you… Now, my day’s nonsense repetitive events suddenly make perfect sense… I needed to be in this very place at this very moment to serve you! How wonderful is that?
GratitudeAs usual, I want to thank all of you, dear readers, who decided to stop by and give this piece some of your precious time!
My children and I visited Copenhagen Zoo with my parents many years back. The Zoo had a lion pride with a male, 2-3 females, and cubs of varying sizes. The lions have a fairly nice area – at least compared to the cage atrocity that was showcasing big cats in my childhood. Their outdoor enclosure has a high concrete wall to the back behind which are the indoor cat facilities. In front of the wall is a sandy-lawny area with some downed trees, there is a water basin, and then a deep ditch, bushes, and a railing between people and cats. The concrete wall curves around the “beach” so at one end is the cats’ entry to the cat house and at the other end a very sturdy small window.
My youngest was very fond of lions, having watched Disney’s The Lion King, so I led him around to the window from where he could look along the “beach” and get a little closer. With the awe and love that can only come out of a little child, he looked through the window and whispered “Simba.”
And the big male, who until that moment had been lounging at the opposite end of the enclosure, raised his head to look straight at us, got up, sauntered slowly over to us, and sat down right on the other side of the glass, looking directly at my son.
Let me tell you, when a male lion is 2-3 feet away from you, you notice the size of them differently than when they are on TV. There is a reason lion tamers have been able to put their heads in lions’ mouths. There is plenty of room to spare. But his was not a menacing look; just one living creature seeing another seeing them lovingly – “You called; here I am.” A joy to witness.
This memory revisited me because of a Friendship Bench discussion about belonging, oneness, what are we? It crisscrossed in my feed with a video with Emily Levine discussing her own mortality and her contribution to “the circle of life”, the title of the opening song from The Lion King.
Obviously, I am not the dead skin cell that washed down the drain this morning. It is wherever it went, and I am still here. And if that and all my other cells will be circulated multiple times in and out of my body over my lifetime, clearly “I” am not my cells. And if I am not my cells and you are not yours, does it matter how our chromosomes are organized? How many Xs and Ys are in the mix? How well my skin is genetically disposed to protect me from harmful UV rays (not nearly well enough) or to absorb Vit D (not nearly well enough, either)?
Does it even matter that my DNA and cells are organized into the body of a human?
We are so enamored with our prefrontal cortex and all its abilities, but can we sense from 100 ft away that a little boy wants our attention and thinks that we are the most fantastic being on earth? To him, right now, in this moment…
Are we even aware of this moment – right now? Or do our thoughts get in the way?
Next time around, perhaps I should be an apple tree…
I cut it close and was almost late for class because I couldn’t find the school. I had the address, but I didn’t see the name of the institution anywhere. I drove up the street one more time, and back down again. I finally saw the address.
Wait..what? I pulled into the parking lot and looked up to the second floor of a very small mini-mall. Turns out, the school was on the second floor, just above… the laundromat? Not exactly the ivy-covered building I had pictured in my head. I climbed the metal steps to the second floor, stepping this way and that, avoiding the odd empty beer bottle or condom wrapper discarded here and there. As I opened the door to the administrative offices, I’m reminded to mask up. I’d be surprised if I was protected by a hazmat suit in this area, much less a mask, but anyway…
I completed the remainder of the paperwork and left the administrative offices for the classroom, one office door to the left.
I entered another office-looking environment, and found a very small classroom, to fit a max of 10 students. I saw a signup sheet for the class, a prep course for the CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) exam, discovered I was in the correct classroom, and proceeded to sign in. In this classroom were two rows of desks, five desks in each row. I chose desk 3 in the left row, behind an older woman in the first desk, and an empty desk in the second. There were three other students in the right row. I was one of two men.
The instructor walked in, introduced herself, and confirmed it is the class we were all supposed to be in. By her accent, I figured she was Jamaican or Bahamian. I later discovered the rest of the class was also either Jamaican or Bahamian.
The instructor was the doppelgänger of singer-songwriter, Tracy Chapman, with what I later learned was a long-haired wig. And she had a tic, which was a hiccup that sounded like what a toy manufacturer thought a frog sounded like. No disrespect here at all…but for real, she was plagued by this condition that just happened, out of nowhere, without warning, in a louder-than-you’d-expect volume, lasting a solid twenty seconds each time, and freaked me out completely every time it happened, which was about half a dozen times each class.
I asked my husband John if he remembered back in grade school when the teacher would clack two metal pieces between her thumb and index finger to get the attention of the class… he said he did and if you’re old like us, you’ll remember too. (If you’re not old, google it or just trust me that nuns and teachers actually used to do that.) That’s what I thought she was doing, but I was totally thrown and decided that it couldn’t be directed at us because no one in the class was causing any disruption, and then also, the frog-ribbit sound…what the hell was that??
The instructor appeared to be someone who had carried out the motions for this class 500 times and was just as uninterested in fulfilling this commitment as the rest of us. (I later learned there might have been a good reason for her demeanor.)
Upon paying for the class, we received an instruction book, which explains and defines many of the basic caregiving guidelines for would-be CNAs. The second half of the book lists all 21 skills we were to learn. Each skill lists the time it should take to complete the skill, the supplies needed for the skill, and then finally, a 25 to 35 (sometimes up to 50) line-by-line breakdown of how to carry out the skill. Sounds simple enough, right? It is not, and worse yet, it is made more difficult when you’re torn to pieces by the person supposed to be teaching you.
The first half of the class was devoted to establishing our ability to read multiple pages of text, aloud, to the rest of the class. For a second, I nervously flashbacked to fourth grade (shout out to Mrs. Funk, Goodwin Elementary, Cicero, Il). I couldn’t believe this was happening, and just about spit out my water when she called on me to start. F-me, seriously?? I half expected the instructor to have me stand at my desk, or worse yet, read from the front of the class but thankfully, I was spared that inevitable embarrassment.
Off I went, reading two chapters aloud to the entire class. I might have had a tiny bit of an advantage, having been around and worked with my Mom who was a nurse and had spoken many of these medical terms I was reading. I was reading like a pro, correctly pronouncing this term and that term, when the instructor stopped me.
After the two chapters, another student was called to pick up where I left off. She wasn’t so bad, and mostly read just like I had, with just a little trouble here and there with the medical terms. Then a few chapters later, a third classmate was called and that person was definitely not used to reading basic medical terms, or just reading aloud. Or just reading.
Let me just say… it is just as painful now as it was in 4th grade to listen to people read aloud who cannot pull off that skill well, and made worse by my fellow Jamaican grandmother-type classmate who CONSTANTLY tried to correct any reader who struggled with pronouncing a word, when she herself could barely eke out something that resembled the actual word. This was part unintentionally hilarious and also mind-numbingly frustrating.
What was the instructor doing, Ry? Glad you asked… she was barely paying attention to the awkward display taking place directly in front of her because she was on the phone. What in the what-what??
Yes… she was on the phone, via wired earbuds connected to her phone with a little mic, almost the entire four hours of class, every class. She was either a student herself listening in on another class (because she would occasionally speak, directed into the phone, which then confused the heck out of all of us, and when someone would ask what she said, she’d just point to the phone), or perhaps even teaching another class. She never explained, and no one bothered to ask. Who knows what she was doing, but she was with us at about 65% attention, it seemed. To be fair, she was able to multitask, in that way, sort of, but it bothered me some that her entire attention wasn’t on us.
After two hours of having to endure the chapters read aloud, we left the classroom for the skills demonstration room. This is where our instructor truly shined, at ripping everyone to shreds.
I’m not sure what qualifies a person to be able to lead and teach these skills, but I’m guessing it’s a simple yes or no question during the interview. Our instructor displayed absolutely no chill, no charm, no patience, and almost no sense of humor – almost drill-sergeant-like.
Since this was the first Saturday and none of us had any experience or prior knowledge of any kind, the time in the skills room was spent learning the first two mandatory skills: indirect care and handwashing.
Indirect Care is basically introducing yourself to the patient, explaining why you are in the room, what you will be doing, and checking a few basic things like the patient’s id bracelet and the locks on the bed, as well as pulling the privacy curtain closed. Handwashing is another critical skill, where if you miss a step, you fail automatically. Not one student did it absolutely correctly even on the last day of instruction, which frustrated our instructor to no end. “Guys, guys, c’mon, I’ve shown you at least 10 times, you’ve had a month to practice at home, why are you guys not getting it?” …was her way of encouraging and supporting our failing endeavors.
Instead of letting everyone take a turn right after her and then watching and correcting at the missteps, she would instead demonstrate the hand washing skill, finish, and then look at everyone and ask, “Do you all know now what you did wrong?”
And therein lies the issue, as far as I am concerned. Showing versus instructing. I think most of us learn generally the same way, which is by doing. I can watch a demo of something but until my hands are moving the same way, for example, it’s not going to register in my brain.
Our instructor wasn’t unintelligent by any means, but I was struck by how she didn’t grasp that part of the instruction.
You might be asking yourself…why didn’t you speak up and make that suggestion? She didn’t necessarily put out that vibe that she really wanted to help – it was more of a “ask if you absolutely have to” type vibe. And to be fair, I wasn’t the only one. Others caught the same vibe and I’m guessing like me, just figured they’d keep quiet and roll with it. All but one poor soul, that is. The student to my right attempted to say what I mentioned above about direct instruction, and the instructor shot her ass right down, emphasizing it was about practicing at home, and then displaying your understanding and ability when you arrive at class. …and then I guess, being berated when not perfecting it despite not having had that direct instruction beforehand, and also being instructed to avoid using YouTube for examples because “they’re all wrong.” Not one of us spoke up to clarify what that actually meant.
This was the kind of situation where, despite definitely not always being clear with what she said, and having many questions…when she asked if I had any questions, I said no. I would regret this decision the very next Saturday.
My first email on Tuesday, February 28, was Gary Foster’s newsletter (Making Aging Work), and, of course, it named some folks who are older – as I am – and still working, still kicking, still living large.
Gary mentioned Marc Freedman, CEO/founder of Encore.org (now called CoGenerate.org, and the idea of reimagining life after 60 to include some form of “work” … a time when many are looking forward to retiring from their work.
So, naturally, as I so often do, I looked for Marc on LI, saw others who had commented on his latest post, and look at their profiles and posts! (Yes, I am an LI junkie… I love diving down those “rabbit holes.”)
What I found is central to my life – that so many other early Boomers have NO plans to actually retire. They’ve found new ways to stay active, whether by helping others in nonprofits, starting their own business based on their love of something, or pivoting from what they used to do and making it work at this age.
For me, it was a wonderful trip, because I love seeing how my generation has continued to thrive in ways our parents rarely even considered.
A few years ago, I realized the power of showcasing the energy of us older folks, thanks to a young man (he’s young enough to be my grandson!) named Gustavo Zylberberg, who founded Vitalcy. I met him thanks to Dennis Pitocco, the Chief Reimaginator and Founder of 360o Nation and BizCatalyst 360o. Gustavo and those who write for Vitalcy celebrate those over 50 … over 60 … over whatever age used to be deemed “OLD” and not active any more.
And, no. I am NOT putting down anyone who does decide to retire – of course, even that word isn’t what it used to be, right? It can certainly include being very active in many ways.
I just love the choices that we now have.
At nearly 77, I can see the world through friends and colleagues on the internet, I can learn from folks everywhere on this small planet we all inhabit, I can help authors with their content, and I can enjoy the gift of getting up every morning with one or more projects to tackle that keep my mind alive. It’s a way of life that suits me to a T, and I’m grateful to be allowed to live it this way.
So for me, being old means looking back and feeling pure gratitude for the unknown man and woman who bequeathed me the genetics I have, for the wonderful man and woman who took me into their family and gave me love, and for all the family/friends/colleagues/strangers who have given/continue to give so much to me and others, leading the way towards a better life for us all.
I am grateful beyond measure that I’m alive to see all this happening!
For those reading this … I welcome your thoughts. What are YOUR plans as you continue to age? What will make your life even better than it is right now? How will you make that happen?
The story is told of a man attending a 12-step group to overcome his addiction. It is said that his older and wiser sponsor told him that he needed to pray. The younger man responded,
“But, I do not believe in God.”
The older man replied, “I did not ask you to believe in God. I only asked you to pray.”
Why is it difficult for some to believe in a higher power or a God? Many look around at the conditions of the world, and see this as evidence that there cannot be a higher power. They conclude, “No God would allow all of these terrible things to happen.”
Still, others struggle to believe because science is so compelling. Man’s answers seem to be almost better than any answers attributed to God. Those answers are sure and do not require faith and trust in someone or something you cannot see.
Still, others find it easier to believe that man has all the answers and there is nothing more than this life.
Again, why is it difficult to believe in a higher power? In my estimation, we do it every day. We trust something bigger than us almost every day of our lives, so why not believe in God?
For example, the other day I was heading to visit a new doctor for some testing. I had never been to his office so I punched the address into my cell phone and got the directions. My phone connected to a signal that I cannot see and told me the directions to go. I followed them. I made it to the doctor’s appointment right when my phone said I would.
Interestingly, I knew the area very well where the doctor’s office was. If I had chosen to go there on my own, I would have taken a very different route. I realized that had I taken the route I would have chosen (and not the one provided by the GPS in my phone), I would have been late for the appointment. I trusted my phone to get me there.
I am taking a business trip tomorrow. I have flown many times before. It is interesting to me, that most of the time when I get on the plane, the cockpit is closed. I just assume the pilot and his crew are in there. I do not know for sure, but I trust that they are in there doing their job. I occasionally will hear a message from them over the intercom. Yet, I never see the pilot, but I trust him to take me safely to my destination. So, far that trust has been well-founded. I trusted something I could not see.
Millions of people get on the internet every day and make purchases. We trust someone that we have never seen before to ship us the used book, the dress, the new headphones, or the latest gadget to us with next-day shipping. We trust some ratings provided to us by people who know this person and recommend him or her and we click out our credit card number. We trust that this is legit and we make it happen all of the time.
A couple of years ago, we discovered VRBO and Air BNB and started trying them for our vacation lodging arrangements. We got online and looked at some pictures of places we have never been. We read the reviews of other people and looked at the feedback other people offered and we trusted it. We made the decision to try the place out having never actually seen it, but trusting what we saw and read. Great times!
So, we trust higher power all the time! We trust in things we cannot see all the time. Tell me, you have not done a Google search or asked Alexa or Siri for the answer–and you believed what you found or heard! I imagine most of you have done this perhaps every day of your life. We look to something higher than us all the time and we trust it!
We live in a day where we go to Google more than God, Facebook more than faith, Instagram instead of Inspiration, and so on. We all trust these things without a second thought.
We act with faith every day that something bigger, larger, smarter, higher, or whatever than us, is trustworthy.
So, why not God? Perhaps you could make a place for Him too! You trust something higher than you every day of your life. Why not give Him a try? I promise you He will be there! He is real! He is there! I trust Him and love Him. He gets me where I need to go and helps me with what I need help with! Try it! Trust in God.
I went with a guy by the name of Fred after that. He was the kindest person and a gentleman. He had long black hair and high cheekbones. Taller than my dad at about 6’4”. For some reason, I was attracted to taller men. He was always thinking of my feelings first.
SEE ALL PRIOR CHAPTERS HERE︎
Shattered Innocence (Part 5): The Runaway
I was in 11th grade by then and we got engaged. But he joined the Marines at seventeen and had to go to boot camp. His Mother had signed for him. I got lonely and I met up with Basil’s stepbrother Tom. So, I wrote Fred a “Dear John Letter” and worse, I pawned the engagement ring. Thinking back on it now, I did him wrong and I do regret it to this day. As I said he was truly kind and loving. I just couldn’t manage to know what I wanted, I guess. And I didn’t know what love was. I went with Tom for the rest of high school, and we got engaged. He too went into the service of the Marines. We got married when I turned eighteen and he came back on leave. Unfortunately, he was stationed in Okinawa for a year. And I couldn’t go. That hurt our marriage. He got lonely and so did I. He ended up getting a girl pregnant over there and said he wanted a divorce. That he never loved me. However, we didn’t get a divorce at that time. The girl he got pregnant with had an abortion. He did his term there and got stationed in North Carolina, Camp Lejeune.
I was wild and promiscuous back in those days, and I didn’t recognize it. Thinking back now I realize it was from my childhood abuse.
I had met a guy in a motorcycle gang during the time Tom was in Okinawa. The guy rode an Indian Bike. He was very physically abusive, and I couldn’t seem to find my way out. I deserved it. I had low self-esteem and was always looking for compliments to feel secure. Always looked to be loved for who I am yet never knew who I was myself.
I hated having sex. It was a chore and dirty. Something that men used to control you and make false promises with. I can remember just lying there thinking to myself just get it over with. While it was my duty, I didn’t have to like it. I had blocked any feelings of enjoyment I might have gotten out of it. Ashamed of my past and incest. Feeling used and abused by men.
My family was so dysfunctional. Mom and dad always working and no one watching the kids. All of us craving for attention. Wanting to be loved. Too many children, I guess. Yet I wouldn’t change any of my siblings. Mom could have stopped after me. But then I wouldn’t have three of my brothers and a sister. And I do believe Mom and Dad did the best job they could after all there was always food on our table and clothes on our backs. But I don’t have a clue what love was back then nor how to behave appropriately. As I said I was sexually promiscuous and used my sexual exhibitions to my advantage when it came to men. I knew what they all wanted Sex. And that was what they all wanted as far as I was concerned. Would I ever find someone to fill those voids of love? The deep feeling of being loved for who I was and not a damn sex-machine.
Back to the motorcycle gang. As I said I must have felt I should be punished because I kept going back for more abuse from Bob the Indian bike member. So, I spoke to my parents at the time, and I told them I needed to get away, they agreed to put me on a bus to Colorado to my sister’s house. I got a job there working at a sewing factory with my sister. The only problem was her husband at the time took a liking to me and yep you guessed it he wanted to have sex too. I never had sex with him. I threatened to tell my sister Theresa and he left me alone after that encounter.
Meanwhile, Fred was home on leave from the service. I talked him into coming to see me in Colorado at Theresa’s house. We were planning to get back together. Tom was still in Okinawa. Fred was stationed in California, about a two-hour drive from my grandmas in Petaluma, California. She would surely welcome me there. I stayed at my grandma’s for about two weeks before she got irritated with me being there; she wasn’t used to having me underfoot. So, I went to my cousin Diane’s house close by to stay. She worked in a bar at the time and had a life of her own and I was cramping her style as well.
One day she hooked me up with a guy. I don’t even recall his name, but we were to go out on a date. The first thing he wanted to do was get high. He had some cocaine. They asked if I’d done it before and I said sure, even though I had never been high before. I had only drunk alcohol. He laid out a long line of it and I watched as he snorted his and I followed suit. After about 15 minutes I started throwing up all over the place. I felt weak and faint like I was going to pass out. My heart felt like it was racing a mile a minute. And my stomach started cramping. He had other plans for the evening, but they didn’t materialize. I was out of it for about two days and couldn’t stop throwing up. I swore I was never going to take that again. After that, my cousin Diane got tired of me being around there cramping her style and pawned me off on a guy she knew. He too was a drug dealer. I started sleeping with him for a place to stay and food. Meanwhile, I hadn’t heard anything from Fred. All I know is one day he came knocking on that door and someone let him in. I was in bed with the guy that owned the house. He hollered at me, “Get out of that bed!” I hollered back “Get out of this room!” The guy, whose name I can’t remember, asked if that was my husband. I told him no. I dressed and Fred and I left together to talk. He said he had gotten in trouble and been put on restriction and that was why I hadn’t heard from him. All I know is I felt deserted and once again alone I had to survive on my own.
I told Fred it just wouldn’t work out for us right then. I was married and needed to give my marriage a try. He was heartbroken of course and it was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. I wrote a letter to my husband Tom’s commanding officer, as Grandma suggested. I told him I hadn’t heard from Tom, and I had no way of supporting myself. In the meanwhile, I was back staying at Grandma’s house. It was high time for me to go home. Once again, I called my parents, and they sent the money for me to catch a bus back home. Enough time had passed, and I was no longer worried about that motorcycle gang and Bob.
Episode DescriptionAlexandra Bacalao is an immigrant from Venezuela by way of Canada who came to the US as a schoolgirl. Now a physician and scientist, the podcast is the story of how she sees America through a complex matrix formed from the other countries where she’s lived, her experience in the US health care system, and her observations of US politics. It’s a story of belonging everywhere, yet nowhere—and why she loves America.
The unique picture on the thumbnail below, as described by Terrilynn Renella:
This is after 37 radiation treatments plus hypothermia when they inserted the catheters for brachytherapy. It was so painful and in the months after that, I dealt with the worst pain of my life. The pain was unrelenting however I seldom used painkillers. I didn’t want to get addicted. I feel so blessed to be alive.
These are her own words. This is the epitome of courage! Terrilynn has literally faced her own mortality and has lived to share her story. Here are Terrilynn’s links: https://radicalremission.com/cancer-f…
It was another balmy Southern California summer graveyard night shift in the city of Orange. The only oranges to be seen were the two bright ones portrayed on the corresponding embroidered shoulder patches sewed on Gumshoe’s uniform short sleeve shirt. Additional oranges were pictured on the plastic “official city seals” that were affixed on both sides of the front doors of Gumshoe’s police car, a white Chevy Nova. In Gumshoe’s opinion, the large orange city seal logos on the outside doors of the painted white patrol car seemed to be a good target for a cop-killing sniper to “sight-in” and easily take out an unsuspecting “Officer Friendly”.
Gumshoe never felt comfortable nor ever at complete ease being positioned behind a bright orange target.
You have to understand folks that all of the orange groves that “once were“ along with the packing houses that created “the Valencia’s, the Mandarins, the Seville’s“ had long since been swallowed up whole by the encroaching adobe-colored stucco housing tracts with the obligatory shopping centers within the ever-expanding city limits Orange known to us coppers as the “Big O”.
While cruising the sleepy neighborhoods and commercial areas, Gumshoe had ample time to think of cascading thoughts about almost everything under the sun. In case it was under the moon. Gumshoe contemplating the riddles of the universe kept Gumshoe awake and alert especially when there were no radio calls. Sort of a Gumshoe’s personal time of reverie and reflection to pass the time journey on a slow, quiet night.
Hmm, Gumshoe would think: “Maybe a bit too quiet ke-mo sah-bee” as Tonto would remark to the Long Ranger. But of course, city police work in the wee hours never remains calm. Gumshoe always had that expectation and that feeling of anticipation that things would break his mental reverie.
On this particular evening, Gumshoe motored along the old side of the city that had narrow streets running through an eclectic blend of light industrial workshops and circa 1940 single-family housing. Gumshoe had all four windows of his cruiser down to take in the night air.
It was several blocks ahead of Gumshoe’s front hood when the sight of a “darked-out” (no lights on) racing vehicle came into view followed almost simultaneously by the sounds of angry metal being smashed with a visible shower of sparks flying upwards like a thousand fireflies illuminating the night’s darkness.
Deadly silence followed.
Gumshoe activated his overhead light bar and turned on his front-facing dual spotlights as he put out a “901T” (car crash) radio call at the hundred block on the street of this on-view incident.
Within less than a minute, Gumshoe was there. A late model mid-size car had been driven blindly into the rear end of a parked heavy-duty flatbed delivery truck.
There were no visible signs on the pavement of impending crash skid marks that would indicate any attempt of the driver braking. The car’s hood had jammed below the flatbed platform and the truck’s flatbed had neatly sheared off the upper portion of the car’s windshield and its roof beyond the side front middle door frames.
The strong acrid smell of burnt rubber assaulted Gumshoe’s nostrils mixed with the sweet aroma of leaking gasoline on the asphalt. No fire! Thank God!
Gumshoe readily spied the male driver and the female front passenger. They were both calmly and silently still seated upright. Their eyes were open with unblinking stares into nothingness. Gumshoe could then detect the odor of alcohol.
They were both absolutely and positively DEAD.
Strangely, there was no blood or gore.
Both of their skulls, just up from their eyebrows, were missing. Their skull caps were lying behind them on the back seats as if they were going to put them back on later.
Gumshoe’s cell light shone directly into the exposed portions of their heads. Gumshoe immediately thought of plastic doll heads, but in this case, these heads still had intact brains with no more thoughts to be thought.
Gumshoe pondered the unanswered question:
“What had they been thinking?” So much for Gumshoe’s quiet reverie on that graveyard shift in the “Big O”.
Always remember folks to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
The Value Of A Good StoryI would sit by the creek reading. In my mind, I traveled on great journeys, fought in great battles, went to the moon, and rode with notorious outlaws. I was hooked on learning and wanted more. I had a library card by first grade. By twelve I was reading Henry David Thoreau. By sixteen my quest for knowledge took me out of school and set me on my quest of learning. I spent five years on the road playing music.
Life In Black And WhiteIn life, much of what we do is not as black and white as it seems. Growing up I often heard the old saying that life is a simple as black or white. Life is not black and white. It is a palette of vibrant color like a Van Gogh painting. It is laughter, joy, and song. It is full of texture, smells and many feelings. It is full of love, kindness, giving and compassion all these colors, the spectrum of life.
Every Window Has A ViewHow often do we look out the window to see the view? To pause and take a look allows us to see things we miss when we walk by the window and just take a glance. It allows us to slow down and truly see. It allows us to pause, reflect and understand the views we see in life. Every window opens to a different view and a different opportunity.
Autumn Of Our LifeWe start life as children full of learning and imagination and we progress through school, work, and careers. We work hard and devote ourselves to creating a life yet to come, a life that we dream about. We often call life a journey and that brings to mind many places and things over a long time. While I realize that we certainly have cherished memories along the way, the Autumn, when we have time just for the things that we love, is but a brief moment. The time it takes to walk down a dirt road.
I’ve been living with intention for sixteen years now.
Correct that: I have been living with conscious intention for sixteen years now.
Or correct that: I have consciously been living…
I have been consciously living…
ENJOY PART 1 BELOW︎
Intention (Part 1)
Use language to describe something you do not have language forThe above are not edits, they are attempts to use language to describe what I do not yet have language for. Each sentence has a slightly different meaning, each slightly different meaning fails to reveal the whole that I mean.
Living with Intention is challenging. The challenge is both frustrating – when I allow it to be – and rewarding – when I allow it to be. Living with Intention is the razor’s edge Maugham wrote about.
You are a verb and can only become a noun through effortPart of living with intention means slowing myself down to the point that the universe stops moving around me. Or maybe I move so quickly I move with the universe, hence remain fixed in it. Phrased differently, Living with Intention means recognizing that you are a verb and can only become a noun through effort.
I pay more attention to what I eat. I pay more attention to my eating. I take time to savor whatever goes in my mouth (and whatever comes out). I find that paying attention to the tastes allows me to taste more of the individual flavors, to become aware of subtleties that I didn’t know were there yet obviously were, waiting for me to experience them.
As my awareness expands, my calmness grows. I find myself more restful while being readier (for anything) than I’ve ever been before (that I remember, anyway).
I discover selves I no longer need or can comfortably use. I thank them for their efforts and invite them to rest.
I’m now 68 years old, I was taught these things in my childhood then again starting in my late twenties and I’m just beginning to understand that it’s Living with Intention that my teachers talked about.
I practice guitar differently now than I did…even months ago. Once the recognition of intention is made, it grows and encompasses everything. At least for me. Practicing (anything) was a chore at times, an obligation. “I have to practice x minutes/hours each day.”
Practice for whom? That’s the question Living with Intention causes me to ask now.
I focus more on the individual movements of my fingers. The movements become natural, fluid, far faster, more elegant than they were in the past. I laugh at my mistakes (that alone takes practice). Recognizing that they’re simply mistakes comes from living with intent.
I recognize that I’ve lost my focus when things frustrate me. I remind myself to slow down. Relax. Learn what the frustration comes from. Deal with its source, not with its trigger. The trigger is the agent that reveals. Thank it, go on, continue.
Relationships take both less and more work. I question my motives for interacting with people, both as individuals and as groups. I don’t question their motives, only my own. In questioning my own motives, in understanding my own goals, I realize and understand theirs more clearly, more cleanly, more obviously, more quickly and easily than I did before.
I question more because questioning more leads to more understanding. And questioning. My own. What is my goal with them? What is my desired outcome? Do I want to be friends? Am I capable of friendship? Is that person capable of reciprocating in a way which satisfies both parties involved? Did they fail or did I set them up for failure by creating an expectation they couldn’t meet? What shall I do if I recognize that this relationship will never be what I want it to be? And then recognize it’s easier to end that relationship than continue being dissatisfied with the interactions.
Because I’m paying attention more, because I’m doing things consciously, more and more of what I do becomes non-conscious.
But part of Living with Intention involves becoming more aware of what I do non-consciously, discovering which of my behaviors are in conflict with my desires and why and what I can do to resolve those conflicts.
I exercise differently. I’m more aware of my movements, of my limits, my goals shift, my reasons for exercising become more self-directed than other-directed.
And I learn to be increasingly honest with myself. Even when self-honesty, the necessary sister of self-realization, hurts.
Learning to be a noun means learning to be a gerund because there are times when the energy around you is different from (unequal to?) your own and you must match it before you can work with it. Intentionally
Writing this, I recognize my strengths and weaknesses. I focus my intention on what is obvious to me because the obvious is easiest to recognize, but “the obvious” means “the surface” that I haven’t integrated into myself and so it exists unknown, unrecognized.
It is the unknown, the unrecognized, that truly requires my focus, my intention, because the unknown and unrecognized parts of who I am are the most dangerous to both myself and others.
And when I learn to live in the moment? Then I await the next…
I recently had the opportunity to sit with the President in the Oval Office for a conversation about matters past and present. The transcript that follows has been edited for brevity and clarity. Editing it for sanity would have been too much of a stretch. In the transcript, I’m identified as YT (yours truly), and the President is identified as JB.
YT: Mr. President, during your campaign for the presidency, you called a young woman a lying, dog-faced pony soldier. Can you tell me what that means?
JB: I’ve never used that expression in my life.
YT: Thank you. On another campaign stop, you said, “All men and women are created by the … co … you know the … you know the thing.” Can you tell me what you meant by that?
JB: Yes. Thank you for letting me clarify that. On that particular occasion, I was talking about the other thing.
YT: Okay. On yet another campaign stop, you were surrounded by children and you talked about how kids like to rub the hair on your legs. Did you think that was appropriate?
JB: Have you seen my legs?
YT: Well, no. I ….
JB: Come on, man. I have to trim the hair on my legs so it doesn’t hang over my shoes.
YT [gags]: Uh … you once told a group of truckers you used to drive an 18-wheeler. Is that true?
JB: No. That was taken out of context. I used to drive a steam engine for the Pennsyltucky Railroad when I was in law school. My dad used to say, “Joey, make sure you blow two for the crossing in case there are any cows on the tracks.” That’s why I invented the cowcatcher.
YT: You were at a town hall meeting in Des Moines in 2019 that was hosted by the Asian & Latino Coalition PAC. You said, “We have this notion that somehow if you’re poor, you cannot do it. Poor kids are just as bright and just as talented as white kids.” What did you mean by that?
JB: I was not at a town hall. I was at a Tupperware party. And what I said was, “We need to have tight lids.” Have you ever been carrying soup or one of those jellied salads in a cheap plastic container when the lid pops off? It’s a mess. But it is true that most poor people can’t afford Tupperware.
YT: Oh, boy. In October of 2020, you were asked by CBS News reporter, Bo Erickson, about your son Hunter’s laptop. You said, “I know you’d ask it. I have no response. It’s another smear campaign, right up your alley. Those are the questions you always ask.” Now that the laptop and its contents have been authenticated and there’s a Congressional investigation underway for which Hunter’s likely to be subpoenaed, do you have anything more to say about that?
JB: Look, I thought the guy was asking me if I wanted to go hunting with a laptop. That’s just ludicrous. Everybody knows when you go hunting, you get a shotgun. Plus, I think that Erickson guy was a Russian plant, trying to interfere with the election that was being held the following month.
YT: Right. During last month’s State of the Union address, you said, “Make no mistake about it: As we made clear last week, if China threatens our sovereignty, we will act to protect our country, and we did.” Were you referring to the balloons you had shot down?
JB: I was actually talking about the threats to our sovereignty by the almost three million immigrants that came across our borders from Mexico in 2022. But the teleprompter got the country wrong. And our border’s secure.
YT: I see. During the same address you said, “If anyone tries to cut Social Security, I will stop them. And if anyone tries to cut Medicare, I will stop them.” But the Democrats’ reconciliation bill you signed last summer took almost $300 billion from Medicare to boost insurance companies by removing leverage from negotiations on drug prices.
JB: Oh, shit! Is that what that was?
YT: On the same night, talking about non-compete agreements, you said, “A cashier at a burger place can’t walk across town and take the same job at another burger place and make a few bucks more.” Do you really think fast-food employees have non-compete agreements?
JB: No. What I meant was a guy who makes Big Macs at McDonalds can’t go to Burger King and make Whoppers because they’re different. But he can make French Fries because those are just potatoes.
YT: You also said, “Jill and I reignited the Cancer Moonshot that President Obama asked me to lead.” But your Inflation Reduction Act contains price controls that reduce annual cancer R&D spending by about $18.1 billion, or 31.8 percent.
JB: Come on, man. Those are just numbers. By the way, did you know the Oval Office used to be a rectangle?
YT: What?!
JB: Yep. When Jill and I got here, we ordered 400 containers of Spackle. Then we spent a weekend rounding off the corners to make the room oval.
YT: Oh, boy. Let’s move on. On February 3rd, a reporter asked if you take any blame for inflation. You said, “No … It was already here when I got here, man! Remember what the economy was like when I got here?” Setting aside the fact that the reporter was a woman, the annual inflation rate when you took office in January of 2020 was 1.4 percent. In 2021 it had risen to 7 percent. It now stands at 6.4 percent. What did you mean when you said that to the reporter?
JB: I was talking about the economy of Burundi. Do you know those people don’t even have toothbrushes? As a matter of fact, most of the countries around Burundi in Latin America and Crimea don’t have teeth after the age of 16. That’s why Vice President Harkness and I are inaugurating a program we’re calling BEAT: Buy Everybody a Toothbrush. And our slogan is, The BEAT Goes On.” Pretty neat, huh?
YT: Oh, my God. Okay. One last question. In a recent Wall Street Journal Op Ed, you wrote, “Millions of Americans [are] getting jobs with better pay,” now that you’re in office. But according to the America First Policy Institute, the average American has lost about $1,350 in purchasing power from your inflation tax. How do you respond to that?
JB: Oh, no you don’t.
YT: No, I don’t what?
JB: You’re not going to confuse me with numbers again. I wasn’t born tomorrow, ya know.
YT: No. I didn’t think so, sir.
JB: Ask me what kind of cereal I like.
YT: What?!
JB: Come on, man. Ask me what kind of cereal I like.
YT: Okay. What kind of cereal do you like?
JB: Fruit Loops.
YT: Do you mean Count Chocula?
JB: Yeah.
YT: Thank you for your time, Mr. President.
JB: Gesundheit.
Her tears glistened in the sun as she tried to catch her breath. I was overwhelmed by her reaction. For a few precious moments, it felt like it was just her and me. Two people sharing a moment, for me, it was unlike any other.
Ten minutes prior, I was leaving the supermarket, a lady pushing a shopping cart outside, with multiple shopping bags hanging off it asked me if I had any change. I politely declined, as since the pandemic I rarely carry cash. I apologized, it felt weak and empty. We made eye contact and politely exchanged warm greetings and headed in different directions.
After a quick stop in another store and considering what my options were, I realized I could go back to the supermarket and use the bank machine to get cash to give her. I panicked when I could not see her, but proceeded to the bank machine. Scanning the parking lot, cash in hand I noticed a small laneway and knew she could not be far. I found her looking for bottles in the recycle bin on the side of the supermarket and I was relieved to find her.
I politely extended her a $20 bill and she gently took it and started to weep, as if I had given her $1,000. She asked my name and I asked hers and we hugged and cried. I was humbled and honoured. I shared with her I truly wished there was more I could do for her. Her name was Lisa and I will always remember her raw emotion and the moment we shared.
It was human connection at its strongest. What she gave me, she will never know, it is priceless.
As dear Jim Burke stated, “I take for granted what some people pray for.” I thank Lisa today for the reminder today to be grateful for every meal I have, every night in a warm bed, a circle of friends, family, peers, and acquaintances that I love and so much more. Being kind brings dividends no financial investment can bring. Thank you Lisa for sharpening my perspective on what is truly important.
I stress that I am in no way a space-science geek! But since childhood, fascinated by the various theories and continued discoveries.
The Universe (if there is just one and no parallel entities) started with the ‘Big Bang’ circa 15billion light-years ago and expanded at the speed of light; 186,600 miles per second (circa 300,00 km per second.
We observe the night sky full of stars and myriad galaxies including the Milky Way, where our solar system is on the edge of one of the ‘spirals’; seemingly insignificant considering the number of galaxies in the Universe.
I have a number of questions that are either simple to address or prompt escalating curiosity.
When the Big Bang happened, obviously there could not (or may not?) have been any space around it as the vast ‘explosion’ created ‘space’ itself. At least in theory.
What was ‘behind or in front or around that ‘space’? Was another side visible to Earth during the following billions of years?
Was actual space pushed out by the Big Bang? But what if anything was there before? Challenging to imagine a microscopic or even invisible force setting off the Big Bang.
The Big Bang commenced via zero content. A microscopic dot, with no space around it. Or was there already space around it?
But who or what pressed the button? Some form of divinity or pure science.
As the stars and galaxies formed from the Big Bang and expanded, had they the space to expand into, and space around them?
Like a ripple in a calm lake when a pebble is thrown in.
We view stars that originated from the Big Bang and were created by collisions and more as the Universe expanded following the Big Bang.
We view stars and galaxies ‘in front of us’ as the Earth turns around on its axis and moves around the sun every 365 days.
Stars and galaxies that ‘exploded’ from the Big Bang went in another direction? An opposite direction? From the center of a pond, the distance from one side to the other would be greater.
After all, it is normal for example, for a round object if exploded, to blow its contents in all directions.
Would stars on the other side be viewed as more than circa 14 billion years away?
The ripple on the lake created by a pebble would have a greater distance from one far side to another.
Should this be the case, could there be a vast portion of ‘space’ filled with stars never seen; their light ‘flying’ in an opposite direction; across the pond (not the USA in this case!)
Also, infinity. A startling thought. Should the Starship Enterprise aim for the ‘end’ of the Universe or experience closure similar to the inside of a giant balloon? Expanding but not possible to breach.
Imagining the Universe as an expanding balloon, are stars on one side visible to Earth, 14 billion light years away? Does the whole Universe rotate? If so, what would it rotate in?
Time, speed and distance are combined as one entity. And also gravity. Hence black hole stars. Gravity must have been overcome at the moment of the Big Bang.
Should the Universe have been created or happened circa 14 billion light-years ago. By what measurement? Are stars still departing from the ‘center’ of the Bing Bang entity?
The mystery of the Universe, parallel Universes, or multiverses will always be with us.
Should it be expanding what is it expanding into?
We talk of infinity, but can infinity literally have no end, if so, what is it contained in?
Come on Space and Science gurus! Any answers would be welcome!
We are surrounded by the stuff that we think is so valuable and important, but take it all away and what is left? The real you is left. Or at least the journey to the real you without all the stuff that you think defines you. In this video, Theo Du Plessis of South Africa, had a “Damascus moment” that opened him up to the only question he asks himself now before acquiring possessions or pursuing experiences: is it REAL? If it is real then it is worth having in his life. Theo’s life is one of connection with himself and nature, and a force he calls Goodness which gives him hope and community in the spirit of Ubuntu – I am me because of others.
A craft is not a hobby to fill our leisure hours. It’s a commitment to a lifelong discipline, to a dialogue with work that deepens over time and takes some unexpected turns. Consider the evolution of celebrated artist Dale Chihuly. In college, he took a weaving class, learning how to insert glass shards into tapestries. After studying interior design, he began to experiment with glassblowing. Once he finished his a masters in sculpture from Rhode Island School of Design, a Fulbright fellowship landed him in Venice. At the Venini factory on the island of Murano, Chihuly learned the team approach to glass blowing that he would use to create stunning, large-scale work — way beyond what anyone thought was possible in this medium. Throughout his career Chihuly has pushed the limits of his discipline, inventing new techniques, and boldly experimenting with new forms. He drew on other cultures to create his Navaho blanket series and was inspired by Japanese flower arranging in his Ikebana series. In his hands, glass has morphed from a useful and decorative object into major public installations—his enormous walk-through sculptures immerse the viewer in a world of color, light, and fantasy.
The artist has pushed the limits in his life, as well, continuing to blow glass even after suffering the loss of an eye in car accident. After he dislocated his shoulder body surfing, he hired others to hold the pipe. Today Chihuly is an entrepreneur with a workshop and a factory to produce his most ambitious projects. If you haven’t already seen his work, the documentary, Chihuly in the Hot Shop, is a good place to start. And if you’re ever in Seattle, be sure to visit the Chihuly Garden of Glass next to the Space Needle, to see glass transformed into an architectural symphony.
Chuhuly Garden and Glass Museum, By Aschulkins – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=62547811 Seattle.
The life so short, the craft so long to learn.
– Hippocrates
Craft is a dialogue between the beautiful and the useful, the known and the unknown, ending in a leap of faith. A maker—no matter what the material—is committed to the process of unfolding, in constant conversation with a medium that engages the mind, the emotions, and the senses. Some say that practicing a craft is like putting your soul on a stretcher—and if you’re survive this process, you will learn a good deal about the art of living. But it is also a matter of paying attention to the most minute details.
As a journalist, I have spent hours wrangling with the structure of a piece, evaluating every sentence for rhythm and flow as if it were a line of music. Following John McPhee’s advice, I return, over and over again, to the dictionary, reviewing my word choices, until I am certain that I have found the most accurate, and most compelling, way to turn a phrase. And, of course, I read incessantly, apprenticing to other writers. My library card is so dogeared, I’ve had to replace it, while over the years, I’ve spent a small fortune on a reference library. I keep my ear tuned to the latest voice in fiction, and enjoy those who break new ground—Orphan Pamuk, Arundati Roy, Dave Eggers. For masters of style I turn to The New Yorker writers like Joseph Mitchell who described the Native Americans who built Manhattan’s skyscrapers then profiled Joe Gould, a quirky but compelling Greenwich Village character who claimed to be working on “an oral history of modern life.” From Mitchell, I learned the value of exploring marginal people and scouting for stories in unexpected places. For sheer economy of style, I go back to two more New Yorker alums: William Maxwell (They Came Like Swallows, the story of a young boy whose mothers dies in the 1918 influenza epidemic) and “Talk of the Town” reporter Lillian Ross whose description of an encounter with Ernest Hemingway is wickedly delicious. There is always more to learn. After more than fifty years at my writing desk, the literary life remains one of endless challenge and discovery.
Traditional Japanese tatami makers, courtesy of Wikipedia Commons.Not too long ago, someone told me the story of an 88 year-old tatami maker who had made a thousand mats and finally reached that “aha!” moment where he felt he’d got it right. For most people who devote their lives to a craft—painters, poets, dancers, writers and weavers—it’s not the end result that counts. It’s the long pursuit of excellence and what one learns along the way. We expect to fail time and again, and accept that the end result will fall short of our vision. But then there’s the happy accident when we suddenly achieve our ends in a simple and direct manner. The work just feels complete.
And when that moment ends, we return to the practice of experimenting. Of waiting and not-knowing, approaching our craft again with “beginner’s mind.”
Hemingway once said, “We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master.” And so we just get back to work, remaining grateful for some glimpses of a higher truth. In those moments, we feel deeply grounded in our own being, and what we do connects us to a greater whole.
As Dylan Thomas observed, “The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps…so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in.” I’m sure he was onto something. Native American basket weavers always left a break in the pattern so the soul could get out—-and Dutch woodworkers in the Hudson River Valley aligned their mantels, but left a tiny gap—careful not to tempt the devil with perfection. Each craft contains a whole philosophy and gives us some insight as well into the arc of human history.
Years ago, I lived in a 1790 stone farm house with such a mantel and with a fireback so well crafted that allowed me to heat the whole house from the living room hearth. The walls of the building were two feet thick and the floors made from broad oak planks that before the Revolution had been considered contraband, and reserved for the British navy. In this village in upstate New York, comparable to colonial Williamsburg, I learned how masonry and other crafts have played in the shaping of our American democracy.
Glenn Adamson, former director of othe Museum of Arts and Design, New Y o
As Glenn Adamson shows in Craft: An American History, colonists came to the New World with only a few possessions; they had to build their own houses, make their own silverware, pots and dishes, and create their own furniture. The most skilled of these craftsmen became fixtures in our early government—among them the noted Boston silversmith, Paul Revere and the printer, Benjamin Franklin—and their principles of economy, beauty, and balance were central to the formation of our national character.
“Craft has been many things in America,” Adamson writes. “A way of making a living, of expressing creativity, of pushing technology forward. It has a potent symbolic status, one so fundamental that is anchors our everyday speech. We talk about forging links, laying foundations, hammering things out, spinning tales. Conceptually, we knit things together and carve them apart. Craftspeople themselves are often seen as representing the best of America. Capable, trustworthy, and self-sufficient, they are the quiet heroes of our national story.”
Craft, Adamson argues, is crucial to our belief in egalitarianism, in a society where all men are created equal. While that ideal remains to be fully realized, craft has historically been the means for men and women to rise up and achieve new levels of status and security.
Greta Uehling, University of Michigan
As the first anniversary of the Russian invasion of Ukraine approaches, one thing is clear: The destruction the war has wreaked upon Ukrainians over the last 12 months is so catastrophic that the country will be dealing with the humanitarian consequences for the foreseeable future. One of the consequences is trauma.
As an anthropologist, I have long sought ways to describe my interviewees’ narratives in ways that are true to what they experienced. This is particularly challenging after shocking, painful or overwhelming experiences, which are often difficult for survivors to describe in chronological order – or sometimes, to describe at all. Still, abundant research shows that unverbalized memories are not necessarily lost. Often, they return in the form of flashbacks and physical sensations. Survivors may find themselves reaching, consciously or unconsciously, for different ways to describe their experiences.
I did extensive ethnographic research in Ukraine between 2015 and 2017, crisscrossing the country to understand what was happening to civilians after Russian-supported troops began the war in the Donbas region of Ukraine. During my research, many people related their experiences of war in terms of their embodied sensations and material possessions.
The body knowsUkrainians often described their decision to leave areas of active military conflict as a visceral, rather than cerebral, process. A woman I call “Zhenia,” for example, lived through the epic siege of the Donetsk airport in 2014. Although her family planned to stay, that changed one night when her husband saw a mortar from a missile strike land down the street from their high-rise apartment while he was standing on their balcony. But they didn’t need to talk about it. Zhenia remembers thinking that her husband’s skin looked almost green from shock. Then, he threw up in the bathrooom. By the glances they exchanged, she knew it was time to pack their bags.
From her perspective, their bodies “knew” the time had come – it was an embodied form of knowing. She and many other displaced Ukrainians told their stories by referring to physical changes they experienced: tightening in the diaphragm, shortness of breath, an upset stomach, diarrhea, pain in their bones. Young people in good health described their hair going gray and teeth suddenly beginning to fall out. Psychologists might call this “somaticizing”: when mental and emotional distress expresses itself physically.
Anthropologists have long debated how best to communicate about pain and violence in a way that honors survivors’ experiences without being voyeuristic. In my 2023 book, “Everyday War,” I address the challenge by giving voice to the embodied language the people I spoke with used, relating their lives to me by talking about their bodies and possessions.
Surviving the surrealAmong survivors of horrific experiences, there is also a tendency to dissociate. Dissociation refers to the sense of detachment from reality that occurs when the ways we typically make sense of our experiences are inadequate to what is happening.
War crimes exemplify humanity at its worst, and ordinary words often feel insufficient to describe what people witness. It is not uncommon for individuals who have survived war and conflict to describe feeling detached from reality and other people. Many experience the world in which they are living as unreal, dreamlike and distorted.
In Ukraine, people I spoke with who had been affected by the war painted a world so uncannily altered by violence that it felt as they were living in a science fiction drama: The previously familiar became very strange.
A woman who had been displaced from Donetsk, “Yuliya,” told me she left after an otherworldly quality seemed to overtake her city. She compared her time in the city to a science fiction movie she had seen about the Soviet Union, in which high-tech sonic waves were used to subdue the population. Others described the Russian occupiers as bestial, monstrous and “zombies.” “Valya,” for example, described the mercenaries who entered her town as an “animal horde” because their activities were so indiscriminate.
Researchers in other countries where people are suffering from widespread trauma show survivors using similar language. In South Africa, people talked about human inhumanity to others in terms of “zombification.”
In “Everyday War,” I use Yuliya’s term, “sci-fi,” because so many people described having to make sense of what seemed like life on another planet. Here again, Ukraine is not unique. For example, in accounts of the civil war in Sierra Leone, recovering child soldiers report seeing not water but blood flowing from the tap.
The power of objectsA third way people spoke of traumatic experiences was in terms of objects. A single mother of five girls, “Fiona,” fled Luhansk when the Russians stationed near her rural home began going on shooting sprees during their safety patrols in 2014. She began selling household items to generate funds for bus tickets to a safer location. Fiona’s description of these items was very detailed and took up most of our conversation. At first, I was perplexed as to why she wanted to go over the make, year and model of items like toasters and washing machines. She was more eager to talk about these appliances, it seemed, than her experiences or her children. Eventually, I understood that these everyday objects, now sold, were icons of the life they had lost. Describing appliances was a way for Fiona to communicate about her family and its migration, easier than trying to discuss heavy emotional experiences head-on.
Another man who had fled his home, who I call “Leonid,” told me what he most longed for was the collection of matchbook cars he had to leave behind. The picture he displayed on his phone showed the cars lined up, still in their packaging, on a shelf in his home.
A humanitarian worker counseled him to overcome his sense of despair by purchasing new ones. What Leonid was saying, however, was more complex. As he was fleeing, he had also photographed innumerable real cars that were crushed by tanks, shredded by mortars, or incinerated by fire. Our conversation made clear that he longed for the toy cars because they represented everything the real cars in his actual world were not: safe, whole and protected. Talking about the toy cars was a way to describe – in condensed form – a whole set of powerful emotions.
When the war ends, Ukrainians may return to the places they had to flee, but both their inner and their outer worlds have changed. This means anyone intent on understanding will need flexible ways to listen. For anthropologists, it is vital to listen to not only what people say, but how they say it.
Greta Uehling, Lecturer, Program in International and Comparative Studies, University of Michigan
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
I needed to detach from who I was back then; the rose-colored glasses had grown pretty slim.Those arrows in the Darkness shot deep into my skin. The message I received was to stop and start again.How many levels of life do we receive? Every time I would open up, my heart would be deceived.So closed I live with shields and curtains.Everything gained gives back twice the uncertain. It’s as if the ship has grown a hole; bigger now than my very soul.I could burn the daylight out of you, but who would gain from living truth?We all hold secrets deep inside; the life of glue we scribbled to hide.Repent shall bring some peace to me; this was never intended for who I’d be.The colors smeared along the page; diamonds were cut to prove the age.Dash into those brittle bones. Take away the debt and loans.Trust me as I say this now.To balance this life; I no not how.
Creating a life by design – living a life on Your Terms comes from consciously making choices. Decisions stemming from your values, and what is important to you, not what other’s expect of you.
Yes, you can choose to live by others’ needs, and demands, but living by choice creates different feelings, responses, and interactions.
Owning one’s decision is empowering. You are in charge of your choices, stepping from being a victim of others’ expectations into a conscious agreement with yourself to be, do, and live in ways that work for you, for now.
I lived in a state of victimhood for most of my life. I looked at others’ and wanted what they had. Everyone seemed to have what success was meant to be the house, travel, family, power, influence, and money. They seemed to have choices in life, whereas I didn’t feel I had any.
Until I chose to explore my life, and what living meant to me, I was stuck in my beliefs from growing up ….. be the good girl and stay safe from abuse.
Don’t get too loud, naughty, playful, out there, smart, or rely on others to help you.
Be resilient, independent, and silent. Don’t tell others what is going on; they won’t believe you anyway.
You are just a girl; who do you think you are to know about things that are male roles?
Basically, don’t have a thought, a voice, ask for things, have expectations for things to be different, or be yourself, let alone consider there could be a different way. This is how things were to be. Your lot in life, and get on with it.
Looking back, I understand why I was told these things. My parents were also victims of their era and family teachings. As were everyone else.
Our society, at the time and previous generations, developed deep needs for security and safety by conforming and achieving greater than the poverty they experienced or were told.
They lived through wars, depression, and very male dominating times where the women of the house were expected to be barefoot and pregnant, without contraception, control or choice over their bodies, let alone their home.
Today, we are encouraged to step out, be different, to get to know ourselves, and what is important to us, at a deep level, but against the backdrop of generations of limitations, fears, and norms that don’t work anymore. This only adds to the confusion and pain, creating palatable tension between desiring different and yet feeling the need to conform and stay how we were.
Confusion, pain, angst, guilt, grief, sadness, loss, loneliness, isolation, fear, uncertainty, and a whole host of other big feelings come to the surface when we start to dream of something different, more aligned with our core values and living from love.
Yet, this is where the magic begins…..
Exploring what is important to us as an individual and consciously deciding what we will create in our life, then learning the skills to let go of past constraints and unserving rules.
The biggest questions start by asking yourself powerful questions, listening to the answers, honouring the feelings that arise, and taking ownership of what you choose to do at the moment.
It’s about
- being ok with continuing what you feel you can’t change, yet.
- being ok to do something different, testing the water to see if it does fit well with your image of yourself.
- being ok to say no to what you would typically say yet to and vice versa.
- being ok to set different boundaries, and speak from your truth and, at times, upsetting others, because they are surprised that you now have a voice they didn’t think you had.
- unlearning habits, rules, expectations, stories, and rationales for being the scapegoat, the good girl, the reliable, the conformist, the people pleaser, go-to person who gets stuff done.
- learning strategies of coping with the parts of you, starting to shine through learning how to say no, and yes with confidence, and stepping into your power when you expect to be shut down, abused, ignored, dishonoured, etc.
- learning what works for you, feels true to your values, and what you dream your life to be in the future.
- developing the tenacity, and self-belief that life is possible for you too.
to grow into confidence, skills, knowing, self-belief, and self-love in healthy ways and unapologetically become unf__kable. - healing the past, and coming to peace with what has happened. Forgive those who also didn’t know anything different because of the era they lived in, and what they were taught, and there honestly wasn’t the support and research to encourage another way of living and loving.
- forgiving yourself for all the times, you self-abused, neglected, abandoned, rejected, and hurt yourself because you didn’t know or believed there was a different way possible for you.
- writing your future, the way you want to live, love, share and be known for. The legacy you choose to leave behind and be remembered for. Whatever way or form this is for you.
The era we are living in is a blessing in so many ways. The message challenges the norms, rules, and conformity of generations of the past. It is asking us all to become more real, honest, authentic and in integrity from the deepest part of ourselves – unconditional love. To live this way invites us to learn how to love ourselves unconditionally, and in the process, open up to loving others with the same amount of empathy, compassion, encouragement, and belief that we are not broken but hiding under layers and eons of BS that tell us what we are not.
The challenge is open to all. It is up to each individual to decide to Create Your Life on Your Terms. What your life looks, feels and is experienced how. Choosing your response and emotional response to what is happening in and around you. To raise your vibration towards acceptance, and allowance of choices, while still holding morally high standards of “What would love do now?” and this, at times is about saying a very clear NO! and asking others to step up.
Life is challenging but only as challenging as we choose to make it. The further we step away from love and our life purpose, the more challenging it gets. Our inner compass draws us back like a magnet, but our choices pull in a different direction creating the corresponding tension load.
Yes, the choice is yours; you can choose when, how, and why you choose differently. It might be now, soon, next year or never, and each is a perfectly ok choice.
Creating your life is about clearing the hidden fears, hurts, limiting beliefs, and stories that keep you stuck in the past handed to you by your family, friends, schooling, society, media, and a whole lot more.
How can we ever
Count the cost
Of the ruins of war
And lives that
Were lost
Families who were
Once happy and free
Now struggling daily
Unimaginatively
Just to be
Voices that once
Sung loud, now
Silenced amongst
The crowd
The looking ahead
In the past
Was never feared
But brutal, bloody war
Leaves a legacy of
Violence and
hatred smeared
STOP THE WAR!
Gumshoe has always been fascinated with the wooden Russian “Matryoshka Nesting Dolls”. They come in different sizes and in various colors and with distinct details. The original doll conceals another smaller doll that contains another smaller doll, and so on until the parade of decreasing size dolls concludes with the tiniest doll finally revealed.
Gumshoe realizes that this may not seem to amaze most folks, however, Gumshoe had a past law enforcement experience to think about the “Matryoshka Doll” during his self-imposed solitary confinement.
Okay, folks, it is not what you may think. Gumshoe was not doing any “hard time” in the “joint” with the “screws” watching him. It was not a “Shawshank Redemption”.
Working major narcotic cases involves many hours, days, and weeks of just plain stationary surveillance. B o r i n g ! Mind-numbing to the uninitiated narcotics detective who had fevered fantasy dreams of “Sonny Crockett and Rico Tubbs” courtesy of the fast-paced “Miami Vice” TV show of the late ’80s.
Where was Gumshoe? Once upon a time, Gumshoe was a DEA guy in Los Angeles. Officially, a bonafide Special Agent for the Drug Enforcement Agency, US Department of Justice. What a mouthful! Whoopi-do! In street cop parlance, DEA really meant, “Don’t Expect Anything” or “Drunk Every Afternoon”.
In this regard, when Gumshoe left the DEA and got back into real city police work, he soon found himself assigned to an inter-agency police drug task force that focused on mid-level to higher-level drug trafficking organizations known today as cartels. Sometimes having too much experience and training can put one in a position that one may not readily want. In Gumshoe’s case, it put Gumshoe into the “submarine” as the sole crew member. Ahoy!
Gumshoe was considered a professional drug trafficking profiler as well as a court-recognized expert. It was a hardy “Welcome aboard Gumshoe, avast me hardy!” from the bosses.
The “submarine” was a nondescript undercover surveillance van. It got its moniker by being outfitted with a roof-vent periscope with a 360-degree turnabout that could accommodate a 35mm camera. The “submarine” also had an array of secret squirrel equipment that Gumshoe will not describe in any detail since it would be outdated by now. It did blend in and it was never “made” by the dopers and their bottom-feeding scum lookouts.
Okay, Gumshoe was blessed (or some may say cursed) with the ability to run silent and deep for an extended period of time to just observe and record. Ho hum!
Gumshoe, once secreted inside the submarine (that was driven into a targeted location; parked, and then locked up and exited by another undercover detective) would spend the following hours on end, observing, documenting, and recording details that would describe the distinct profile of illicit drug trafficking at the target.
Drug couriers, delivery vehicles as well as “mopes” working shifts within the targeted location would ultimately be identified.
Outside area surveillance teams were readily available to tail targets of opportunity that would result in the further identification of other targeted locations for drugs and/or money.
Working the case from the outside was a challenge for Gumshoe when undercover cops or controlled informants were not able to get inside the target.
How many hours in surveillance you may ask? Routinely, from sunrise to midnight and beyond. This surveillance would continue daily until there were sufficient articulated facts to establish probable cause to support a search warrant.
Gumshoe would go through several cans of albacore tuna, crackers, Butterfinger bars (sugar rush with a touch of caffeinated chocolate), and about a half dozen of bottle waters that did double-duty if you know what Gumshoe means.
Gumshoe had plenty of time to think. This is when Gumshoe thought of the wooden Russian Matryoshka Dolls. The outside of the submarine hid Gumshoe while Gumshoe appeared as an undercover repairman (who badly needed a shave, a haircut, and a shower) who concealed a narcotics detective “on the job” playing official “peekaboo” with drug-trafficking-dirt-bags.
A doll concealed within a doll within another doll as a regular guy who is a concealed Narc who was concealed within a surveillance police van that was not “Joe Plumbing & Electrical” as advertised from the outside. Wonders never cease.
Well, folks, that’s Gumshoe’s tale from yesteryear. Remember to always love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Sonny & Rico were cool with a great music soundtrack and had amazing wheels. No tuna for those guys!
December 1971 – Charleston
December can be cold even in the deep south. I spent most of October and November looking at photos that I could use for the canvas. The studio was cold, and the light was a challenge. The wind and mist from the harbor were brutal making my early morning walk to work something I dreaded and the late-night walk was often just as bad. The fog would start rolling in around midnight when I would make my journey home reminding me that Charleston was the home of many ghosts and spirits. They roamed the cobblestone streets after midnight looking for the ones they left behind.
As I walked past the Thomas Street House, I saw Rebecca at the window working on a portrait. I didn’t want to distract her, so I walked on to the carriage house and opened the door to a warmth and the smell of coffee and fresh baked bread. I never knew if it was Jessie Earle or Rebecca Lynn who always left food and coffee for me. It would seem rude to ask, yet it would have been nice to be able to thank the bearer of such kindness.
I spread all the photos out again trying to solve the problem of how I could paint a canvas as large as the one I would need to include all the images. It was late and I knew the morning would come all too soon. It was not unusual for me to find the answer hidden within my dreams. As I drifted off to sleep, I could hear Rebecca Lynn playing her cello, a gift that opens the veil where our dreams live.
The night, while filled with dreams, couldn’t keep me awake. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filtered throughout the house, and I finally got ready for work. The coffee was on the table with brown sugar pecan rolls. I picked up the envelope by my plate knowing it would be from Jessie Earl. In his best calligraphy, the note said, “Your dreams were not wasted, the solution to the large canvas was simple. The canvas is like a story in that it takes many chapters to become a book.”
I was anxious to get to the gallery and start the day. In my mind, I could see many smaller paintings depicting the images from the photos. When put together they became one canvas telling the story of the many chapters. They could be displayed as a grouping or as one massive canvas. I had never seen it done but I knew it would be breathtaking.
When I got to the gallery there was an envelope on my easel with several photos of Jessie’s boat on fire and a few with his face bandaged. This answered many questions and explained why I had never seen him face to face. I squeezed out the sepia with a touch of dark brown and burnt orange to give the canvas vibrance. I walked the room with the brush in hand until I knew it was time to put the paint on the canvas and create.
The next chapter- Sepia The Color Of Healing
- Sepia The Color Of Memories | BIZCATALYST 360°
- The Royal Typewriter | BIZCATALYST 360°
- The Poet’s Library | BIZCATALYST 360°
- Saying Goodbye | BIZCATALYST 360°
- The Urn Carver | BIZCATALYST 360°
- Church Bells Ringing | BIZCATALYST 360°
- Church Bells Ringing | BIZCATALYST 360°
- The Wayward Son | BIZCATALYST 360°
I get it. We, humans, are hardwired to seek pleasure and avoid pain. Our lifetime of conditioning doesn’t help control our primitive survival instincts.
How come?It seems to me that when we are conditioned to be obedient and follow the Notebook, our self-awareness endowment — we were granted among other gifts — starts to shrink. A direct result is altering our emotional intelligence’s healthy development which requires maintaining the synergy between our left (logical) and right (emotional) brains.
When we fail to regulate our emotions, we give power to our primitive brain: we avoid pain and seek pleasure. We distract ourselves and numb our emotions.
No surprise we, humans, are the most horrible consumers in the history of our beautiful blue planet.
For someone like the former me who suffered from Imposter Syndrome — among many other mental health issues including CPTDS and a Savior pattern, I extracted tons of pleasure from achieving. I was a workaholic. So, again, I get it. If I hadn’t been harshly abused by a malignant narcissist four years ago to the point of deciding to commit suicide before being saved at the very last moment, I would have still been coping.
You don’t need to reach an extreme point of no return like in my case, in all likelihood — at least, I don’t wish it for anyone.
There might be different circumstances that would feel challenging beyond your bearable level of enduring pain and motivate your commitment to change yourself: the only thing you can control anyway.
When your spirit awakens and your soul can’t take any more insults from the way you are treating yourself, you can be sure that you will persist no matter how painful the inner work is.
If no major trauma takes place in your current physical existence, you may go on with your life, avoiding pain and seeking pleasure, and that’s okay as long as you are content.
The cure for pain is in the pain.
— Rumi
I wish I could tell you there was another way. But don’t take my words for granted. Do your research. Befriend ancient life philosophies and educate yourself psychologically. Then let me know what you found. Deal?
Pain is the purifier. Love pain. Embrace pain.
— Percy Cerutty
Think of diamonds. They are formed when concentrations of pure carbon known as graphite are subjected to a pressure exceeding 725,000 pounds per square inch and temperatures above 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit.
On a side note, when some people look at the numerous scars spread all over my body, get indignant, and ask, “why don’t you do anything about them?”, I smile before adding, “those are my cherished diamonds!”
Pain is sometimes the cost of a meaningful existence. I can handle that.
— Jeb Dickerson
I would have been skeptical, should I have read the above sentence before my OBE and later becoming a fur Momma and a stray animal kids’ fierce and fearless advocate. I grieve very frequently and will trade it for nothing in the world. When you love unconditionally, you pay the price. You know that pain will be a frequent visitor and you decide to welcome it with open arms.
Last wordsIf I didn’t almost kill myself before having an OBE, I wouldn’t have seriously and wholeheartedly committed to a self-transformation, in all likelihood. The pain of rewiring my program — no matter how seemingly unbearable it could be — is much less than what a suicidal person feels at any moment, and particularly during the darkest phases.
We are not to be blamed for our conditioning and/or traumas by-products. When our pain is not intolerable, we may keep ourselves in the victim’s box and keep running away from it. Nobody has the right to shame us for that.
A wiser choice, though, is to realize that we are responsible for our mental health. Also, we need to take it seriously as if our very existence depended on it because, in many cases, it does. I am one living proof.
That’s when we move from being a victim to victorious!
GratitudeAs usual, I want to thank all of you, dear readers, who decided to stop by and give this piece some of your precious time!
Have you ever noticed how it seems as if our lives begin spinning too fast now and again? As if the gentle to-and-fro sway of the cradle of life, set by God’s metronome, has been disrupted by the everyday occurrences and events that we allow into it.
It’s as if we were to go out one afternoon for a leisurely walk along the railroad track, simply enjoying the day while everything is seemingly running smoothly. When off in the distance, we hear the sound of a train and feel the vibration beneath our feet as it approaches ever closer. We know we are far enough from the track to be safe, so we continue, feeling the excitement build within us as we anticipate its arrival. But as the train comes closer, that once distant gentle sound now seems like an intrusive noise that we want to protect our ears from while also finding that we’re no longer a safe distance from the track; because somehow in those last moments of exhilaration, we’ve gotten ourselves on the track, running for all we’re worth—just trying to stay in front of the train, unable to get off.
I know we have all been there, we’ve felt the exhilaration and sensed the pull of everyday life as it sometimes asks for more than we can give, or we want to give more than we can afford. Finding ourselves being sucked in as if caught up in a whirlwind, or being chased down by a train.
On our property, we put fences up to keep out the unwanted or to protect what is ours, just as the state posts speed limits on its roadways to protect its citizens.
Sometimes our limits or boundaries are set for us by monetary constraints or medical reasons, and oft times we set them ourselves. Thinking if we keep life at bay, just to the limit or boundary which we’ve established, we’ll be all right; we’ll be safe.
But because we are human and there is an inherent need to help; we push the boundaries a bit, thinking just this once shouldn’t be a problem. And then, like the poker player who sets down for a game thinking one hand and I’ll leave, he wins, so he continues to play—winning over and over again while the pot continues to grow. Then as he plays his next hand things change, he no longer has a winning hand, and it’s time to pay up.
So must we all at some point.
The Bible tells of boundaries and limits set by God. Ones set up for our protection and well-being, all we need do is heed them, just as we need to heed the limits and boundaries we have set for ourselves if we want to live a trouble-free life.
In the dark caverns of the heart
where truths lie concealed
awaiting discovery
or remain in soporific state
you will find me.
For that which lies hidden
cannot forever be denied;
left to slumber
while the hands of time
tick onward.
That which once was
will forever be.
That which is, will endure.
That which may be
a possibility, a probability, but nothing more.
The outward journey
but a mask for that inward.
Gazing inward, one may see
what one wants or desires,
yet often, not what really is.
The truth which lights the way
within those dark caverns of the heart
is easily extinguished
by those who choose not to see,
or fear that which is exposed in its shadows.
Step lightly then, if you must
and turn your gaze from that which lurks in the corner
of your vision, just out of sight.
A fragile understanding and peaceful accommodation
from that which, if acknowledged, might tear you asunder.
I recently released many belongings I love, got in my vehicle, and drove away from the most beautiful place I have ever lived. As Mary Oliver states; “one day you finally knew what you had to do” in her brilliant poem, The Journey. Living my version of this poem, I spent a week packing, driving items to donations, going to the post office to close my post office box, and filling out the change of address form with the address of a willing friend. I knew two friends generously willing to have me stay with them while I reset my life. I drove in tandem with a friend driving his mini-van filled with only the most essential of my belongings. We left in the dark of an early morning with the threat of a winter storm arriving in two hours to the area. I cannot remember the last time I drove in such difficult driving conditions of unrelenting rain, pea soup fog, and near-freezing temperatures. Yet thankfully we crossed into Ohio as sunshine and blue skies showed themselves in all their gloriousness, a lovely welcome, a huge relief. We arrived safely at my friend’s place.
I consciously chose to exit without knowing where I would ultimately land. I surrendered to the intuitive clarity of now is the time!! Trusting myself and the idea that the universe has my back along with kind, loving people, I knew I would be supported. I would not journey alone. Initiating a leap of faith is an act of courage.
Sometimes it takes many small steps, and failed attempts before finally vaulting over the pole or crossing the finish line.
I had two previous experiences of unsuccessful attempts to extricate myself from the unhealthy relationship. The first time, the starry-eyed romantic part of me grabbed a hold of the steering wheel after some kind texts and meaningful, laughter-filled phone calls took place. The second time I felt too much fear yet took many important actions including donating many belongings, transferring the utilities, booking a moving van, and gathering remaining belongings into my bedroom and office. I didn’t like how much fear I felt in my body and how this got fueled by a very protective friend who can be fierce, and angrily directive when she believes I’m in a dangerous situation, which many parts of me didn’t believe I was. Additionally, I felt stubbornly attached to the beauty of the place I lived. Almost five years of living in what I declared as my soul’s home rooted me in the sacredness of the mountains, the lake where I ran, and the friendships I had cultivated. I wasn’t ready and a bit of the honeymoon feeling returned to the relationship during the holiday season, just enough to fool the ever-hopeful, optimistic parts of me. Plus, the thought of breaking up right before the holidays and winter began seemed completely unpalatable.
Hard truths appeared irrefutable in their crystal, fist-slamming clarity immediately after Christmas in episodes that increased in number and intensity. Fresh red flags layered on top of the brittle, dried-up red flags of past episodes. Even as I watched myself become ever gentler and more compassionate in my responses, I also realized I would not ever want my daughter or best friend to endure what I had been enduring. The end had arrived. I knew what I had to do.
Some significant life choices and pivot moments happen because you choose them and fuel them. These moments of upending your life can be unnerving and invigorating.
When you make the conscious choice to go, to leave the job you cannot stand, to leave a relationship that sucks your life energy and fries your nervous system, to exit a restaurant that does not serve any food you can eat, to not wear pencil skirts because they imprison your legs, you hold the steering wheel of your life energy. You become the catalyst for your own growth. You become the cause and source of the change you have taken. Rather than waiting for the cracked wall to come tumbling down and then feeling victimized by a wall falling on your head, you can boldly and bravely exit the building.
Of the three important principles in feng shui, the principle of the energy in everything is changing creates the dynamic fuel for growth, evolution, and transformations. The inner work remains essential to this process for you need strong guts, clarity, and courage to live true to yourself and your passions. When you begin to tell the truth or alternatively stop lying to yourself and others, you initiate a transformative process. People in your life will likely push back and may even loathe your choice to free yourself, to make a significant change in your life. Others will see your light begin to shine brighter and be inspired to climb out of their own darkness and shine.
Our homes are not static spaces but rather living, breathing, dynamic spaces for our lives to be supported by who we are becoming, and how we are growing and evolving. Releasing furniture, artwork, books, and collections of pet rocks you no longer love, need, or use can ultimately transform your experience of being alive. Letting go of relationships, moving away from a place you love, and shedding limiting beliefs that keep you suffering, frees you to live with greater integrity, from your deepest-held values, and newly discovered passions. Feng shui invites you to both embrace change and be a catalyst for change. You are not who you were yesterday or when you were nine years old. Feng shui offers you a bright yellow permission slip to differentiate, mature, reclaim your childlike wonder, and joyfully soar in a world of possibility and creative dynamism. May you know you are brave in your ability to fuel change in your home and life.
I took my last Math class in ninth grade as it was considered High School for credits. I took my last science class then as well. Although I did well at them both I never took any after that. Mostly English, Creative writing, Composition, English 1 and 2, Accounting, and bookkeeping. We didn’t have computers back then we had typewriters and I tried to take typing’ but did so poorly that I dropped out of it so I wouldn’t get a failing grade.
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Shattered Innocence (Part 3): The Closet
I loved going to the basketball games at school. I always wanted to play basketball but mom and dad had to work so I didn’t have transportation. So, I never joined. I did try out for cheerleader in junior high school but never made the cut. I remember sobbing my eyes out so much they became swollen puffy and bloodshot red.
I started my first job at thirteen babysitting for a neighbor that lived down the road. I wasn’t a particularly good babysitter as when they went to sleep, I would stay on my phone and talk to my boyfriend. After that was detasseling corn and walking beans. It was hard hot work, but the money was worth it! I was so proud because I was able to buy my own school clothes and eyeglasses. We’d pull the tassels out of the corn and have tassel fights throwing them at each other. Walking beans was pulling button weeds out of the bean rows I remember they felt soft and fuzzy as a caterpillar to touch. I rubbed them against my cheek. I also helped pick up huge rocks to clear my uncles’ fields for planting.
In 10th grade, I took a driver’s education class and learnt how to drive a stick shift cause that’s what mom and dad had. Once I got my license, I started working for a fast-food hamburger place called The Ranch Wagon. I worked till close and was often tired and fell asleep in History class. I don’t know how I passed that class. I would drive myself to school as dad bought a car for me and I paid him back in payments, from my job.
But once I started working, I didn’t stay at friends’ houses much anymore. When I was sixteen mom and dad let me go to the Des Moines State fair to see The Beach Boys in concert. I went with two of my girlfriends. I had a blast. and it is a fond memory of mine. We went for the weekend and spent the night in a Motel’ and I drove. There were three of us girls that went. We ran into three college boys at the fair and ended up hanging out with them. And well with them being older things just happened. It wasn’t my first time sleeping with a boy.
I had a Volkswagen car and my friend Laurie drove one too and I would drive to her house in the morning, and she would follow me to school’ and we would park by each other. It was cool.
When I turned sixteen, I was finally allowed to date. Funny, but while I went out with several different. boys in my teens’ we really didn’t do much dating, just hung out together and went to games and roller-skated.
But I worked a lot. Then there was school work, and chores. It wasn’t easy growing up in a family with nine children. My parents were always at work and that left us kids alone a lot with the older ones in charge. The truth was they didn’t do a very, decent job. My dad was always stressed out and when things didn’t get done there was hell to pay. He disciplined the boys more than us girls. He was harder on them. He would spank us, and I know one time he hit my brother Pat with a hammer. Another time he took my sister Theresa’s head and my brother Frank’s and hit them together because they weren’t getting along.
I remember the last straw for me was when I asked to go to a basketball game, it took so long to get a yes out of him to go that I missed my ride. So, I walked to the nearby Holiday gas station to use their phone. I spoke to my sister Theresa and told her I needed a ride. I didn’t know Dad was on the other line and heard the attendant on the other line at the station teasing Theresa about me being there. He had a crush on her. When Theresa picked me up, she told me I was in a world of trouble and told me dad was on the other line. When I got home, Dad didn’t believe I was ever going to the game. He was so mad that he pulled my pants down and began to beat me with a belt. I wasn’t about to cry in front of him. My mom finally said to him “Frank that’s enough!” Eventually, he stopped I went upstairs and bawled my eyes out. I was 16 years old at the time. Much too old for spankings I felt. I was angry and hurt and felt disgraced and mad at the world right about then. Anything seemed better than being under the same roof with that tyrant of a father and evil brother of mine. I was fed up with all the abuse and made the decision right then I was getting out of there. I didn’t care where, but I knew I had to go for my own survival.
The word for today is ZEST
for how else to awaken our best?
How else to show up and grow up
and step into Truth
freed from excuse and no matter
the abuse that might otherwise
contain us although
who would blame us?
It’s scary out there
in the rarified air
that the brave among us
breathe and share through
their story-songs…their glory-songs
that lift us and gift us
with the courage and conviction
to live into our own mission.
These are the life-songs that challenge us
and imbalance us by asking us
to stretch far and wide
beyond both complacency and pride
reaching across false divides
behind which it would be easier to hide.
For how else to LIVE our legacy
rather than just worry about leaving one?
How else to sing out loud and clear
in defense of all that we each hold dear?
How else to speak Truth to power
at every opportunity and hour
rather than fight or take flight
or just freeze or appease or
seek to please?
How to stay the course?
With LOVE not force!
With RIGHT not might!
With GRACE and the God-given
gifts we came to claim
and to dare to share.
*This poem was written on MLK Day 1/16/2023 as I thought about what feistiness and fierce advocacy are all about.
from the heart, mind, and pen of Minx
I‘ve been studying people who are “living with intention” for about thirty-five years now. Originally I found them due to my cultural anthropology studies. Now I’m finding a few of them in the modern world.
“Living with intention?” you ask. “What does that mean, exactly?”
Hmm…the simple answer is “Living with Intention means paying attention to everything you do” and that’s so weak, so minimal, that only a western-trained mind would offer it, so I apologize.
It means being in the moment…while appreciating (not quite, not exactly. English is limited in its ability to express this concept. Or I am limited in my ability to express this concept)…feeling?…every moment that came before you and will come after you.
It means doing whatever you’re doing as if it the fate of the universe hung in the balance…while being able to laugh at yourself regardless of the outcome.
“Now” can be very, very big.
It means focusing all your attention on each individual task…while being aware of everything else that’s going on around you (and recognizing that “around you” can be very, very big).
It means taking complete and ultimate joy in everything you do…while understanding it may be the last thing that you do.
It means being aware of everything going on around, in, and through you each and every moment…and being at peace with it — not necessarily enjoying it or hating it, just being at peace with it, accepting it (because there’s a difference between liking something and accepting something).
And this list gets longer and longer and longer the more I attempt to put into words what can only happen deep inside the individual (because part of intention is being able to keep two completely opposite thoughts in your mind simultaneously, penecontemporaneously).
As one of my teachers said to me, “I can help you find your door. Only you can open your door and walk through. But walking through, there’s no walking back.”
Fulfillment in the momentBrush your teeth. Pay attention to what you’re doing. To how you’re doing it. Be aware of the feel of the brush in your hand and the bristles on your teeth and the taste of the toothpaste and the brush’s movement on your gums and … and be so aware of the fact that you’re doing all this that it becomes play for you, something to delight in, something to rejoice in, something to be thankful for, to be prayerful about.
But those last words imply something religious and nothing about being intentful is religious. Sufis live with intent but sufism isn’t religious in philosophy, only as it is practiced by some.
Some will read this and think, “Oh, Zen,” and while lots of zen practitioners live with intent the former doesn’t imply the latter. Some will think “Oh, Yin Yang” and to think that demonstrates not knowing, a lack of understanding.
Where does a wise person hide a pebble? Where does a wise person hide a leaf?Some of the people I’ve studied have been Catholic, some Baptist, some Lutheran, some Evangelical, some Jewish, some agnostic, some Pagan, some Aboriginal, some Sufi, some shamanic, some Hindi, some Muslim, some Native American, some Buddhist, some …
I have noticed commonalities. Regardless of anything else, they’re all remarkable listeners. They’re all remarkably patient, kind, and giving. They all have incredible boundaries. They’re self-aware in ways most people can’t imagine.
Imagine kissing someone simultaneously passionately and casually, kind of like kissing your partner when you see each other, a gentle “hello I missed you today” kiss, yet having all your feelings about that person, all your desires and hopes for them, all your wanting of them, delivered in that little, possibly public kiss.
I’m writing this and recognizing that I could be writing this with intention, too.
Everything slows down. I focus on each word, each phrase, each expression. I recognize what’s important before I type the words themselves.
I focus on what I’m doing so I can also focus on what you’re doing. Will you slow down? Will you read with intent?
When you wake up tomorrow, will your first thoughts be that the day is yours, completely yours, to do with what you will, truly Carpe Diem, and that your first thoughts dictate whether you seize the day or the day seizes you?
I have been practicing living with intent. It’s not easy for me. I screw up quite a bit and blame it on this modern world. Yet I know others who are living intentionally and are in this same modern world I am in; they’re not living in communities where everyone is devoted to intentional living and each person helps each other person live intentionally.
For myself, the moments when I do it are like the best physical exercise – a definite sense of exertion along with a sense of fulfillment, of well-being, of peace. An endorphin rush for the emotions, body, spirit, and mind.
Living with intention takes commitment. And acceptance. I accept that my mistakes are merely part of appreciating my commitment to living with intention. From those I study I know that the recognizable commitment fades because the commitment becomes part of the intent.
Where does a wise person hide a pebble? On a beach. Where does a wise person hide a leaf? In a forest.
Looking outside the backyard, plants and bushes cowering in the winter chill. Box hedging, proudly presenting new leaves, covers its pristine green, but nothing can remove the ornate shapes awaiting a ceremony of growth and charm.
Trees, bare of leaves, their naked branches beg for Spring. Doubtless communicating via their ‘neural’ roots below ground.
On a brighter note, early green buds have dared to present themselves ignoring Winter’s freeze. Lilac! Wonderful when blessing us in early Spring.
And birds? Pigeons maintain their ‘coos’ and friendship, blackbirds just carry on as if a summer’s day. But what about the tiny birds? Sparrows and even smaller, blue tits, great tits, and tiny robins. How do they manage the freeze? No extra layer of feathers. But they do.
Awaiting April and May, crocuses and daffodils will brighten the day……and heart.
Limitless views, infinity calls; leafless trees open the Universe, so far away over hills and downs.
Staying indoors and viewing outside is all very well but, always a desire to be released; wrapping up warm and defying the chill.
Walk closely towards trees so bare and hug one to prove we care.
Their gratitude is displayed in Spring, the same tree acknowledging the hugger. A mutual reward as Spring sunshine gathers warmth.
What can brighten a freezing day? Sunrise!
Glowing upon frosty trees, glimmering, sparkling crystals shining; thousands of twinkles as the sun raises its head above the horizon, greeting those who cherish Nature and her seasons.
Colors galore from sunrise to sunset. Imagination. Fantasy true!
Awaiting Springtime; accompanying optimism, positivity attracting smiles.
Winter’s Colors fade away replaced by the glory of a sunny day. Winter sunshine however dazzling, reflecting on blankets of snow.
Replaced by multi-colored
hues, Nature celebrates as we humans do.
Springtime! Not too far away.
The happiest and healthiest people are those who have warm connections with others, says psychiatrist Robert Waldinger, who leads the Harvard Study of Adult Development — one of the longest-running studies of adult life ever conducted. Exploring the crucial link between social bonds and quality of life, he shares wisdom and insights into how to identify and strengthen the relationships that impact your well-being most. When it comes to the people in your inner circle, “Turn toward the voices that make you feel more open and more inclusive,” he says.
When a psychologist who studies well-being ends up with a brain tumor, what happens when she puts her own research into practice? Christina Costa goes beyond the “fight” narrative of cancer — or any formidable personal journey — to highlight the brain benefits of an empowering alternative to fostering resilience in the face of unexpected challenges: gratitude.
The secret is to surround yourself with people who make your heart smile. It’s then, only then, that you’ll find Wonderland.
Lize Venter speaks of her lost innocence through abuse that cast a dark line through her childhood, causing fear and nightmares. She shares her current life filled with the love of her family and the many animals who are part of that family, as she urges viewers to surround themselves with those who bring out the best in them, the ones who help them to bloom. “It’s like a mental shift to look for treasures and to look for Wonderland.” Trigger warning: this film contains references to sexual abuse which may be triggering to some viewers. If you have been affected by a similar issue and you need someone to talk to, please reach out to an organization or individual near you for help.
Gumshoe in his never-ending readings stumbled across the above term “sitra achra” (???). Gumshoe learned that this term was Hebrew for “the other side”. Hmmm? The other side of what you may ask? Inquiring minds want to know. Gumshoe too!
Further digging by Gumshoe discovered that this term refers to the spiritual realm of evil—the domain of Satan commonly known as Hell. Yikes! Not a location on Gumshoe’s bucket list to visit. Sort of like the real “Hotel California”. Cancel my reservation and please keep my deposit! Gumshoe would rather suffer the pains of an eternity of going through Disneyland’s “It’s A Small World” ride.
“Sitra Achra” can be also understood as an emanation, i.e., an abstract but perceptible thing that issues or originates from a source. In this particular instance, EVIL. Now that got those tiny little hairs on the back of Gumshoe’s neck to tingle.
The late comedian, Flip Wilson, used to retort, “The Devil made me do it!” Flip was not far from the truth folks. The Devil plays his behind-the-scenes part, but folks definitely take the active part in the evil-doing of their own volition.
The legal terms of “malice aforethought” as well as “implied intent” comes readily to Gumshoe’s mind from past criminal law case investigations.
But of course dear readers (or fellow life sojourners) our lives are not lived in this emanation of the abstract but lived in a variety of existential circumstances of which we were born. Nincompoop thinking may venture that nature or nurture was the proximate causation for folks to commit evil. The Devil didn’t make them do it, they did it!
The rock was not a rational excuse for Cain for smashing his brother Abel’s skull. He committed the first documented murder and he lied about it.
None of us are victims of the circumstances we find ourselves in unless we choose that excuse. We all have choices. Making no choice is ultimately a choice.
Evil, however, no matter how you slice it, is never a valid choice. One’s moral compass has to be bent to consider evil an option.
Gumshoe knows that evil is real and it exists and thrives in our fallen world.
The 1930’s radio show had an opening line by the hero, “The Shadow”. He would make this haunting claim in his baritone theatrical voice:
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!”
Now that really made the back of Gumshoe’s young neck really tingle! The Gumshoe learned that “The Shadow” was spot on in his assessment of evil lurking inside the hearts of men. Just ask any present day or retired street cop for further validation.
Evil is a choice don’t cha know?
It has been said that the best trick that the Devil has played on us was convincing the world that he does not exist. Gumshoe remembers the secular song verse from “And When I Die” by Blood, Sweat & Tears:
“I can swear there ain’t no Heaven, but I pray there ain’t no Hell”.
Sort of an oxymoronic sentiment of hedging your bet. Gumshoe replies, “Who’s fooling who?” Satan‘s laughter echoes within the domain Sitra Achra.
The damned residents don’t share in his humor since they all freely chose to check into the real (and not abstract) Hotel California.
Well, folks, Gumshoe will continue to discover the abstract from within the real. Until next time, always remember to love the ones who love you, and even try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: On second thought, Gumshoe doesn’t want to spend his eternity inside Disneyland’s, “It’s a Small World” ride.
Surround yourself with people who invigorate and inspire you.
~Tony Michaelides
Tony Michaelides, author, and TEDx speaker, was David Bowie’s publicist in the late ’90s. Before that, he is credited with helping put U2 on the Rock n’ Roll map. He has also worked with the likes of Peter Gabriel, Sting, and Bob Marley. He is an icon of the music industry and shares not only stories of “Moments That Rock” – the title of his latest book – but life lessons for all of us to heed. Purchase his “Moments that Rock” Book here.
Floundering is not a good look on me or anyone. Yet, that is what I’ve been doing over the past year. Longer, actually. Phumphering around from one “great idea” to the next until all I’m left with is a throbbing head and a feeling of defeat.
If I were to see, on paper, how much time I’ve spent achieving absolutely nothing, I’d probably make a beeline for a bottle of hootch.
As many of my fellow writers have determined, Medium feels like a sinking ship. My earnings are in the shitter and my feed is awash with turds from either terrible writer wannabes, or bots. Who can tell the difference?
I’m sharing my feelings with you to help someone else who is floundering, especially someone in my age range. We don’t have time to f__k around folks! Where our “dreams” are concerned, it’s now or never. I don’t say this to depress you or make you feel worse than you already do. Instead, think of this as a virtual kick in the ass from someone who gets it.
My plan is to write a book. I know, I know. I’ve been saying this but I’ve actually begun taking notes for a memoir of sorts. Too, I may turn my screenplay “DEAD TIRED” into a book, as well.
With that, I still have to make a few bucks, especially now that I’m going to have a car payment. So, my plan is to start another newsletter on Substack and monetize it. If all goes well, I hope to launch a synergistic podcast and let my inner ham go nuts AF.
The new newsletter will focus on one of two topics in which I consider myself to be an expert: Cats and their care, and age discrimination. Hell, maybe I’ll do both.
What I am sure of: I’ve given too much of my time and energy to a platform that doesn’t give a FF about the writers who’ve hung in through thick and thin and the latter is all I’ve experienced of late.
I’m hoping these new ventures will energize me as I’ve been feeling sucked dry. And not in a good way.
What about you? Are you thinking about trying something new and different? Of forging a new path? Please, if you are, share with the rest of us and if you need it, we’ll kick you in the ass. Or at least, I will. You can count on it.
For my Beautiful WifeI spent many years alone, and I wondered if I would love again then you came and stood by my side, your heart touched my heart and love awakened and the darkness passed.
My heart felt broken, like an open wound and I hurt from loneliness, yet your love healed my wounds and loneliness became a forgotten emotion.
You made my life whole and because of you, I found a love that will last to my last breath, a love that lasts forever.
Something that came up this weekend in my women’s coaching community, Day 1., was the concept of “I deserve it.” I’m no stranger to the “I deserve it” concept. You might not be thinking about this right now on a Monday. But by Friday, I bet you will be.
How many of you are going to be excited about your Friday martini? Your Friday wine? Your Friday ice cream? You worked hard all week. You “deserve it.”
I used to be a big proponent of the “I deserve it” concept. Every night after a painstaking shift at my restaurant I would go down a few beers and a few shots. I deserved it.
How many times do you do this? Eat too much? Drink too much? Lie in bed all day? Constantly buy yourself stuff? I mean, you “deserve it,” after all.
Except that what we get is absolutely not what we deserve. We don’t deserve the way we feel after doing those momentarily pleasurable things. We don’t deserve the headaches, the inflammation, the hangovers, the credit card debt, or the excess junk lying all over our houses that we never use.
I read this article in the New Yorker which was very aligned with this concept. Here’s an excerpt:
“We have invented a bizarre sadomasochistic dialectic whereby we feel that pain in the workplace is the only possible justification for our furtive consumer pleasures, and, at the same time, the fact that our jobs thus come to eat up more and more of our waking existence means that we do not have the luxury of—as Kathi Weeks has so concisely put it—‘a life,’ ” he writes. His own idea of a life, which includes “sitting around in cafés all day arguing about politics or gossiping about our friends’ complex polyamorous love affairs,” may not be everyone’s. He also may misidentify the degree to which most people fret about the nature of their productive output; for some, work is the least important and defining of life’s commitments. But his point is that the bullshit economy feeds itself. Workers cram in Netflix binges, online purchases, takeout meals, and yoga classes as rewards for yet another day of the demoralizing bullshit work that sustains such lifestyles.”
It reminded me very much of Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl It’s a personal development must-read. If you haven’t taken the time, please consider reading it. It’s deep, and also may give you insight into your own life, happiness, and purpose. Also, if you read it 30 years ago, consider RE-reading it. You are not the same person now, and it may hit differently.
This aligned very well with the “I deserve it” rhetoric we were exploring in the group.
The feeling that you “deserve” things because you simply lived life signifies, to me, a possible misalignment with one’s Higher Self. It signifies to me that you may be lacking meaning or purpose. And that doesn’t mean “go do more.” That means getting back to yourself… Like The Beatles sang so famously- “get back to where you once belonged.”
When we get away from ourselves, just living life can feel torturous. We grasp for pacifiers. We want anything to make us feel happiness again and again. We aren’t content. We aren’t at peace right now.
Every day shouldn’t be arduous.
If you live in the Western paradigm of “just make it through until the weekend,” you’re not living right now. Right now is the only time. And if you’ve been living in that Western paradigm, you might feel like you don’t know where the last 40 years went.
And maybe that’s something to look at… today, as you check out of your life until Friday when you’ll once again reward yourself for enduring.
Be here now, and stay beautiful.
-Andee
I’d like to begin/finish this little excursion with a trip into quantum physics with only a particle of understanding. It apparently is a very challenging subject area with equations and theories on the constructs, dimensions, and layers of reality. I hope to express things in a simpler fashion, yet there is some complexity that cannot be avoided.
The GOD Participle? What the heck is that? I’ll get to that in a moment, but I want to keep you guessing for now. Meanwhile, I’d like to take a look at the infamous ‘GOD Particle’… Higgs-boson as it is known. I’m asking you to join me in an exploration of another perspective of possibility that is perhaps way outside the box.
First of all, let’s look at what the Higgs-boson is reported to represent. Let’s look at a few definitions from across the web. From the Free Dictionary:
A hypothetical, massive subatomic particle with zero electric charge. The Higgs boson is postulated to interact with other particles in such a way as to impart mass to them. It is predicted by the standard model, but has yet to be isolated experimentally. The Higgs boson is named after its discoverer, British theoretical physicist Peter Ware Higgs (born 1929).
Here’s another interesting take from the Science – How It Works site:
Can’t matter just inherently have mass without the Higgs-boson confusing things? Not according to the standard model. But physicists have found a solution. What if all particles have no inherent mass, but instead gain mass by passing through a field? This field, known as a Higgs field, could affect different particles in different ways. Photons could slide through unaffected, while W and Z bosons would get bogged down with mass. In fact, assuming the Higgs-boson exists, everything that has mass gets it by interacting with the all-powerful Higgs field, which occupies the entire universe. Like the other fields covered by the standard model, the Higgs one would need a carrier particle to affect other particles, and that particle is known as the Higgs boson.
Now, that might give you at least a partial working knowledge of what the excitement is all about for the ‘discovery’ of the particle. Here’s the really interesting twist, though… There was no particle, but the ‘decay’ of which was determined to reveal the existence of the particle even though it was never ‘seen.’ I personally find the whole quantum physics perspective a little far-fetched. Science is supposed to be about hard facts and repeatable results.
I’m fairly intelligent and it’s hard for me to wrap my head around a field yielding a particle that transmits mass to other particles. Maybe I’m just not smart enough to be able to understand the process.
It reminds me of the discoveries at Los Alamos that revealed the scientists observing experiments actually had an effect on them. So thought seems to affect the process, but doesn’t necessarily carry mass with it, unless it’s just baggage from a belief system.
At any rate, it just seems counter-intuitive that matter or mass is transferred via some theoretical particle. Furthermore, it would seem even more preposterous that an explosion would produce any such particle through fusion of the remnants, especially one that gives mass, except on Sundays.
Expansive Explosion for ElucidationThat explosion was the result of ramming two protons together at near-light speed. These ‘hadrons’ theoretically fuse together when collided and form another even smaller particle, a remnant. It’s like slamming two oranges together at breakneck speeds and having a fused seed as a result.
That really makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?
Perhaps it does. With all the technical jargon and mathematical equations, the analogy gets lost in the intellectual vocabulary that only scientists supposedly understand.
Okay, so now that we’ve made some progress regarding the ‘understanding’ of the Higgs-boson perhaps there is another explanation or even discovery that has gone unnoticed by the scientific community. It would seem that the lenses from which they are looking might be a little skewed or undervalued by ‘what’ they are looking for instead of acknowledging what is really being ‘seen’ from simple observation. The discovery is just as magnificent but may come as quite a surprise if they are willing to look.
Of course, I could be totally wrong, but I think the logic will hold up at least for the purpose of sharing another possibility. Let’s start with just the observation of the explosion. It is at a sub-atomic level that is so small we need huge instruments just to be able to measure it.
In the electromagnetic spectrum and according to M-Theory, there are multiple dimensions or layers of ‘reality’ as one might perceive. The notion seems to be consistent with all the layers of bandwidth and understanding of the various frequencies that have been associated with different types of ‘rays’ whether from a scientific point of view or from an ‘ascended master’ POV. The latter involved varies ‘rays’ of consciousness instead of electromagnetic notations. Both probably describe the same thing.
So, this explosion then may produce a rip in the fabric between said ‘dimensions’ or ‘rays’ that is observable as the ‘decay’ of the particle in question rather than indicating an actual particle. The ‘decay’ is perhaps the reverse or ‘repair’ of the rip instead.
Part and Particle for PracticeRather than proving the ‘particle’ theory it may indeed prove that M-Theory is indeed true and yet unseen in this example because the eyes that were looking had a different spectacle in mind. As I said, it may not be true. However, I think it at least is worthy of some further consideration.
Alright, I mentioned the GOD Participle earlier in reference to the discovery. (I just have to share that there has been an appearance of a hummingbird several times outside my window as I’ve been writing this, peering in on me as it were.)
What is the GOD Participle? If you are an educator, especially an English teacher, then you’ll remember the definition of a participle:
a word formed from a verb (e.g., going, gone, being, been ) and used as an adjective (e.g., working woman, burned toast ) or a noun (e.g., good breeding ). In English, participles are also used to make compound verb forms (e.g., is going, has been).
The definition gives away the answer. It’s quite simply the most elegant word in the English language, too. In order to observe the process of how I came up with the perspective that allowed me to present an alternative view of the Higgs-boson notion I had to be in a particular place.
In the presentation of this place across a plethora of fields it is simply known as…. BEing. That is the GOD Participle. Perhaps you can explore it further on your own. I encourage that strongly.
Like the separation of people that religion promotes, scientific perspectives are no different. It would be amazing to witness great minds step back and consider the possibilities their discoveries may indeed provide for mankind’s evolution toward harmony among people and planet.
Science and spirituality seem to be on the same page in regard to the layers of bandwidth across the electromagnetic spectrum and the multiple dimensions of consciousness that we have barely scratched the surface in understanding, let alone garnering the wisdom it presents.
We can only see a minute percentage of the visible light across the electromagnetic spectrum. Here’s some information I found regarding the scientific calculation of just how much we can see:
Let’s examine the available information. The electromagnetic spectrum is usually considered to extend from radio waves to gamma rays, with frequencies from about 10000 Hz to 1019 Hz, respectively, while visible light goes from red to violet with frequencies from about 4×1014 Hz to about 7.5×1014 Hz, respectively.
So, if the entire spectrum is taken to span 15 orders of magnitude (log10(1019) = 19, log10(104) = 4, and 19 – 4 = 15) while the visible spectrum spans only 0.35 of an order of magnitude, then we can say that the visible spectrum is 100%0.35/15 of the entire electromagnetic spectrum, which works out to about 2.3%.*
But that is on a logarithmic scale, so let’s do the calculation again on a linear scale:
The entire spectrum has the range 1019 Hz – 104 Hz, which is 0.999999999999999×1019 Hz. The visible spectrum has the range 3.5×1014 Hz.
100%3.5×1014/0.999999999999999×1019 = 0.0035%.*
So, on a logarithmic scale of frequency, visible light is 2.3% of the whole electromagnetic spectrum, while on a linear scale it is 0.0035%.
If you would rather do the calculation using wavelengths I think there is enough information here for you to able to do so.
~John Link, MadSci Physicist
Thanks for allowing me to rent space in your head for bit. I hope you found value in the duration of our shared space.
Excerpt from … The GOD Participle – A Sub-atomic Stroll in Being.
I wasn’t with my Mom or my Dad when they passed into the next realm.
I say this as I feel that life comes to us in layers.
For how else might we arrive in a place Thick with Life and Thin on Time?
We are created to either grow up or the lights will dim; leaving us to question life and time.
Why does one die so young and others live through many seasons?
In our young hearts, we never thought about how long it might possibly last.
Then switch, we become obsessed with planning and arranging for our final farewell.
When should we begin to prepare for that?
Perhaps when the first gray hairs appear?
Or should we begin our plan of descent as soon as we arrive?
When you take a road trip, you plan it with a map; when I was born, why wasn’t I given that?
Life is meant to be a mystery.
The best lives are those that have shared face-to-face contact with an abundant number of children, teenagers, and best of all the people who have stacks of wisdom found deep within their eyes.
Perhaps by choice of solitude life is lived the best.
High on the sea in a boat so remote, or deep within the mountains as a quest.
All we can do is live by the guide of our beating heart.
Then one day time will come to switch, as if we were never apart.
If not for this belief, this hope; my heart would not be able to cope.
Marketing as manipulation And Doing the OppositeLearning about doing the opposite and leaning into one’s own essential nature …
This morning I heard myself say to my life partner-“You’re GRrrreat!” just like Tony the Tiger from the Sugar Smacks cereal marketed to me as a child in television commercials as though this stuff was good for my teeth let alone my growing body. I laughed as I realized the brilliance of those marketers as manipulators because all these years later the “Grrrreat” still remained embedded in my psyche and came bubbling up to the surface in the moment of hugging my Sweet Love who is “Grrrrreat” and quite different than a sugary cereal I did not ever eat.
Thank goodness my parents didn’t get caught up in the sugary beverages, and cereal manipulations–they got caught in other ones-like they purchased a Barbie Doll. I received one as a gift on a birthday, but only remember playing with this doll in a friend’s backyard. We played with her Barbie Dolls and mine with the dolls riding toy horses on exciting outside adventures to exotic places.
I remember as a child talking back to the TV commercials with lots of skepticism as I knew not to ever ask my parents for any of this junk food or other stuff being marketed. I noticed there weren’t ever commercials for broccoli. Talking back to the TV was kind of like learning to do the opposite of what other people might choose to do.
Some of the opposites I have done–
Most every woman I knew drove their infant to daycare and rushed off to a corporate ladder climb, and I chose to be a full-time parent knowing I wanted to be the engine on this “mommy train.” that other women made certain I knew they disdained the “mommy train.” I wasn’t a “good” feminist in the 90s-even though one colleague I worked with during the early months of my first pregnancy let me know feminism was about choices. That was a tiny bit of encouragement because back then women were expected to be domestic engineers, and care for children, the sick, and the elderly. And break glass ceilings- shatter them with their high heels and dodge the glass with their big hair and shoulder-padded blazers…a trifecta of stress I sort of dodged even as I got hit daily by how intensely difficult full-time parenting is if you are simultaneously working diligently to break the cycle of trauma from your own past hell upbringing.
If everyone I knew was drinking beer and alcohol, I drink water and juice. If everyone around me was smoking cigarettes and pot, I would go for a run, or a bicycle ride, a swim in the fresh air, and dance in the moonlight. If everyone around me was shopping and filling their homes with stuff they wouldn’t ever use, love, or need, I decluttered like my house might go up in flames tomorrow. If everyone around me began running around like chickens with their heads cut off, I chose to sing to myself, sit in silence, meditate, and eventually practice yoga poses.
When I felt lonely and bereaved, I learned to reach out, to text people “I love you!” messages and to leave my house to often encounter a stranger who let me know they felt lonelier than I did.
When the sky
Started to cry
I heard it softly
At first
Then suddenly
It trembled
The clouds
Got heavy
The bolt of
Lightning struck
The final blow
This time they
Knew they
Could no longer
Keep it together
They burst
A few months ago, while hiking a trail in the Keweenaw Peninsula of Upper Michigan, I noticed how effortlessly our group traversed the winding paths over rocks, under broken branches, through groves of trees, and along the water’s edge. What would have been a challenging route a hundred years ago today required little more than the ability to walk upright. As the trails twisted left or right, signs along the way pointed toward destinations of our choosing: South Shore, North Trail, Parking Lot
I noticed as we trudged through wooded areas the topography had dramatic variances. Even the stones we walked over differed in size from tiny pebbles to potato-sized rocks. Glancing left and right revealed patches of ground resembling trails but proved impassable due to overgrown brush and fallen logs.
What’s significant about a path?Such a striking difference between over-worn paths and overgrown paths. What is it that caused one path to emerge as the acceptable route for hiking while the other diverged into obscurity? The official trail could have been any of those passageways hidden under thick, overgrown foliage. The key to the worn path, the preferred path, the normal path is frequency. The hundreds of times that path was chosen over the other and the frequency of actions – steps multiplied. Repeated choices and repeated actions.
Start today: Repeat the choices and the action you want to be characteristic of your life.
Just as rugged terrain in the Keweenaw became a well-worn, passable trail, repeated travel and trampling by multiple feet for multiple years, our repeated choices and actions become ingrained habits of our existence. Habits are like our worn path.
To break a habit, get off that path.
To form a new habit, get on a new path.
Both are difficult. The reason is because habits form neural pathways in our brains. We, humans, crave the familiar and resist change, even if it’s good for us. While it is possible to break a habit or form a new one, expect it to take effort, because making new neural pathways is like forging a trail through overgrown brush and fallen trees. Expect some rocky moments, a few boulders, and even setbacks.
It helps to know your whyIt’s easy to say, “I want to spend 30 minutes outside every day.” or “I am going to read one book every month.” or “I’m going to exercise before /after work every day.” Those are good habits to form, but simply committing to them is a weak foundation.
The stronger foundation for any of those changes is know your why. Why do you want to make ‘that thing’ a path you continually trek every day or week? And there’s that nagging option of choice when you’d rather mindlessly watch TV than read a book. Staying inside on the couch is more appealing than putting on shoes and going outside.
Cement this thought into your conscious commitment. What do you want more? The familiar habit that drags you down or the new habit that raises you up.
What will you do to make that idea, action item, or goal a reality? Start small. It helps to have a Plan B to fall back on if Plan A gets a little fickle. Full transparency here, I have a Plan C….maybe even Plan H.
Remember. New habits are just hard.
Goal 1: PURSUE PEACE
I don’t have it all together. I am still working on new habits that by some standards are now old habits that I continually renew. Like this one, Pursue Peace
On my desk, I have a reminder of how to flood my soul with peace, so it carries over into my day-after-day life. Pursuing peace means the pieces of my day are Prayer, Exercise, Accountability, Contentment (gratitude), and Encourage.
Do I flawlessly make each of those pieces part of my day? No. But I know why my goal is to pursue peace and when I get off track, it’s easier to talk myself off the ledge of giving up.
My verse for this year is Philippians 4:8 and also verse 9.
Philippians 4:8-9 says: Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.
A life of peace starts with thoughts that are peace-filled. Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right … start there.
Thoughts become Actions
Actions become Habits
Habits become Lifestyle
1Peter1: 6-8 says: Make every effort to add to your faith goodness; and to goodness, knowledge; 6 and to knowledge, self-control; and to self-control, perseverance; and to perseverance, godliness; and to godliness, mutual affection; and to mutual affection, love. For if you possess these qualities in increasing measure, they will keep you from being ineffective and unproductive in your knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Lost in the search
Searching, yearning
for something more
for something less
the noise of the search
becoming unbearable
the search for stillness
sits deep within me
struggling to be
I’m lost in the search
in the silence, I hear only noise.
This article was inspired by the following question and answer from “I Am That,” a well-known spiritual book that chronicles talks between Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj and seekers who were eager to recognize true Self:
Q: “Is there no way of making out who is realized and who is not?”
M: “Your only proof is in yourself. If you find that you turn to gold, it will be a sign that you have touched the philosopher’s stone.”
The philosopher’s stone was believed to be a substance that was capable of transforming ordinary metals such as iron, tin, and nickel into gold; this is the metaphysical alchemy of which many of us may have read or heard. The related Truth, however, goes much deeper than a claim to transform base metals into gold. At its most profound level, it’s about transcending our false self through the recognition of our divine essential nature.
To touch the philosopher’s stone, we must (as Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj expressed) be earnestly eager to recognize the Gold which we actually–already–are. Such means that we are no longer willing to blindly believe our long-held assumptions related to human identity. We desire to dive deep into the very nature of our Being, and we will not relent until we directly KNOW the answer! “Who Am I?”–really–will be the burning question in the foreground of our daily life.
The process involved in realization cannot be forced through efforts related to our egoic “self;” to do so, in fact, almost certainly dooms our efforts to failure. To touch the philosopher’s stone, we need not collect endless amounts of information about true Self; nor must we make unnecessary pilgrimages to ashrams or holy temples. Right where we are, we may become a knower; but to do so, we must leave behind what we have accepted as fact. For seekers who are ripe for realization, the following quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi contains a potent hint:
What we are looking for, is what’s looking.
In our spiritual quest, we must cast aside all of our apparent history, beliefs, and assumptions and dare to step–barer than naked–beyond our ignorance. We must discern clearly between what is real and unreal. In the stillness of now, free of interpretation, we will recognize the Source of our Being. No “person” ever becomes enlightened; to touch the stone, in fact, means that we awaken from the delusional belief that we ever were the person. This occurs in a similar way that we shrug off the fictional character we were playing in a nighttime dream.
When false beliefs and assumptions related to our egoic “i” fall away, we knowingly merge with the Gold to which Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj referred. There, beyond name and form, That which is the eternal and immutable Source of all that was, is, and will be, is found. We cannot, however, ever point to It (“lo, here It is,” or “lo, there It is“); for such would mean that we were still mired in the perspective of duality–a subject pointing to an object. The Oneness of Infinite Being is beyond all conceptions and perceptions. Eternally, It is both everywhere and nowhere–a no “thing” that can never be objectified, but out of which all apparent things–including our body-mind, arise.
The Truth of the philosopher’s stone is that you–as true Self–“are” It. We figuratively touch the stone through direct recognition and are, thereby, transmuted into the golden child of God that has always been our true “I Am-ness.” Only through our ignorance have we believed it possible to be separate and otherwise. Free of the chatter of the mind, we, thus, know the deepest meaning of Psalm 46:10: “Be still and know that I am God.” To understand this deeply is to realize there is a difference between the definition you hold of yourself, and That which you truly are.
When we awaken to our essential nature, our paradigm of “reality” must also change; it is through this knowledge that we engage the true magic related to the philosopher’s stone. Plutarch summed up the principle involved through the following quote: “What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.” Centuries later, this was echoed by Paramahansa Yogananda, who stated that “the mind is the creator of everything.” To Know Thyself is to touch the philosopher’s stone.
Dare to dream (and care for one another).
With heartfelt regards,
Art
I want you to take a moment to imagine yourself in the mirror.Look at yourself as you would look at a dear friend whom you have known your entire life. Feel the love and respect you feel towards them. Feel your kindness, compassion, and understanding for them, regardless of life circumstances.
Feel the empathy as you feel their heartache and pain, but can you encourage them to persevere and take a moment to celebrate their accomplishments and the wisdom they have acquired due to life experiences?
This week I want you to cultivate this love and kind relationship with that person in the mirror. Notice with curiosity and non-judgment if it is easy or difficult to do. Explore how you can encourage yourself to show self-compassion, kindness, and love towards yourself.
Remember, you are much bigger than the worst thing you have done. You should not be critical and harsh to someone you care for and love.
Why are you any different?
In life, we are rarely if ever handed our dreams and aspirations, oftentimes we must work our fingers to the bones and burn the midnight oil just to be able to stand at the starting line. In the end or maybe even halfway through we realize that all our perseverance and determination was worth it.
In this episode, Sarah Elkins and the venerable Pauline Joseph discuss the importance of staying true to one’s self despite all trials, because we know we can offer the world something amazing.
HighlightsFinding the perfect moment for You. It’s okay to take pride in your hard work. Leading the way for others.
Quotes:
“With that one decision came other little decisions but I definitely made the right decision.” “Chances are if I was a different shade and a different gender you’d have a different conversation.” “I need to be happy and I have to be okay with that.”
About Pauline: I’m passionate about telling compelling stories that meaningfully connect brands with their audiences. Stories that ignite the imagination to make people think, laugh, click and engage. My business has a global mindset and outreach, but with a Caribbean heart and soul. As the founder of AC Marketing Caribbean, I manage and motivate a team that creates lead- generating content for international companies in emerging Caribbean markets. Whether it’s getting our videos on primetime local news or tapping into the networking power of LinkedIn, my imaginative strategies work. Harnessing my tech experience at Microsoft, I built a digital infrastructure for my remote working team that fosters productivity for my clients. My data-driven approach means that I create powerful, cost-effective solutions for my clients. I’m obsessed with live streaming. When I bought my first camera three years ago, little did I know how my rookie exploration into the video universe would unfold. Today, I’m the host of the LinkedIn Local Caribbean, which allows LinkedIn users to network via free events, and the ACMLive show, which has its finger on the pulse of digital marketing in the Caribbean. From creating a live show for the Bankers Association of Trinidad and Tobago, to giving a platform to local entrepreneurs on my shows, by embracing video, I’ve been able to transform and elevate the profiles of my clients in the Caribbean.
A few years ago, BC (Before Covid) and BS (Before Siri) and quite possibly before the acronym #EQ was ever used in the workplace, I stood outside the entrance of the Chicago Red Line at the corner of Chicago and State with a handmade poster-size sign with the words, “Free Directions” written in red sharpie.
I had just completed a performance of “I can’t take this anymore!” and the award goes to “You’re Fired”. I was lonely, jobless, and depressed and trying to recover from a really traumatic work experience. (I almost deleted the word traumatic because it sounds so dramatic but chose to leave it in because it was)
I decided to make that sign and stand at the subway entrance in Downtown Chicago where the majority of travelers arrive to visit the city.
Several people looked at me with a perplexed look on their face, some smiled, many people stopped to ask for directions as if I was just supposed to be there and one couple even asked to take a photo with me.
Everyone expressed so much gratitude. Only once did someone stop and ask me, “Why are you doing this?” My response was, “because I love people, and kindness is free.” That seemed to satisfy their curiosity and they walked off.
The next day, I went back and did it again. The brief connection to help strangers was mutually beneficial. They were grateful and it brought me joy.
If we think about this in the context of belonging at work,
- People need to believe they are safe
- People need to believe they matter
- People need to believe they belongPeople need to believe their leaders are standing there with a sign that says, “Free Directions”
We don’t belong to a place; we belong to each other.
I recently had to make a trip to the tire store to get new tires. I know nothing about tires, so this is always an adventure for me. Ultimately, I chose what they recommended. Then, they wanted to talk to me about alignment packages. I could purchase this now and supposedly save money later. It sounded good, so I signed up for it!
What is alignment anyway? On my car, it means all the tires are evenly matched, lined up straight, and pulling me directly down the road. When tires are out of alignment, the car will pull to the right or left, the tires will wear out improperly, and the steering wheel might shake.
None of these things are necessarily life-threatening in the moment, but not good if allowed to continue for a long period of time! Good, solid alignment is essential to smooth travel down the road!
Strong and solid alignment is even more essential for people. If you want to travel smoothly and safely down the roads of life, you have to be aligned. If you don’t want to wear out too quickly, get pulled in wrong ways, and stay solid, you must be well aligned.
So how does alignment work for people? What do you need to know?Most difficulties for individuals come when behavior and belief are not in alignment. In short, when you believe one way and act in another way, you are out of alignment. This can be a major cause of depression, anger, anxiety, and a host of other emotional and relationship challenges. Alignment between belief and behavior is so very important.
For instance, if deep down in your heart, you believe in being honest, but you are cheating on your papers for school, you are out of alignment. If you espouse a strong work ethic, but spend work days wasting time on social media, you are out of alignment.
You get the point. Believe one thing-do another, always equals difficulty.
Check out these simple steps to get to better personal alignment:First, make a list of the things you truly believe about yourself, about life, and about how you believe people should conduct themselves. Write down only the things you strongly believe in. For example, my list would say “I believe in the importance of regular physical exercise.”
Making a list of what you truly believe is helpful because it causes you to really reflect, examine your priorities, and decide what you really feel. Take some time to do this. Your goal is not to “one and done” and get everything on a piece of paper in a single setting. Add to it as different ideas come to mind.
Second, examine the things that irritate you the most about yourself and others. If you pay attention, these can be the “dashboard lights” to indicate a belief beneath the hood. For example, I hate it when people speed ahead and then swerve over at the last minute. If I follow that irritant to the root, I find myself seeing respect and integrity. I believe in these things.
Third, as your list starts to come together, start asking yourself questions like “How does my conduct measure up to my beliefs?” For example, I mentioned that I believe in the importance of regular physical exercise. Is my current behavior matching that belief? Not too difficult to see. Am I exercising regularly right now? If yes, I am in alignment. If not, I might wish to make some changes!
Finally, when you find something out of alignment—when a belief and a behavior do not match up—consider setting a goal to make a change. Set goals based on what you believe. When you start to match up your actions with what you believe, you get the personal power to make a change. You tap into that part of us that always wants our beliefs and our behaviors to match.
Alignment is important for cars. It is essential for people! When the wheels of behavior are aligned with the axle of belief, you get top speed through life! Even more, life just moves more smoothly when what you espouse matches what you do! Let’s get things lined up! That will get us there!
It was a rainy November morning, and I knew I had to go back to the abandoned village I discovered a few weeks ago. I still had the letter that I found in the mailbox on my last visit. I sent a copy of the letter to the publisher that sent her the letter, but I hadn’t heard anything back. The wind blew hard today but I knew I would walk down the old dirt road and open that mailbox once again. I had to know more about the letter Victoria had received saying her poem had been accepted.
I could feel my heart pounding as I walked toward the rusty mailbox, hesitating and then slowly opening the box. It held a single envelope, a sepia color with no stamp attached. I walked toward the old porch filled with many emotions touching both my head and my heart. The porch creaked as I walked across the plank wood and sat down in the rocking chair staring at the envelope. Finally, I opened it and saw the most beautiful calligraphy handwriting I had ever seen.
SAYING GOODBYEVictoria
I sat on this porch in the early spring of 1945 knowing that in a moment I would walk down that dusty road waiting for the bus that would take me to Lillington, where I would catch the train to Savanna, Georgia. I would start a new life, new hope, and a new job teaching Literature and Poetry in a private school.
The train ride was long, but it was inspiring to see the country and towns along the way. In 1945 the south was filled with farms growing cotton, tobacco, and corn. I could see the farmers planting the fields in hopes of a good harvest. I knew I would miss our farm but getting a book published and a teaching job took me away from the life I was living in a small North Carolina community.
I will say goodbye for now and spend my time relaxing and reading poetry. Perhaps I will send you another letter. How does it feel to get letters from heaven? I will send you more when the time allows. Time is different here. It is like a dirt road where you can walk in many directions. This day I will remember the time when I walked off the porch with only my hopes and dreams.
After all, letters from heaven are very special, blessed, and given only to the few that believe.
Chapter One: Letters From Heaven | BIZCATALYST 360°
As a child, you needed to survive emotionally!• You were so well trained to make use of quick fixes whenever you experience any uncomfortable feeling.
• You were taught your ‘negative’ feelings were not legitimate and needed to be instantly suppressed.
• You were erroneously told your vulnerability was a weakness.
• Your caregivers never explained to you that feelings were merely messengers. Moreover, they never modeled how to respect and honor one’s feelings, sit with them, embrace them, and go through them for a healthy release.
Appealingly, until we could find our trigger in adulthood — hopefully during this physical existence, we would continue to be clueless about the root causes of our hopelessness and helplessness, sadly enough.
Having a ‘Savior’ pattern, like most highly sensitive folks whose “free will” chose the unaware empath*** path when attempting to cope with their unfriendly environment, doesn’t make things any easier.
I am familiar with the trap. Interestingly, what is mind-blowing, to me, is that yielding my rescuer pattern, in general, has been more demanding than rewiring the major part of my subconscious program. The resistance has been fierce, to say the least.
I destroyed four belief levels and my innocence with them. I, respectively, replaced them by:
- Not all mortal beings are inherently good.
- Toxic inherently good people don’t deserve my investment.
- Even non-toxic ones wouldn’t earn a chance unless they asked for support/active ear explicitly.
- Trust is a shared responsibility in relationships. Fantasizing about the potential does not make it a reality. If one mistake destroys trust, then there has never been any built reserve in the first place. Investing and being consistent with your deposits doesn’t guarantee that the other person pays attention and considers it.
I explored the last belief level in detail here where I told the incident that triggered it, should it feel worthwhile: Trust Is a Shared Responsibility in Relationships.
Last wordsIf you can recognize yourself in today’s topic, I want you to know that I feel you! (Un)becoming the lifetime of conditioning filter and learning to reconnect with our authentic self is anything but something you learn overnight, particularly if you are a highly-sensitive empath!
Should you be armed with tons of self-awareness, humility, patience, bravery, and consistency, sooner or later, you will start seeing the fruits of the most rewarding investment of your whole existence: investing in your self-evolution so that your future version and the Universe would be grateful to you!
No matter what your self-bully might be telling you, don’t believe a single word! Your inner power is limitless and you have what it takes to break free. It’s only limited by your current belief system you never chose in the first place.
You always have the option to choose differently and I hope that you’ll go for it!
*** A very empathetic person with emotional weak boundaries who struggles to say no, who would please others at their expense, who would absorb their surroundings’ toxic energy and confuse others’ feelings with theirs.
We are so used to living in a world of analysis that we don’t even realise we’re doing it. But once you see and feel the difference of reality first, then logic— you’ll realise the transformational difference it makes.
I was asked yesterday if I’d like to enter a programme to get a Ph.D. by critiquing and analysing mine and Sara’s new book and I noticed the clarity that doing that made no sense. I reflected on this after the conversation and realised again the difference between analysis and logic.
Analysis is opinion.It’s a conceptual ideas-based activity. It’s about my opinion vs your opinion. It’s about what I think is right/wrong, good/bad. It’s about judgements and comparisons and critiques. Which are all fine, but which are no place to find sanctuary or security.
I don’t know about you, but my ideas have continually changed throughout my life. I’d be surprised if yours haven’t too. So to hang my hat on any idea or opinion, and think that I will be OK by holding that opinion, and thinking I’m right in that opinion, is shaky ground to stand on. Because it can so easily change.
As soon as I’ve fixed on an opinion, the world comes and shows me counter-evidence, and exceptions to my rule, and examples where my opinion simply can’t stand up.
From here we have two choices — we can cling to that opinion even tighter and become more deeply entrenched and fixed, and as a result experience the extra buffeting of life as it tries to wake us up from our false fixed-ness. Or we can realise that no opinion is a permanent truth. And therefore analysis is not permanent either.
I analysed theories and models as part of previous educational processes. If I analysed those same things today, I’m pretty sure I would have a different perspective. Clearly, neither is permanent, and therefore neither is True. If I’m trying to find sure-footedness through analysis to find the ‘right’ answer — well, which is right? No sure-footedness to be found. Just a bunch of conceptual ideas and opinions, and always subject to change.
So analysis is an opinion. It’s my opinion or idea right now. And it will change as I change. And it will either bump up against your opinions and ideas, or align with them, and everything in between. Staying in this space keeps you at a distance from life. It keeps you in the head and in ideas and stories. And the head is fine. There’s no problem with the head and its ideas in and of themselves. Our idea-generating capacity is incredible! But to only exist there, and to go there as your primary reference point, is unsatisfying.
Let’s look at logic to see why…
Logic is borne of reality.Logic is a way of using conceptual words and ideas to describe what’s been discovered. The concepts used to do that could vary, but the reality they’re all pointing to is agreed upon.
Let’s take an example to slow down the process of reality first, then logic, by using the experience of opening a door.
If you come to a door that you want to open you look at the door to see what it’s like. You look at its handle. It’s hinges, or slide rails. You might look at the floor and see if there are markings there from its opening. Just from this information, you could extrapolate using logic to arrive at a plan for how to open the door. If there are hinges, a handle, and dark marks on the floor on my side, logic would say I need to pull this door towards me to open it. I would then be able to test that out, and see if my logic still holds true in my lived experience of opening the door.
By beginning with reality as it is, logic is then the conceptual capacity that allows us to translate that information into action in the world. And our action in the world then provides a feedback loop. It could have been that my original observation of the reality of the door was wrong in some way. Maybe the door had just been re-hung to open the other way but the floor marks remained. The action of opening the door, and the feedback obtained, then allows me to update my understanding of the reality of this door.
Notice how reality comes first, and conceptual logic comes second.
Notice too that if I’d brought analysis to this experience of the door that I, and as many others as we liked, could have stood around commenting on the colour of the door and whether we thought it was the best shade of brown. We could have measured the length of the floor markings to describe that to another and ask their opinion of whether they were too long or too short. We could have critiqued the way the screws had been applied to the door frame and what the best method is for getting the screws completely flat.
But would any of this support our ability to open the door?
Let’s look deeper then at…
Why does this distinction between analysis and logic matter?Because most people, most of the time, are walking around sharing opinions and ideas, and then critiquing and analysing others’ opinions and ideas by judging them and comparing them to their own. Making decisions from this about whether mine or theirs is right. We then feel happy because someone thinks the same as me, or unhappy because they’re saying something different.
This is how wars on all scales begin.
Nowhere in that is there a check of “what do I know for sure, for myself?”. Nowhere in that is there a coming close to reality, to see it for how it is, and then allowing logic to naturally extrapolate from that into action. In fact, when we do come into close contact with what we call reality, we discover that it’s not very real.
It’s always changing. There are always multiple perspectives on the same situation. And then those perspectives keep changing. And the situation keeps changing. So that very soon we realise, what I mentioned before, that there is nowhere secure to hang your hat.
It’s at this point that the analysing mind feels terrified. What?! There’s no right answer? There’s no clear, definable equation to neatly tie life up with a linear bow of cause and effect?
But for the person in whom the courage of the heart outweighs the terror of the mind, there will be a continuation of that inquiry… “If I can’t know any of that for sure, what do I know for sure? For myself? What is real if it’s not this world that we’ve been calling reality? What is reliable?”
This line of questioning then brings you right into contact with the only reliable, permanent, 100% True reality there is. A reality of no objective form. And therefore no colour, or texture, or shape. A reality which the mind dismisses as ‘nothing’. But which in fact is the only reality that — once realised — returns all of experience back to its rightful order:
To see the True reality of life as it is — to then extrapolate that with logic into the implications of what that means about who I am, and who you are — to then test that in your lived day-to-day experience — then, just like with the door, to have feedback from life as it provides opportunities to keep testing and refining what I’ve seen reality to be, and updating the logic that flows from that.
From that place, analysis falls away. What is there to analyse? I have seen reality as it is, I have seen what that means for how I live my life, and now I’m testing, learning, and updating that model as I go.
There is no need for an opinion in this process. You can share one by all means, and I will listen to see if there is some fresh feedback here that I haven’t yet considered. I can test your opinion against what I’ve seen of reality. And if it doesn’t align, I will invite you to look at reality too, and start from there.
With love, Helen
So Sybil Cummin is the friend of a friend. She lives in Colorado, and she has quite a story. “Knock on any door” as people say. She is a very accomplished gymnast, outstanding student, and a recovering perfectionist. She takes herself not-too-seriously. Which is very important because her field is domestic violence and narcissistic abuse. Part of how she opened my eyes was when she focused on how much domestic abuse has risen during COVID, and especially how it has been underreported. It didn’t occur to me that someone who is a victim of abuse cannot call for help if s/he is in lockdown with the abuser. She also works with little ones, who seem to be doing much better than teenagers under the cloud of the virus. We have a wonderful and very moving conversation as we explore I might be a couple drops in the bucket.
Tenderness
Gentleness
Stillness
Silence
Pause
Catch YourSelf
Breathe Here Now.
You are not the person
You were yesterday,
Last week,
When You were nine years old.
You can think new thoughts
Or better yet settle into that quiet, calm place
Of silence.
You can feel all your feelings even some
Mysterious ones with no names, for a word
Only points to an internal direct experience,
Sensations inside your body,
Sights of the clouds on the mountains,
Sounds of the geese hissing, honking,
Splash landing in lake water,
Cold wind on your skin,
Your breath rhythmically flowing
To a matching beat of your feet
Meeting the sandy, rain-drenched path.
And a voice speaks from where you
Do not know.
I love you. I will never stop loving you.
I love you no matter what.
I love you if people call you names.
I love you when you free yourself from
Unworkable situations.
I love you when you are bravely petrified.
I love you with vertigo.
I love you when you miscue, or even totally
it all up. I love you when you do your
Best to clean yourself up when red sauce
Leaps onto your clean white shirt.
I love you when you have scary thoughts,
Loving thoughts, silly thoughts, sensuous thoughts,
Imaginative, creative, delicious thoughts.
I love you when you believe lies until you don’t believe
Them anymore and refuse to speak those lies anymore.
I love you when you say hurtful words because you
Are hurting. I love you when you are grieving, seeing, and giving everything you’ve got.
I love you forever exactly how you show up or hide under the Covers or creep out into the light of day wondering if the sky will indeed fall onto the ground.
I will love you no matter what.
I will love you and dance with you in heaven and if you are not in heaven then I won’t want to be there. I will find you where you are and be by your side. I love you. I love you wherever you go and wherever you are.
I Love You No Matter What.
We don’t often think about men’s grief do we? Maybe it’s because they are so damn good at hiding it. But I promise you, it’s there…festering. It’s hidden under the rough, quiet, busy exterior. It finds ways of escaping through physical exertion, building something, booze, affairs, or they find other ways of releasing the valve that are unique to them. I had one client who was a home cook and he took to immersing himself in these Michelin Star recipes.
What I see most in my clients that identify as male however, is more work. They build a company, they dive to the business in a more hands on approach and so they have somewhere to vent it all out, they train for an iron man. While not all of these outlets feel destructible they all exist for three reasons. Below I’ll discuss what three reasons we typically see and provide you with some ways of working through it.
AvoidanceMen have been trained to bury feelings and soldier on. It has worked for generations. Not ever, not even once have they have been taught what healthy masculinity looks like. Because let’s be honest – no one wants perfect and ever persons perfect is different. It’s impossible for men to figure this out. (I have to end this rant here because I can go on for a long long time.)
So of course men go out to keep their busy, because that’s also a thing they have been taught. They have be taught to work through it and busy hands forget. The mere idea of sitting face to face and be asked questions is scary. It’s a vulnerability that very rarely has been modelled for them nevermind deeply practiced.
Avoidance seems easiest in the moment for sure, but if you wanted to take a peak under the hood to see where the smoke is coming from, ask yourself:
- Why am I building/doing this?
- What would it mean to my partner if they knew why I needed to build/do this?
- Why can I not rely on them to help me?
I don’t think you have to stop building or doing! Just maybe use the time to think through the whys.
DrowningAlcohol and Substance Use is a vicious cycle that takes far too many every year. It is the perpetual cycle of hurt that only finds relief in a bottle. Anyone who has significant levels of violence in their life it is because of a cycle of shame.
So what do I suggest we do? We deal with the Shame. We get right into the thick of it. That you find a place where you find freedom from the chance of traumatization. That often has to be someone other than your partner. You need a 3rd party professional to work through this with you so you can be honest and held accountable. It also is the most risk free option for you. There is no relationship at risk with a therapist. Seek help and specifically say that you carry a lot of shame. Work through it. You are worth it.
Toxic SuccessAre you the guy that works weekends, has a couple companies, maybe a consulting gig on the side. Are you also training for a marathon, building a cottage, or cooking for a crowd over the weekend? Not all things are amazing as they would like us all to believe. A good check point is how you feel when someone talks about how amazing you are. When you are being thrown complements for all of your projects and successes…what is your pride level?
Now if it was your daughter who was accomplishing all of those things… what is your pride level?
There often is a gap in favour of your amazing daughter. So, in that same way we mentioned in avoidance, this is kind of like avoidance on steroids. You are always looking forward, your strive everyday, rest is for the weak. There is a level of avoidance is beyond puttering around the garage or golf course.
I can hear what you are thinking.. I’m full of shit – that is just striving to be the best. Well, let’s test it out:
- When you finish the marathon in a better time that you hoped, then what?
- When you have sold your company for more than you thought – then what?
- When you have perfected the Ferran Adrià Culinary Foam – then what?
Ok – now – tell me, did you pause at any of these most incredible successes and feel proud? Maybe a little but you were much more focused on thinking about what next than celebrating the win weren’t you?
Supporting MenMen often grieve differently than women and therefore the supports need to meet them where they are. So a few thoughts on how to support men who are grieving:
If you want to talk to them about it, talk while doing. Let them keep busy while talking. Talking about feelings makes men nervous and doing something (walking, building, painting, fishing, etc.) helps keep them grounded. Find a therapist for them and offer to make the appointments. You can support from the outside. They need to know you are there and that doesn’t mean that you have to carry or fix it. Slow down and remind them just how much love is surrounding them. Be safety. Be connected.
I am here for you.
Flying… it’s not my favorite. It’s probably the only time I wish I was still drinking… I used to say I “liked to be passed out by takeoff.”
Yesterday, when I was flying, Martin suggested that I spend some time observing my anxiety instead of letting it overtake me. I was thinking this would never be possible for me, but as we were taxiing to the runway, I turned on this Ram Dass meditation recommended to me last week. It was originally recorded in 1994 with ambient accompaniment by Boreta and Superposition. Here’s the link to it on YouTube, Apple, and Spotify. It’s very beautifully put together, and it takes you on a journey of being the awareness of all that is, not too tightly identifying with it.
Let the phenomena of life arise, exist, and then change. Thoughts arise. Memories. Judgments. Plans. See them just like the horns, the traffic, the sensations in your body. They come. They exist. And then they move on.
We don’t attach our eyes to a leaf as it blows by. Why then do we linger in the thoughts of fear, and anxiety? We hear a horn and then don’t attach to it for hours. It arises, exists, and then moves on.
I’ll often grasp an idea of what may happen, and I OBSERVED myself on this plane fighting to let it go.
You can experience fear and anxiety without identifying with it, so long as you notice it, let it exist, and let it pass. Far too often, we don’t. We fall into the hole of “what was” or “what could be.” All fictitious realities created by the mind.
I had an actual mental fight about letting the anxiety, the worry, just exist and then pass.
“BUT WHAT IF SOMETHING DOES HAPPEN…”
I chose to keep listening to this meditation and was mindful to simply see myself as awareness. Moments later, thoughts later, the anxiety was gone without a second thought. (Don’t get me wrong- it still tried to creep back, but it wasn’t nearly as incapacitating as it normally is.)
Flying is kind of an irrational fear. It truly is the safest way to travel. However, we do this for so many different things in our lives.
For example, we do this with people who have hurt us. We KNOW that to let it go is the way through, but we feel vindicated in lingering in the anger.
We do this with our being “correct,” with our model of the world being the “right” model.
We do this with expectations of friends and lovers.
We expect every person to be in the next moment the same as they’ve been in the previous.
When we feel upset, we relive it. A fight with your boss that happened, for example, might be replayed 17 times to every person who will listen.
You had a fight with someone in the grocery store? How many people heard about that? Fight with a spouse? Did you call everyone and replay the who what when why and where? Over and over? Living in a moment that isn’t now? Replaying it in your head?
Your subconscious mind doesn’t understand future tense. It only knows now, and now arises, exists, and then moves on.
The meditation was very useful in helping me with this particular anxiety. I listened to it from pushback through takeoff (lucky me, the 17-minute meditation took me from the gate to 10,000 feet. That’s not always the case flying out of LaGuardia. )
I recommend it! Might help if anxiety is one of the things you struggle with.
Recently, Mariah and I encountered a stylistic variation that shows how differently our brains work. It was proof of a theory we’ve studied throughout our marriage, and much more intensively in the recent past. That theory, based on our ‘neuro-differences,’ has become more than just a parlor game, or an amusing pastime to divert attention from real-life challenges. It’s become the topic we’ve settled on to propel our nascent speaking career. Anomalies as strengths.
Mariah has ADHD & dyslexia, two so-called abnormalities that have bedeviled her all her life. (Yes, I have her permission to share this.) We’ve had breakthrough realizations around these ‘neuro-differences.’ One is that they’re real! She’s not making this S*#T up, not crazy, dumb, or stupid as certain people have labeled her. The second light-bulb moment was that Mariah’s brain-centered differences are not deficits; these real, weirdly wonderful machinations in her brain are benefits!
In the movie Apollo 13, the astronauts were halfway between Earth and the moon when a rupture in a fuel cell put them in grave danger. The team in Houston had to craft a device from incompatible equipment to scrub cabin air in the LEM not for two astronauts but for three, and not for a few hours, but a few days! Plus, they could only use items onboard the Apollo spacecraft 100,000 miles away.
Of course, they found workarounds for the challenge, and the Apollo 13 crew returned home safely. Here’s the insight Mariah and I derived from this. My style as a ‘neurotypical’ person is linear and orderly. My aviation career reinforced this, and the system works very well for me. I expect B to follow A. Every time! If I see O, I expect to see P. If I see O, and then H appears, I can deal with it, but it disrupts my flow. It also causes me to waste energy wondering why the H is there when it’s not supposed to be!
Mariah’s brain is non-linear, accustomed to disruptions and surprises. She sees O, then H, followed by R all the time. She wastes no energy wondering why F arrives after T.
You see where this is going. Mariah is much better and more comfortable with workarounds than I am. She anticipates the need for them and has honed her ability to find them. This is truly a gift that her neurodivergence provides. Mariah would have talked that Apollo crew through their challenge step by step. I would have wasted time wondering why the hell the systems weren’t compatible!
There are many ramifications to this we’ve yet to tease out. We’re on a journey of discovery like none we’ve encountered. Mariah and I have traveled the world, packing up and moving numerous times. With 15 addresses in the past 20 years, we’ve done a bit of exploring. But trekking around inside our heads has been more revealing than anything previous.
The biggest discovery is that as much as society tries to cure, marginalize, and label them, neuro-differences are not deficits. They’re benefits.
When we embrace that idea, we’ll be safely heading home from whatever disasters we might encounter.
Image courtesy of NASA Apollo 13 Mission
You are your thoughts (I agree)
You are not your thoughts (I agree)
How can both of those statements be true within our lives?
I think the answer is; it depends.
It depends on your mindset.
It depends on how you interact with your thoughts.
It depends on how you allow them to affect your life.
Let’s take a look at both of these statements and see how they can show up in our lives to become “us”.
You are your thoughts.
All things created begin with a thought.
How do you know you like one food and don’t like another?
How do you know what is the most important thing in a certain area of your life? (Values)
How do you know you have a certain fear of or not of doing a certain activity?
All of these things begin with a thought. Those thoughts then can go on to become a belief. Those beliefs then go on to become ingrained in us as “what” and “who” we are.
Looking at the work of Deepak Chopra and the Quantum body; he says “Your body exists as pure creative potential, a multilayered process controlled by intelligence.”
”The skin replaces itself once a month, the stomach lining every five days, the liver every six weeks, and the skeleton every three months. To the naked eye these look the same from moment to moment, but they are always in flux. By the end of one year, 98% of the atoms in your body will have been exchanged for new ones.”
Not to go too far into this work but for the sake of this article, I would ask you one question.
How does your body remember what it is supposed to be if it is always changing? If your skin is renewing itself once a month, how do you still have that same scar or freckle?
There is a thought/memory of what makes up “you”.
Our thoughts at the deepest level truly make up who we are. There is great potential in that and something to be talked about at a deeper level later.
You are not your thoughts.
Here is some research on our thoughts:
“It was found that the average person has about 12,000 to 60,000 thoughts per day. Of those thousands of thoughts, 80% were negative, and 95% were exactly the same repetitive thoughts as the day before.”
“According to the research of Dr. Fred Luskin of Stanford University, a human being has approximately 60,000 thoughts per day—and 90% of these are repetitive! 60,000.”
You can see that negativity bias shows up in these studies and that is more reason for us to take control of our thoughts and not allow all of them to become beliefs and form who we are and how we interact with the world around us.
Our central nervous system (to include our brain) is always on the lookout for signs of safety or threat. This system is millions of years old and it is responding to a world that doesn’t exist anymore. We have to be aware of what makes it tick so we can fully understand where our thoughts come from.
Polyvagal theory is an amazing way to look at how our nervous system works and how those signals show up in our lives in ways that are meant to help us but sometimes the signals can get misinterpreted inside and that can lead to dysregulation and problems interacting in our world.
Meditation practice is one way that we can calm our minds, and have a better relationship with our thoughts.
Our thoughts do not have to have control of our lives. We can work so we can control them. One of the ways that you are taught to do that in meditation is to visualize your thoughts as clouds passing in the sky.
Allow them to float by and realize they do not have to stay with you.
Wayne Dyer used to say that when he had a negative thought come into his mind he would simply say, “next” and move on.
Thoughts are going to show up in our lives. We choose what we do with them. They are guests, sometimes invited and sometimes they just show up unannounced (kind of like some relatives).
As we learn to acknowledge our thoughts for what they are we can learn to recognize them and make judgments about if we allow them to stay or just pass on by. If we allow them to stick around, then we are opening ourselves up to them becoming our beliefs or directing us to go in a direction or do something we would not like to.
Remember, we are driving the bus. We are in control of our thoughts and therefore we are in charge of our outcomes.
So yes, we are our thoughts and we are not our thoughts.
We have the choice.
In 1965, one of the most impactful musicals of all time hit the Broadway stage. “Man of La Mancha”, was a musical version of the story of Don Quixote. Late 16th-century Spanish writer Miguel de Cervantes was imprisoned. In prison, Cervantes dressed himself up as a character named Don Quixote. In short, Don Quixote fantasized about being a hero, defending the weak, and making a name for himself.
The song track for “Man of La Mancha” became famous for many of its tunes, but the most famous was “Impossible Dream.” This song was sung by Don Quixote about his fantasy life. I heard this song recently and one line has continued to stand out in my mind. Hence, this article was born! The line is, “are you willing to march into Hell for a heavenly cause”? The wording in this musical line is extremely powerful. The notion of walking into fire, chaos, danger, and Hell would make even the bravest person pause. Even more important, what are my causes, and would I be willing to March into Hell to defend those causes? The answer for me is a resounding yes! As we head into 2023, can I put some positive action toward my causes? As this song stated, would it not be positive for me to “right the unrightable wrong”? Would it not be better ”to run where the brave dare not go”?
It has been said that true, great leaders are often ordinary people doing extraordinary deeds! What can you do in the remaining months of 2023, to improve in some small way the lives of others? Think about the following tasks and determine if you can adopt just one of these heavenly causes.
- Help the elderly. Is there a Senior in your neighborhood, who could use some help with their yard work or shopping for groceries? Is there someone who is lonely and just needs to have some basic interaction and conversation?
- If you belong to a church, or service organization, look for additional opportunities to volunteer. These groups always need help, and many times it does not involve any specific skill.
- Become a Mentor. Young people, newly married couples, and folks in the workforce always need a person with experience to act as official, or unofficial Mentors. Your experience is your expertise! “Pay it forward”.
For 2023, continue to ask yourself, what are my causes? What causes can I adopt to help others? Are my causes heavenly causes? Are you willing to march into Hell to make these causes worthy? What a great 2023 we could all have with this single act of unselfish kindness.
Whether we want to admit it or not – people do AFFECT us. They’re energy can be uplifting or exhausting. We can probably all agree that none of us are perfect [okay, we’ll admit YOU’RE super close! ;-)] but some people ARE easier for you to deal with than others.
Watch AmyKism #106 for a great reminder that when choosing your mates & friends, it’s really important to choose wisely – their presence in YOUR life impacts so much of it.
To remembering that being invited into YOUR life is a privilege.
Hugs,
AmyK
Growth and emergence are two essential components of transformation. Lessons that bear scrutiny can be found among reptiles and crustaceans.
Consider the snake. It follows a somewhat linear process of growth. As it gets larger, eventually the time comes to shed its skin. But this isn’t quite the same as donning a larger sized garment of clothing. I’ve watched my waist size get larger. I can don a size 42 jacket when I used to fit nicely into a 40. This is a type of growth and I certainly am larger, but no change in potential accompanies this. I am simply larger in form.
A snake doesn’t wake up one day, discard its outer garment and put on a new larger size. The skin breaks and the snake must work to shed its outer layer of confinement to allow a new more spacious confinement to emerge. The process takes time. The snake writhes and wriggles in its external environment to get rid of its old suit of clothes which no longer suits its needs. Now it’s bigger, able to take on new challenges, master new aspects of its environment, emerge with new capacities.
Sometimes our process of emergence is like the snakes. As our consciousness enlarges we need more space. We no longer fit in the confines of our old self. But we don’t immediately rid ourselves of the old skin that now confines us. We need to work and struggle to shed the old veneer and allow ourselves time to grow into this new state of greater capacity. Patches of old skin may be difficult to get rid of and may adhere for a long time. Eventually we succeed.
Contrast this to the lobster. As growth occurs, the time comes when the old shell needs to be discarded. Underneath is something new, something bigger. Molting represents a quicker and more dramatic emergence. With it comes some danger, some vulnerability. Until the new shell hardens, there is greater risk. Unprotected, the lobster could be injured or killed. Again, as with the snake, with this process comes greater opportunity as potential is further realized. Bigger, more spacious, less confined, and in some sense less limited—when a lobster sheds its old shell, it’s much more dramatic than a snake.
Sometimes this is how our consciousness emerges. We reach a point where we are literally too big to contain what we are and something has to give. Like a lobster, we must discard our old shell to allow ourselves the opportunity for further growth. But it’s risky; we do so with a vulnerability to the world around us and we open ourselves up to getting hurt. But we do it none-the-less because it is what we must do to grow further.
Look closely at the world around you and take lessons from the snake and the lobster. The themes here are obvious.
To expand our consciousness requires getting rid of old confining thoughts, judgments, and response patterns that no longer suit us.
Emergence into a larger, more spacious, greater level of awareness can sometimes be slow and require effort to be completed. At other times this can be dramatic and a bit scary. In either case, as growth, transformation, and emergence occur, we open to greater and more expanded capacities to more fully reach the potential of who we are.
Namaste…
This article is an excerpt from my book Health Wise: Integral Lessons in Transformation
When we moved to the farmhouse, Third grade Age 8We moved to a small acreage having nineteen acres in Waterloo Iowa when we left Maywood. It was an old farmhouse outside the city limits that needed some work done to it but was a mansion to us. We never had so much room. My Aunt Francis, Mom’s sister bought the house, and they made payments to her and my Uncle Chuck.
ENJOY PART 1 BELOW▼
Shattered Innocence (Part 1): Maywood
It was a huge house with a large dining room and front room and a decent size kitchen with one bedroom downstairs, one bathroom on the main floor, four bedrooms were’ upstairs where we slept. One bedroom shared a closet. The other two didn’t have closets. The floors were all wood at the time. They were cold as ice to walk on in the winter, which made it feel like being on an ice-skating rink with no ice skates on. The house wasn’t well insulated and was frigid at night. Mom kept the temperature at sixty-two degrees. We all would take our blankets into the hallway where there was only one register upstairs and huddle by it to keep warm. Often floating a blanket over the heat duct to catch the welcomed warm air.
I was always afraid there was something down there. Probably from all those spooky stories my brothers use to tell. We never had a basement before, and my brothers use to tell stories about finding a dead person in a basement once.
It was a nice huge two-story house that reached up into the sky and it had a creepy basement. I never cared for that basement. It was dark, and clammy with old gray cement blocks and a wooden cellar door that led up to the back porch. I was always afraid there was something down there. Probably from all those spooky stories my brothers use to tell. We never had a basement before, and my brothers use to tell stories about finding a dead person in a basement once. I remember having to go down into the basement to use the washing machine mom had gotten! The stairs would creak like it was going to give way under my feet and at the bottom of the stairs a header board you had to duck under to not hit your head. I would run down the stairs and run like a rabbit back up them. There was only one light working down there and it was always so dark and damp smelling like a swamp. The outside of the house was old white shake siding. The yards were huge like being in a large park. With plenty of room to play.
I loved sharing a room with my older sister Theresa. She was three years older than me which made her eleven at the time we moved. We each had our own beds and a long dresser. I still had that same dresser when I was eighteen yrs. old. She took half and I took the other. My side was always messy and hers nice and neat. We also divided the room up. She cleaned her half, and well, I kind of cleaned mine. The room was bigger than our living space in Maywood and I couldn’t get over having so much room.
We had only one tub, and mom would have us take baths. We shared the same water. Theresa usually got to go first. So, I always got stuck with cold and dirty. Not real dirty, but dirty just the same. But hey, we had an inside tub. We had well water and a septic tank. With no city services. It was a small neighborhood consisting of about eight houses.
We had a lot of chores to do, and my sister Theresa called me a tomboy because I liked being outside doing the chores with the boys, like mowing and pulling weeds in the vegetable garden. I didn’t have chores in Maywood. But now, I did. I helped hang clothes on the clothesline and put them away. I had to keep up with the mess in my room. I was always being told to clean my room as it was always a disaster. I wasn’t organized like my sister Theresa. She always made her bed and mine was tossed together like a salad with stuffed animals everywhere.
We had machine sheds and barns to play in now. We still had horses, and dad bought a couple of pigs and a cow. My older brothers Bobby and Frank would get on the pigs’ backs, hold their ears, and ride the pigs like small, horses. I never tried that, though. It was fun watching them tumble to the ground, nearly stomped on by the pigs. My brother Bobby looked a lot like dad with his wavy black hair and even had his temper. He was always trying new things and wasn’t afraid of anything. He looked more like mom I thought. I remember having rabbits, chickens, ducks, geese, and even a couple of peacocks. When they opened their rainbow-eyed tail feathers, it reminded me of a pretty fan made in Japan that my mother used to have in her China hutch. They opened gracefully to display all the colors on a brightly colored, wheel.
Mom had an enormous garden that we helped plant, water, weed, and pick the beans when ready. There were green beans, potatoes, carrots, beets, corn, and peas. We had plenty to do and never were bored, only tired at the end of the day.
We raised chickens, and I helped feed and clean them when it was time to freeze. Once the feet were cut off, we used to play with their claw feet pulling the veins and making the toes move. My dad would chop off their necks and they would jump around on the ground as if still alive. Then we had to dunk them in boiling water and pull the pin feathers out. I also helped Mom clean the bloody sticky guts out of them before freezing. We had a few pigs and, of course, some horses. Dad bought day-old bread loaves for the pigs, and it was still fresh,’ we would get into the big brown paper sacks take some out, and eat it. It was still good! However, if you waited too long, small black bugs would take over the sack, and, then we no longer ate it.
In the winter we played outside, building snow forts, and throwing snowballs. In the summer it was mud ball fights. We took mud, formed it into balls, and let it bake in the sun. They got extremely hard, and if you got hit by one, you sure knew it cause it hurt like being hit with a large hard rock. We also played a lot of outdoor games at night after our chores were done by the yellow pole light in the side yard. Like Hide and Seek, Red Rover, Red Rover, and Captain May I. I could never break through on Red Rover. I was usually the last one picked to be on anyone’s team.
We had an old basketball hoop that we shot baskets in and played Horse. The first one to spell horse by missing the shot lost. My sister, Theresa, and I made friends with the neighbor girls, and they would come down and we played Barbies. I loved shooting marbles with my brothers and playing with cars in the dirt. I did it all. We even dug up black, cold, clammy salamanders and played with them. Back then, we made up our own fun, not like today with all the technology. I loved being outside. We played in the hay in the barns, and there was a long rope swing up in the hayloft we would swing out the open window reaching out beyond the open door into the clear indigo sky.
We had an old swing set and a broken-down wooden merry-go-round. I often jumped off to push the other kids around and then, running, jumped back on. It was always a thrill because I never knew if I would make it back on. An old tire swing tied to an aged, split maple tree that we swung on as well.
My older sister Theresa always got to wash the dishes and I had to dry them. I hated drying. I always got stuck cleaning the bathroom. But after my chores were done, I would go down to my friend Chris’s house and play barbies. Her mom always served us cookies and was nice. Chris became my best friend back then and we became inseparable. She was about two inches taller than me. Skinny to like a stick with long red hair and a freckled face.
We went from having nothing to having everything we thought; it felt like Christmas, every day.
Dad must have got a raise at his job at Sears and Roebucks. He started out as a maintenance man and worked his way up to a Display Manager. Putting together all the fancy displays in their windows and on the floor. You could always hear him whistling at work.
My mother’s father, Grandpa Crossley bought us our first T.V. set as a house- warming gift. Which was exciting. We rarely listened to the radio after that. I finally had hot running water, a room of my own, and T.V. I thought; I was in Heaven. Grandpa also use to stop on Sundays and take us to Sunday school. He was a Deacon in a Mormon church. I remember he told us if we were good, we would get some candy after church. He always kept his word.
I went to Krieg elementary school and my favorite teacher in sixth grade was Mr. Mork. He was missing an arm and at first, I was afraid of him. Then I found out he was a really, nice guy and let us go to his house after school. He lived really, close. I joined the Girl Scouts at age twelve and we went on field trips, had meetings, and I got more badges. We even went camping at camp Ingawanis’ about an hour away.
I remember one time in fifth grade my mom wasn’t at the school to pick me up yet and someone pulled up and told me they were a friend of mom’s, and I was to go with them. But I didn’t know them, so I stayed at school. After I was afraid, I’d be in trouble however mom eventually showed up and said no one else was to pick me up that day. I’m lucky I didn’t go with them that day. It’s hard telling what would have happened to me.
My first boyfriend’s name was Tommy when I was in sixth grade. We called it going out, but we never went anywhere. He was half black and half white. Back then they called him an Oreo, like a cookie. I didn’t like that much. I kissed him once on the slide and that was it. He called me at home once and Dad answered the phone and was angry at me for Tommy calling me. Not only because I was only twelve but because you could tell by his deep voice that he was black. That is when I first realized my dad was prejudiced. When I went to junior high school, he went to a different School, so we lost contact with each other. I still wonder to this day how he is doing.
To be continued…
©Eva Marie Ann Cagley
Growing up in Denmark, many of my formative experiences have differed from those of my American friends.One difference is that my school now is more than 1,000 years old. But what usually makes American friends drop their jaw, even more, is when I tell them how I regularly came home between 2 and 3 am after high school parties because I had to pay the guy from the brewery.
The 21-year drinking age restrictions don’t apply universally.
I was 17 years old and treasurer for one of the school’s two party-clubs that arranged events a couple of times a year for our co-students. Our club was the “alternative”: we would do line dancing or similar events. Our school’s other club got in a band or a DJ and the whole building was rocking from 8 pm till 1 am.
Regardless of who arranged the party, three prerequisites were necessary for success:
- A teacher who promised to be there the whole evening
- A guard with a couple of Dobermans to assure that nobody got in uninvited – particularly not from Hell’s Angles
- A big delivery of beer and soft drinks
Imagine this: the school and the brewery were totally OK with several hundred young people on the premises, thousands of dollars worth of beverages with no down payment, and only a teacher, a handful of 17–19-year-olds, and a couple of dogs with their human to control the mayhem.
We usually got a visit from the police during the evening to assure that we were safe. They didn’t ascertain whether we were drunk. Perhaps they sniffed for weed? I never saw them harass anybody and nobody harassed them. I assume they may have been around outside when the party ended to see if anybody were DUI, but as nobody can get a driver’s license in Denmark before they are 18 and as most teenagers can’t afford a car in one of the most highly taxed countries in the world, parents, older siblings, boyfriends, and bikes were the preferred resources for transportation.
Usually, everything went smoothly. Yes, there were times when somebody trashed a bathroom. And for sure, the proceeds had to fund a cleaning crew the next morning on top of the brew and the dogs. Liability insurance? Not that I recall. A chipped sink? I only heard of that once, and I think that went on the school’s tap.
Once the clock passed 1 am, the students left and we, the party organizers, moved the tables back where they belonged, counted the money, paid the dog guard, gathered empty bottles from in and out, and got them back in the proper cases. An hour after the party finished, the truck showed up from the brewery, and brought back the wares that had not been sold and the empty bottles for recycling, the driver was paid the difference, and I could bike home in the wee hours of the morning with any profits in a locked money box.
True, this was a while back when the school that now has almost 3000 students was home to just around 600. I am sure much has changed since. But they still square dance.
I particularly recall a party in my senior year. This is how we heard the story after the weekend:
Two of my school friends lived far away from school so after the doors closed, they walked towards the train station with the intention to stay there for the rest of the night until the first morning train came around 5 am. This night/morning, they had picked up a newspaper from somewhere and, in their high-spirited post-party mood, found it entertaining to bang it on people’s windows as they passed through town on their way towards the station.
They had no reaction in most houses, but suddenly a window opened, and a gentleman put out his head to ask if he could help them. He was wearing a uniform. My friends had not registered that among the houses was the local police station and, naturally, somebody was awake there. They were a bit befuddled but apologized and explained that they were just on their way to the train station. The policeman, fully aware that the first train would not roll in for another couple of hours, said that that sounded like a cold and unpleasant way to spend the night. He had a couple of empty cots in the back, why didn’t they come in? This way my friends spend their night – unbooked – in the detention. Come morning, they got coffee and breakfast and went on their way, probably a bit sheepish and a bit hung over, way.
This story has stayed with me because, to me, it showed how power can be used. Power to do something can also be power to refrain from doing something. This could have been the start of a rap sheet: Public disorder for sure. My friends could have been frightened by that prospect and have tried to run, so we could have added resisting arrest to the sheet. If there had been a will in that direction – from a quota to make this or that many arrests or from having a share in a privately owned prison system e.g. – more charges could probably have been brought, and what was otherwise a start of two productive careers might have looked much different. Now, in contrast, when I met with the two gentlemen at a reunion some years back, both still had a clean sheet.
Why is it that some people on getting the least bit of power feel it must be used to degrade the person they now can dominate? Is it a character trait? Or is it a culture within a group that fosters one behavior over the other?
Some companies rely on command and control and some use trust. The latter generally have lower attrition rates and make more money. If coercion doesn’t get anybody anywhere positive, why do people keep using it?
It seems an eternal enigma: from Frodo Baggins to George Washington, power is best given to those that don’t seek it.
Thank you to Melissa Hughes for “provoking” me to put this out.
We should never let go of our dreams because they will never give up on us.
~Maria Lehtman
I was reminded this week again how important hope is. I lost a friend who was deeply grounded in nature and loved mountains. Had I not battled through the long goodbye to my mother, I would have been more shaken. Now I knew he was safely at the summit. I feel sad, but I know he would want me to stay at peace.
Hope is not only for others; it’s for everyone. The ones who walk towards the great gates to the beyond and the ones staying here.
Hope has a way of connecting people like an invisible network. It needs no words to be passed on.
When you are a leader, your mission extends to gestures that kindle the light in people. How to keep them dreaming and innovating. How to fill them with hope no matter the circumstances.
I’ve had a long break in story writing. Three years, in fact. The time I needed to find solid ground for my own hope. I had setbacks and grief that took me on a journey I mostly walked alone. But as I tend to say, we walk alone but never without guidance.
I miss my friend. But he taught me about the meaning of hope against all odds. To be grateful. To respect people. To honor life.
My next story is being edited as we speak. It has a home in a book by my dear friend Char (Charlotte) Murphy, Esq. I look forward to sharing more about it.
Wherever you are in life, know that there is always someone who knows you and accepts you just as you are. We are not looking for people who do not feel – but people who can understand how important teams and ecosystems are.
The feelings make our missions real to us.
Stay safe, Friends
I haven’t been near Matterhorn for a long while, but I’ve always loved the scene that I captured. I’ll meet you at the base camp!
Forgive me. I am still a bit rusty on writing compelling literature. It’s been a while and I’ve been much more focused on other realities… I’ll do my best to stay on target.
Having quit social media for an extended period of time, I noticed a drastic improvement in my ability to focus. I’m certain we’ve all read a variety of articles illustrating just how negative social media can impact our mental acuity. I cannot rehash all the facts, figures, or statistics on this topic because I haven’t done my proper homework. I cannot tell you how algorithms or social media influencers affect certain age groups or demographics. I simply don’t have that information. However, I will say that – since joining Medium and shamelessly returning to LinkedIn after swearing it off – my anxieties and stress levels have skyrocketed tenfold. I’m right back to where I was two years ago.
The problem is that I have a great love for so many talented artists and writers – many of whom are right here on BizCatalyst 360°. I simply couldn’t stay away.
I’m a supporter of all creative beings, for better or worse. I can’t help it. I do my best to encourage and share, to enlighten, and have intellectual discussions.
I do this for several reasons – because I love art and I love writing to the very core of my essence. The other reason is that my personal career has become increasingly more complex and difficult with each passing year. As much as I love my work, it demands more and more of my attention and soul, to the point where I’m terrified of never fulfilling my creative potential as an artist or writer.
In many ways, you could say that I have a marginal case of Impostor Syndrome. While I do enjoy the challenges associated with Technical Writing and government contracting, I lack the killer instinct for business development and corporate theology. I am an artist and a free spirit, a creative journalist moonlighting in the salt mines of reality. While I do quite well in my career, I feel there is something slowly dying inside as I lose more and more ground on my passion. Worse, social media exacerbates the tension in strange ways that I can’t always express. It’s akin to being haunted by the ghost of an alternate reality. That probably makes zero sense and it’s an incredibly unfair and negative mindset, but it washes over me from time to time.
After disconnecting the first time, I began to value and appreciate things on a much higher level. I took a long time away to examine my feelings and objectives, but I eventually realized that I missed the voices calling out from the creative void. I needed to be a part of the tribe, despite the noise and aggravation that comes with social media. To this day I cannot make heads or tails of my emotions. I don’t wish to be analyzed. I know myself quite well. I know what I’m capable of and bright enough to work through the voodoo psychology. It’s just a suffocating feeling that goes hand-in-hand with being a misfit.
For the record – I don’t reject that label. It is a unique identifier. I truly am a misfit. I don’t say that to be faux eccentric, but I have never fit in. The real struggle is being pulled by the gravity of two radically different worlds – corporate vs. creative. I am literally torn in two. I serve two masters, one of them secretly. It is a badge of insecurity that hangs like an anchor around my neck. The only saving grace is that it brings me right back here to the canvas. It brings me back to the keyboard with these itchy bleeding fingers. It is the terror of not creating… of losing touch with the inspiration and fire that catapults the imagination. It is the brimming star of destiny which dims to a little white blip in the center of a dark television screen. What follows is silence.
Indeed. I have to shake it off. I am not suicidal or depressed, but I do have to force myself to work harder and not surrender to the machine. Perhaps I am being overly self-critical, but this is my personal mind splatter. I have never shared this before. We are all human and sometimes it is necessary to let the shadows breathe. I’ll go back to my turmoil now, and focus on more positive endeavors. I just want to wish you all the very best – to never doubt your gifts or abilities. I want you to reach for the brightest flame possible, to burn your fingers in the process of trying. You must stop at nothing to achieve your dreams, or at least go down with the ship while giving it your all. That is where you will find me. Most important, you must keep a very close pulse on your spirit ladies and gents.
It is speaking to you… constantly… but are you willing to listen?
Author’s Note: In last week’s post, I shared the words of my sister, Lynn, at my mother’s passing. These are my own.
My mother passed away on January 19th. In the weeks leading up to her passing, as she wasted away from dementia, unable to eat or drink, I found myself thinking about dreaming. And I created the two videos that appear in this post. At first, I didn’t know why I was thinking about dreaming or creating videos about it. But I think I do now.
My dad was what you might call a presence. (The photo in the post linked here was taken after he was sworn in as First Selectman in Old Lyme, Connecticut, where he and my mom lived at the time. I was photobombing because I’d managed his campaign.) He was social, outgoing, the quintessential gregarious Irishman. He loved being engaged. He was President of the Connecticut Jaycees, 1958-1959. He was involved in Civitan when they lived in Meriden, Connecticut. When they moved to Old Lyme, he was on the Planning and Zoning Commission before being elected First Selectman.
In 1998, they moved to Murrell’s Inlet, South Carolina. They lived in a golf community called Indigo Creek. As soon as he was able — and when he wasn’t on the links with the neighborhood pals he quickly met — he served on the community’s Drainage Committee. And when he wasn’t doing either of those things, he and another crew of his buddies would shuttle cars around the Carolinas and Georgia for Hertz. He was really good at everything except doing nothing.
They moved back, to Madison, Connecticut, in 2011. The pattern continued.
And Then …Mom’s life was Dad. When he played golf, she’d get up at 0:Dark:30 to make his breakfast. (None of Dad’s golf pals could believe she did that.) When he went to Drainage Committee meetings, she’d stay home. When he drove for Hertz, she’d stay home. When they socialized, they did it together after Dad made all the arrangements.
Mom’s devotion to Dad was wonderful, of course. But when Dad passed away, my siblings and I were shocked to see how lost she was. She’d never made a life for herself. She held a number of jobs, part- and full-time. But she never had a sense of herself. She never found a cause, a purpose, or a calling. If she dreamed of things, of doing things, she never followed those dreams or pursued them in any meaningful or fruitful way.
The first time I went to have dinner with Mom after Dad passed, she was cutting peaches to make one of her favorite desserts: baked peaches with brown sugar and maple syrup. She was crying. When I asked why, she said, “Dad always used to cut the peaches.” It was heartbreaking.
The MoralClichés abound: You have to stay active as you age. You have to remain occupied. You have to keep your mind and your body stimulated. You have to continue to create new neural pathways to keep your brain from stultifying. All true. But more than anything, you need to have a purpose. You need to have a dream.
Over the course of a lifetime, different things may get you out of bed in the morning. But if you take them one at a time, you’ll always have at least one thing worth getting up for. And the more you dream, the more you’ll have.
By reading to me as a child, you gave me the dream of being a writer, Mom. I’m a writer. I wish you’d been able to do more dreaming.
When time flies by and we become older (to be positive –you are as old as you feel and have lively senses) it seems that specific scenes and accompanying words visit our consciousness in a way that could be described as déjà vu. As if an experience had taken place twice.
How many of us experience genuine, spontaneous déjá vu? Sometimes a little scary because you are ‘there’ and then transported back. But at the same time, images become real.
When walking around a village, woodland, or countryside which was visited as a child but long forgotten but remaining deep in the memory, ready and waiting to jump out at us. At that point, exchanges of conversation return and expand, until you are ‘there’ again. The memories really take you back, bringing the experience to ‘now’. The déjà vu experience. taking us back to the past. But we are ‘there’ now. It could be a dream that transported you to the past.
A past dream; especially flying dreams.
Consider the senses; gray matter instantly ‘remembering’ a sight, odour, or sound in an instant, a number of past experiences; different years unify and deliver as one. Faster than an iPhone.
There are descriptions of such experiences in my two ebooks courtesy BizCatalyst 36O°; Volume 1 and Volume 2.
Many childhood experiences stimulated by a similar ‘happening’ and freeing the heart to expand on those memories take you back to when you were a kid.
Next time you witness a real déjà vu, free the heart and re-live the experience. They never depart; hidden deep within gray matter, where just one signal can bring it all back. Just think of the gray matter’s tasks. Signals flying around the rain, synapses connecting this way, and that is where acetylcholine connects nerve endings to assist in such a journey.
The same journey years apart but experiencing now.
A little fantasy and imagination. Déjà vu takes you to the future.
Déjà vu
Gumshoe did some pondering on this quiet Sunday afternoon and he thought of folks who have made “understatements“ that ended up being “overstatements” due to vicissitude of fortune.
Gumshoe thinks of an occasion when he clearly made an off-hand, innocent, careless, and thoughtless understatement that quickly became overstated; e.g., “When is the baby due?” (The female recipient’s reply) “I’M NOT PREGNANT!
Code RED! DEFCON 3! Gumshoe, exit stage LEFT! No way to clean up on aisle 7.
You see dear readers, just how an understatement can result in evolving into an overstatement without malice aforethought.
Gumshoe, who loves American history, remembers an offhand or maybe a flippant understatement of bravado that due to a Confederate sharpshooter’s aim became an unintended overstatement. It was in May of 1864 during the American Civil War (some folks call it the War Between the States) during the battle of Spotsylvania Courthouse (Virginia). One 50-year-old Union Major General by the name of John Sedgwick (also known affectionately by the moniker, “Uncle John”, by his troops was commanding the battle. General “Uncle John” was afoot (meaning not on his general’s horse) and was viewing the active battle front. One of his staff officers cautioned the general that he just might be a wee bit too close to the action.
General “Uncle John” dismissively retorted:
“They could not hit an elephant from this dis . . .”
Simultaneously, a Confederate rifle ball struck below the general’s left eye and killed him instantly. “Uncle John” was gone. The general’s joking remark was punched lined by that Confederate sharpshooter who definitely had the last laugh. Sad but true in the perilous time of war.
Gumshoe opines that the time and place, along with the circumstances, will always determine our understatements to birth an “unintended understatement” that does not result in an “overstatement” with a BANG!
Well, that’s the end of Gumshoe’s ruminations for now dear readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and even try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Goodnight General “Uncle John” wherever you are.
Making friends as an adult can feel like a baffling obstacle course. Why was it so much easier to connect as kids? To help you find well-rounded and fulfilling friendships, psychologist Marisa Franco discusses science-backed tips on how to make (and keep) friends, like the optimism-inducing “acceptance prophecy” and the shame-reducing “theory of chums.” Learn more about the power of platonic love and how it can help you experience the full richness and complexity of who you are.
The tragic death of tWITCH (his stage name), Stephen Boss, by suicide not long ago almost shocked me and breaks my heart. He was Ellen Degeneres’ cohost and executive producer on her show for many years.
An amazingly energetic, talented, and seemingly happy professional dancer who always brought a smile to my face, and millions of others decided, in a moment he can’t take back, that his life wasn’t worth living.
The day before, he had posted a TikTok where he was, it appeared, joyfully dancing. No one, it seemed, knew the pain he was suffering because depression doesn’t always LOOK LIKE depression. When we are suffering, we often wear a mask, so no one knows, so that we can function in life, and usually because we feel shame.
In my book, I refer to it as the “facade.” He was the father of three children, was happily married for many years, and was highly successful and RICH.
Tragically, suicides are on the rise; the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) reports that suicide, overall, remains a major public health issue. It is the 10th leading cause of death in the U.S.
I have my ideas about why this is so. I think it has to do with our increasing lack of connectedness to others and community and to what’s truly valuable and false underlying beliefs perpetuating feelings of emptiness and hopelessness. If only I had this job, this house, this much money, this person…if only, if only, if only. None of those things is ever the answer.
And because we don’t know the difference between happiness, which comes from external things, and JOY, which comes from within.
Questions may plague us like … what’s my value? do I have value? what’s the meaning of life? what is my purpose? And sometimes, when we come up empty, the will to live is lost.
tWITCH was only 40 and leaves behind three young children and a broken-hearted wife. Clearly, he had so much more to give to this world, but he lost hope that his life and existence mattered when that was the opposite of the truth. But he couldn’t see it in that moment when he put a gun to his head.
Some people believe that suicide is a selfish act, but I disagree. It may appear that way, but when someone reaches that point of despair, their brain is SICK, and the despairing person’s brain ceases to think rationally.
“CRAZY” thoughts such as everyone will be better off without me…life is not worth living…it’s too painful to endure…it will NEVER get better…overtake rational, self-preserving thoughts.
I know because I’ve been there. But unlike tWITCH, somehow I didn’t kill myself, and I would never have known the joy that I experience and talk about frequently if I had ended my life.
Anytime I hear about someone who has died by suicide, my heart turns and aches because I think if only I could have told them to wait…not do it…you matter…because there is so much light and beauty on the other side of the darkness.
I cry for tWITCH, his family, and everybody who loved him because his death ends the chance that he would ever experience the abundant light that comes after the darkness. And this is an opportunity to remember that one doesn’t always know the pain another is suffering and that kindness may save a life.
Jabeen, a Pakistan-born woman watched her mother, who did not know English, struggle to the point of suicide in England. Jabeen’s own knowledge of English was essential to overcoming loneliness when she found herself without friends or family after immigrating to the U.S. English was the difference between failing and flourishing for these two women.
Time is free, but it’s priceless. You can’t own it, but you can use it. You can’t keep it, but you can spend it. Once you’ve lost it you can never get it back.
~Harvey Mackay
I have come to learn that life unfolds like a book; some things we anticipate, most are unpredictable, and the players and landscape can change without warning. Although we may have little control over specific circumstances, we do have full accountability in how we respond.
Life is complicated, it is easy, it is beautiful, it is messy, and can be hard when tough things happen all at once…
Our son and his girlfriend were in a ‘car rage’ incident, and the other driver pulled a gun and shot at them, with the bullet going through the back passenger window. They are not harmed but traumatized.
My dear friend’s Mother just passed away suddenly from natural causes. She is heartbroken and is now a Motherless Daughter.
Our son’s best friend would have been 30 years old this week. Sadly, he committed suicide and never saw this day.
Tyre Nichols lost his life at the brutal hands of police officers in Memphis Tennessee. A senseless, sad, and horrific act that is repeating itself without change.
As I sit and ‘feel the feels’ of trauma and loss, there is a common thread that binds:
Your life can change instantly without warning.
There is a keen awareness for me now around, living and dying, beginning and endings and what happens in-between.
Although I cannot change what has happened, I know that time is non-refundable, and I want to make it count.
So, for today, I am laser-focused on:
Moments Matter: To be completely present with my own feelings, my surroundings, my intentions and stay highly present and engaged in every interaction. Connection and belonging are key for those I love the most – I want them to hear and feel my heart.
Intentional Mindfulness: There is time we control and time we waste. Where am I feeling disconnected? Disengaged? Aligned? Centered? Joyful? My hope is to have more clarity on how I am using the time I have with this life that was given to me.
Inviting Courage to the Table: Finding the courage to soar and the courage to fail. Creating more opportunities to explore new activities, conversations or adventures that take me to my growing edges. Hoping to look back with no regrets because fear was the cornerstone.
How often have we looked backwards with some sense of remorse or regret? Unresolved forgiveness, words unspoken, dreams that dwindled, love held but never shared?
How will you spend your time today?
Feeling feelings
My fear feels like …
a pit in my stomach
sitting on the edge
a black hole
a voiceless voice
a tuning into sadness
a stop sign
a don’t, can’t, stop, stop sign
something bigger
overwhelm
and … dropping into my loneliness
a feeling of empty
a void, a deep sadness
silent tears, in the pit –
of my stomach
a surge of longing rises up
and then … silence
and, I’m left wondering –
where is my anger …
how does anger reside in me?
where is my love …
how does love manifest from me?
where is my joy …
how does joy live within me,
outside of me?
Hello, again dear readers. Gumshoe read about a plaque that is within the vestibule of a Catholic Church, “Our Lady of Mount Carmel”, that is in Bronx, New York. This is not news since numerous church entrances display a sundry array of plaques, posters, pictures, and bulletins.
Ahem, so what?
However, this particular plaque draws the reader’s attention to the church bells. The bells mark the passage of time. That is old news.
Okay, here is Gumshoe’s point of reference for reflection dear readers.
The one inscribed phrase that stuck out to Gumshoe from this plaque read: “. . . when time stops, eternity begins.” Gumshoe pondered this phrase and thought of the times in his LEO career when time indeed stopped and to Gumshoe it really seemed to be an eternity.
To wit:
Gumshoe wrestling down in the dirt and debris in the city of Santa Ana, California, a back alley with a dope-crazed suspect at 2:00 AM. The suspect was attempting to enter the bedroom window of a teenage female. You can readily guess his evil intent kind readers. The hysterical and startling blood-curdling screams from this young female not only alerted her parents but also Gumshoe as well.
Officer Gumshoe just happened to be in “the right place at the right time“ on “routine patrol” inside his assigned beat barrio on this dark and rainy night. Gumshoe immediately went out on foot from his police unit to track down the source and cause of the near-distant screams. Gumshoe put out an “unknown trouble call” on his portable radio and Gumshoe traipsed along the adjoining driveways and alleyways.
The cacophony of barking dogs alerted Gumshoe to the fleeing suspect’s direction of travel. The K9 GPS at its best! Gumshoe and the suspect had their physical ground encounter about two blocks away from the victim’s residence.
It was always a source of wonderment to Gumshoe about how much energy and strength can be generated and fueled by the “flight-fight-freeze“ syndrome. Think of the comic book hero “The Amazing Hulk”. In this instance, think of a meth-head 20-year-old gang banger on probation for nighttime residential burglaries.
Gumshoe was able to physically restrain and handcuff this want-a-be Hulk after a pretty good tussle on the rain-drenched alley gutter. The far-off sounds of the wailing sirens from the rapidly approaching police units from adjacent patrol beats racing to assist were music to Gumshoe’s ears. Gumshoe was still in the muck and the mud doing the chicken with this “creepazoid”. It seemed like an eternity when time stopped until the blue-clad cavalry arrived.
To wit:
Gumshoe’s first officer-involved shooting when time just momentarily stopped and seemed like an eternity.
To wit:
The time when Gumshoe first heard of one of his fellow officer’s death in the line of duty . . . time just seem to stop in Gumshoe’s disbelief, shock, horror, disgust, anger, and sorrow.
Gumshoe is sure that all of you kind readers have had instances in your lives when time just stopped and it seemed like an eternity. Hopefully, it was not similar to Gumshoe’s unforeseen and unfortunate encounters.
When Gumshoe thinks about his instances of perceptions of time being stopped; eternity was real until those church bells rang again. . . “For Whom the Bells Tolls” rings true!
Well, dear readers, that’s Gumshoes thoughts for now that you may ponder in your own time. Always love the ones who love you and try to even love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Yesterday by chance, Gumshoe read this painted sign displayed on the rear window of a passing car in traffic: “Tomorrow is just a promise”. Hmm? Some more thoughtful pondering for Gumshoe to be sure.
Fragile, fractured people
Appear tough
Cannot admit to
Wounding others.
They only want to be
Seen as Good People.
They remain blind, deaf, and unaware
Of the too many ways
They dismiss, demean, and
Pierce others.
These ones need your compassion
The most, maybe from a
Distance as they struggle
To see themselves,
Hear themselves on speaker phone.
Most adults do not want to be seen as
Frightened children,
Yet many masquerade in
Grown-up bodies
With distressed inner pieces,
Desperately demanding to
Be seen as Significant People.
And are not all of us, at one time or another,
Scared children
Becoming whole adult
People in aging bodies
Wanting to be valued as
Good People?
You, too, have masked your
Fears with anger
To appear in control,
Yet, the bluster kept you
Out of control inside an
Illusion.
Loving witnesses remain
Forever present in the
Quiet last breaths before
Death awakens the
First breaths of
New life,
The wondrous
Moments in
Between.
Every person you meet
Remains a mirror
Of your own
Humanity,
Your own
Eternal
Divinity.
No, I’m not going to recite all of the lyrics to a Billy Joel song here, even though I have to admit, it’s a pretty catchy tune. You’re welcome, by the way, for putting the song in your head. This is more about the thoughts of a chronic insomniac. That would be me, in case you’re wondering.
Maybe it’s my age bracket, and we’ll get to that, or it could be that I haven’t had 10 good “sleeps” post cancer treatment (but who’s counting). The truth of the matter is sleep can be “elusive.” At least that’s what the lady says on my meditation app. I usually fall asleep somewhere during the meditation, but lately I seem to be hearing it in its entirety and saying to myself, “That’s it? It’s over?”
Then I change to a different meditation by an English gent who begins by saying, “You must not listen to this meditation whilst driving.” Whilst driving? WHILST? Isn’t the point of a SLEEP meditation to listen to it while you have the hopes of falling asleep? This guy says things like, “You’re going to sleep,” followed by this weird whisper of “sleep, sleep, sleep” like some kind of subliminal message. Instead of buying into it, I find myself counting how many times he says “sleep.” Another epic fail at a meditation and the continued “elusiveness” of sleep.
Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I get thinking too much about “things,” especially at 3:30 am when I have an important meeting the next day at 9 am. Or rather, that very morning. I look at the clock and think, “If I can fall asleep in 30 minutes, I’ll have 3 more hours of sleep.” You know how this goes, right? I look over at the clock and the “countdown” for lesser sleep begins.
Recently, during one of my in-the-middle-of-the-night pondering sessions, I thought, “Holy crap! I am closer to being 70 years old than I am to being 30!” Or 35, for that matter. It was quite a “smack in the face” epiphany. Wasn’t I 30 just yesterday? I mean, I even remember my birthday dinner out with my friends! We had a cheese fondue with all kinds of food to dip in it. It was delicious, by the way. How the hell did I get HERE already? Now, I can’t even remember what I had for lunch yesterday or where I was two Saturdays ago at noon. Some crime witness I would make!
The police, “Ma’am (this is always an awesome greeting; like hearing your age through a megaphone), where were you on the 20th of last month?”
“Sir (some respect for authority), I don’t even remember what I had for breakfast this morning.” I figure it would go something like that.
Since we’re on the topic of not remembering things, we might as well touch on the hearing issue as well. I barely have one ears’ worth. I’m officially middle-aged, the proof being tinnitus in one ear, along with all of the rock concert ticket stubs I have in a box that I can’t find because I’m unable to recall where I put it. Fun times.
Is this proof of middle-age and a life well-lived? Battle scars that provide proof of existence?
“Now here’s a woman who has lived! She has a multitude of scars all over her body from a plethora of surgeries, she can’t hear out of one ear, can’t sleep to save her life and clearly has a serious case of CRS (Can’t Remember Shit)!”
I have two kids in their twenties who, I often can’t believe, I’ve kept alive and well all this time. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive unless it is attached to a hydroponic garden that buzzes when it’s out of water. Come to think of it, I somehow still have a little cactus plant that I knocked over and destroyed, but was able to put back into the pottery it lived in. LIVES in. It’s still alive, miraculously.
Both of my kids talked me into getting another dog when my oldest was heading off to college. “Mom, Callie (our yellow lab) will be so sad when I’m away at college. She needs a friend.” Am I not her friend? And also the person who feeds her, picks her poop up off the yard, and somehow, keeps her alive as well?
Enter Milo, the Shorkie, who I love, but is also a contributing factor to the “no sleep” issue. He is the dog we got when I was in my forties. When we took him to the vet for the first time, my then teenage son pointed to the lifespan chart on the wall and said, “Hey Mom, you’re going to have this dog until you’re in your sixties,” followed by uproarious laughter. His, not mine. Apparently, the less a dog weighs, the longer he/she lives. Who knew?
He’s a small dog, super cute (I’ll give him that) and insists on sleeping on my bed. This only takes place after he plays a five minute “cat and mouse” game with me. He comes to the side of my bed and cries to come up. I get out of bed (a high bed that I once thought was awesome that now feels like a catapult is necessary to mount), bend down to get him and he hides under the bed. “I’m too old for this shit,” I often think. This goes on for five minutes of my life I can’t get back and, finally, I get him up on the bed.
Milo likes to lay/lie (whichever, since I’m no literary genius) in his little bed ON my bed. It’s the mattress version of nestling dolls. During another of my in-the-middle-of-the-night pondering sessions, I look down near my feet to see him laying/lying (please don’t rat me out to one of my high school/college English teachers for this) on his back, like Snoopy on his dog house, snoring so loud he sounded like a grown human. The dog weighs maybe 8 pounds.
My boyfriend is quite the trooper. I mean, he puts up with me of course. Even he cannot believe the sounds that emanate from such a small being. We look at each other like we can’t believe we are witnessing such a sound. Then he rolls over, snores and now I have a human-canine cacophony of snoring. Someone please shoot me.
As we age, the challenges change, of course. How often have we all been up in the middle of the night distracted by, or worrying about, something?
Are my babies ok? When they actually WERE babies, I would think this, get up 3 times in the night and check on them. Did I wash the right soccer uniforms for tomorrow? How am I going to get two kids to two separate soccer fields and somehow watch them both play? Are the kids safe and well at college? Did I get this done, that done. “Blah, blah, BLAH!!” yells the mind.
Like the Dos Equis guy would say, “I don’t always sleep, but when I do, I sleep.” Ah, the challenges we face as we age. I’ll take it, I guess. Finding my “off” switch is an ever-evolving process. I’m sure I’ll get through it like I seem to get through everything else – in the middle of the night.
Since I was a little girl, I have been told that my great ~grandmother was Native American.Through the years, if I liked chanting and Native American memorabilia, my mom would say it was because of my heritage and the reason why she has darker skin. It was our story. When I began to learn and commit so many years to Shamanism, my mom would remind me, once again, it was because of my indigenous ancestral ties. In 2015, we all took the DNA test which revealed we were not ancestrally Native American. My mom was and continues to be in shock that she had believed a story all her life that turned out to be simply untrue. We had told ourselves this ancestral story all of our lives, only to find out we had been giving the wrong information.
To me, this is the value of New Thought teachings. We are able to free people from the false stories they have been told all of their lives in order to create a new, bright, and dynamic existence. A person can clearly move from “impossible” to “I’m possible.”
For the first 45 years of my life, I used to say to my mom, “Am I adopted?” I would ask my mom this question because I always felt so different from any of my family and for the most part, did not physically look like any of them. I realize now that the disconnect I felt back then was not the feeling of being adopted, but rather allowing myself to “adopt” to ideas and beliefs which were not mine. On some level, I knew energetically that something did not add up or “the shoe didn’t fit,” as the saying goes. Probably many of you reading this have had similar stories told to you about who you are, and as vibrant beings—like me—you desired to fit it. On my birthday I always celebrate that I have healed from the need and the desire to fit in with any story other than the one I know to be true.
I invite you to celebrate this amazing teaching which gives all of the freedom to be who we truly are. You are a child of the Universe. Always express the real you.
Transformation happens in the light of awareness.
You are that light.
Shining, eternal, infinite. Light.
Losing sight of yourself in your creative process
You forget.
It seems that to transform is impossible.
Clouding yourself with yourself.
Till you remember,
And remember.
And light is seen as who you are.
Shining, eternal, infinite awareness.
The light.
Transformation inevitable.
How is a cancer journey in Australia, as compared to the US? I had no idea! Thanks to a beautiful human being from “down under” named Dane McCormack, I had the privilege and true honor of getting a glimpse into his world! Dane’s story is incredible, but more incredible is the person that Dane is! After all that he has been through, I am truly mesmerized at his attitude, his spirit, and his beautiful presence! Dane was in the hospital for a year, and had several parts of his body surgically removed. Yet, he has a wonderful and refreshingly positive attitude! Join us for this unique virtual journey “down under” to hear this amazing man!
Trevor Joe Lennon interviews Felix Cavaliere, The King of Blue-Eyed Soul. His songs helped define a generation. from JoeyDee and the Starlighters The Beatles and working Robert Kennedy’s campaign in 68′ People Got To be Free! He is a member of…
- The Rock N Roll Hall of Fame
- Musicians Hall of Fame
- Grammy Hall of Fame
- Songwriters Hall of Fame
- Vocal Group Hall of Fame
- Hit Parader Hall of Fame
- Hammond Hall of Fame
The Rascals had 18 Top 40 Hits, 5 Top 10 Hits, and 3 No. 1 Mega Hits including “Groovin’,” “Good Lovin’,” “Beautiful Morning,” “How Can I Be Sure,” and “People Got To Be Free.”
Trevor Joe Lennon · Felix Cavaliere The Rascals Trevor Joe Lennon
We reconnected on Facebook a few years ago after I freed myself from the over two-decade marriage. I knew them in high school. My memory was of a quiet, reserved, and kind person. A gentle presence, they occurred unassuming yet not ever invisible. They remembered me being on stage in the musical, “Bye, Bye, Birdie.” I played the role of Doris McAfee, the mother of a high school senior named Kim. Kim wins a chance to be kissed by Conrad Birdie, an Elvis-like character who is getting ready to leave the country as a member of the military forces. The musical is a fun, lively, romp of music and dances with a storyline not particularly thought-provoking or soul-stirring.
As a thespian in high school, I enjoyed the opportunity to become other characters. Acting occurs like a permission slip to become different personas, especially when you recognize your own unique self was disgraceful and loathed in the eyes of significant people. Summer theater experiences, middle school drama club, and high school Thespians became acceptable expressive outlets, a way to escape the scapegoat experience I endured.
My high school friend reached out through messenger, and we set up a time to meet at Stauf’s Coffee Shop. We hadn’t seen each other in over 30 years.
Our meeting seemed divinely orchestrated as I felt an immediate closeness and emotional rapport with them. We shared many memories of our hometown, friends, families, and teachers we had known. They remembered coming to my parents’ house for letter-stuffing parties during election season. We grew up as children in well-known families in our small town. We shared effortlessly. Though I know I cry easily, I felt very safe to cry openly, to grieve-love the truths of my choice to cordon off my past and heal. They had relatable experiences of difficulties and healing. We shared candid, vulnerable stories of our challenges past and present. I vividly remember when my friend said, “You know I can be with you at your dad’s funeral when that time comes. I can be your protector, a buffer with people from our town with whom you don’t want to interact. Being there might mean a lot to you if you choose this, and it’s your choice to attend or not. Just know I will be at your side if you want to be there.” Tears streamed down my face.
At the time of our conversation, I had no contact with my family of origin. I had relocated to North Carolina and returned to central Ohio for a short visit. I knew no details about my dad’s health. I assumed my dad had declined.
After my divorce and a decade of estrangement, my parents and I reconnected in what I would describe as an unsustainable détente. About once a week for a couple months, I drove to my parents’ house, took them grocery shopping, then we ate lunch at one of the restaurants they liked. Afterward, I chauffeured them back to the house with their groceries, helped unload the bags into their kitchen, and departed.
During these visits, my dad greeted me warmly and afterward remained relatively quiet inside his own world. My mother and I navigated stilted interaction. I felt slightly hopeful, extremely cautious, and remained respectfully cordial. Consistently kind in his demeanor, my dad smiled with genuine warmth and a shadowy gaze. He failed to recall the names of townspeople when they greeted my parents at Bun’s Restaurant or Buehler’s Fresh Market Café. He always asked my mother who the person was after they walked away and said, “I have no idea who that was.” Often the individual was someone my dad had known for decades. Dementia slowly creates a void, heartbreaking for family and friends. More and more of my dad exited the realms of his mind, and eventually, his body.
I have no clear picture of the last time I saw my dad.
When my brother called me to tearfully share the news of our dad’s death, I knew I wanted to attend his celebration of life. I was his second daughter. I loved, still love, and will always love my dad with all my heart. A floodgate of memories and grieflove poured forth in the wake of his death: the years of sane, healthy, heart-wrenching estrangement, his choosing always to love my mother, his exceptional, passionate work for his community.
I contacted my friend. They said, “I will be there for you, my friend.”
Joined by four beloved friends, including my cherished friend I had reconnected with at Stauf’s Coffee Roasters, I attended my dad’s celebration of life. I felt buoyed by the presence of four earth angels. One of whom will forever be a gentle catalyst, a voice of compassionate encouragement for my brave, loving self to rise and show up with grace and dignity. We both know Love can simultaneously be courageous, vulnerable, and kind. This beloved friend remains imbued with God’s Love and many beautiful gifts, including their ability to speak heart-healing words infused with wisdom, kindness, and gentleness. They are a beautiful, shining light of unwavering, deep caring and generosity, a person willing to show up at your side. #KindnessMatters
Twitter provides us with a wonderful platform to discuss/confront societal problems. We trend Justin Bieber instead.
― Lauren Leto
I could write a book on my love-hate relationship with Twitter. But I choose to keep it short, like Twitter is. Twitter, with its 140-letter character limits aimed to be a world and society-changing platform.
One can get access to celebrities directly, following them and reacting to their news, views, and rants. Twitter has made the world the common man’s oyster. Official government news, announcements, and comments about movers and shakers – through their ‘official handles’ directly connect with their ‘followers’. The most followed people have more than 10 Million followers.
The platform went through an upheaval starting with the US 2016 elections. Fake news and political canards flew thick and fast in the elections, and for the first time, Twitter along with Facebook proved the power of social media to swing an election by influencing micro-targets. Major issues like Make America Great Again, Black Lives Matter, Me too, and the January 6 Insurrection got dissected and weaponized into decisive swings and action among people on either side of the aisle.
Fake news driven by dogma, fuelled by passionate rhetoric, fuels binary thinking. People who participate tend to react than respond, getting into slang matches, often personal and then the downslide happens. This extends further, using ‘hashtags’, to propel and fuel a topic or a point of view, which then reaches a volume and becomes a ‘trending topic.’ A video or a text content could go viral.
One of the offshoots is the meme-making industry. There are specialist meme makers – often viral, witty, satirical, and sometimes, venomous memes, and spiral into ‘trending topics’.
I switched on Twitter as a necessary means to reach writer, reader and publishing communities. It worked well for me, but the distraction of ‘trends’ and the tweets on the feed is a dirty magnet, attracting me to potentially explosive conversations. The urge to react, considering the taunts (again, the mistake of getting consumed, is on the beholder, in this case, me) was overwhelming. So, I switched off. It is a decision I choose to live with these days, but the impact of the cesspool does not leave me easily. So I decided to get it off my chest.
The whole atmosphere on Twitter today is a chaotic, toxic environment of celebrities, newsmakers, and trolls, trying to run down each other. The devolution of a democratic platform that started with a noble intention is what I call the ‘Twitter travails’.
These are personal views, so I won’t apologize. There is a more balanced forum that exchanges views and despite differences, the exchanges are open-minded and fair. I wish short form-social media would be like that, but it is not, so I would be living in a fool’s paradise if I believe so.
Passion and Dogma:A common human has things to say. The ‘things to say’ are quintessential opinions. Opinions are funny, in the sense that they are perspectives without facts. They are instinctive, emotional, and biased, and form the basis of reactions. The common human seldom dons the thinking hat, for the verbiage of the reaction, which we shall call ‘opinion’ is a culmination of fear, frustration, insecurity, bias, and conditioning. The ingredients of opinions are the basal negatives of human instinct.
The opinions that are held with passion are always those for which no good ground exists; indeed the passion is the measure of the holder’s lack of rational conviction. Opinions in politics and religion are almost always held passionately.
― Bertrand Russell, Sceptical Essays
The key operating word in Bertrand’s quote is ‘passion’. Passion is the fundamental premise to opinion, and it defangs the ‘rational conviction’. Religion and politics, especially in the cesspool of equitable, untethered, and undeterred access – which today is called ‘free speech’, have armies of passionate believers who track and troll intending to shut down the contrarians.
In my article on ‘Binary Humans’, I had written about how do passion fuelled by dogma creates a whirlpool of reactions and counter-reactions, leading to an explosive atmosphere. The passionate propensity of the trolls and followers to precipitate any news that scores for them. The emotional chain is not broken, but wave after wave of canards, myths, and fake news is floated. This is no less than propaganda, well-oiled and organized, almost Gobbelsian in magnitude.
It might sound alarmistic, but passion is blind and so is anger. When these two causes of blindness combine, it is total darkness. We see the lack of dignity and politeness in responses, with trending hashtags, being ‘called names’. To score a point and have the last word at the cost of human dignity is exactly why the cesspool of Twitter has become toxic.
Any crack that is visible in human society is yanked open, and salt is rubbed without mercy on the wounds. Religion, science, politics, race, and nation – all these are the labels of identity that the leaders and their passionate followers wear, and the proverbial binary yardstick is applied.
I am not saying that there are good, utopian, meaningful, and open-minded conversations. They are. But they are like a little speck, swept aside in a feed that washes over like a tempestuous sea.
The heroes and the villainsThe second dimension to this toxic twitter is the celebrities and trolls. Unlike other social media – including Facebook and Instagram, Twitter is considered more ‘official’. Celebrities have two legs to stand on – their fans or followers, and their vanity. The followers feed their vanity and the celebrities pander to the followers. This is a normal phenomenon going back to the pre-Internet era.
But there is a big difference. The road to fame has gotten easier, and more importantly, more instantaneous. We see overnight celebrities, based on single events.
A kind of banalization of celebrity has occurred: we are now offered an instant, ready-to-mix fame as nutritious as packet soup.
― J.G. Ballard, The Atrocity Exhibition
While celebrities have Instagram handles and Facebook pages, Twitter is where the real flesh-and-blood action happens. I am not sure why, celebrities have a thing for Twitter and the trolls are looking for blood. Now, they say, any news is good news, because celebrities love to ride the ways. Their followers create the high tide based on the type of news, for the celebrity or against.
The instant celebrity is a product of the Internet Era. They have unlimited access to their followers. But for every vain hero, there is a vicious villain on the prowl.
Celebrities often think that social media is an apparent safety net. The physical distance yet the electronic proximity. If you consider that there is a virtual fence, there are three types of followers who jump over this fence.
Cyberstalkers and Trolls:The first one is the fan – the fanatic one – who resorts to stalking. Cyberstalking is an issue that celebrities deal with. More often, the Twitter handle of celebrities are run by their social media managers, but the fans don’t know that. The depth of fanaticism can obliterate the physical distance that is considered a safety net. Cyberstalking has the power to mentally harass the celebrity despite the safety perceived through physical distance. Cyberstalking can happen to even common, non-celebrity participants of Twitter.
The second one is the troll. A troll has two specific characteristics. They almost always have an opposite point of view. They also act like cyber-stalkers
Both cyber stalkers and trolls have one common characteristic. They are insecure people. But cyber stalkers stalk because of their obsessive nature, while a troll does it because of jealousy. The insecurity of many people today turns them into passionate but harmless participants. Cyberstalkers and trolls are a subset of these insecure people.
They only feed off of self-righteous rhetorical argument, trolls—even plain old reason doesn’t stand a chance.
― A.D. Aliwat, In Limbo
The short point here is that cyberstalking and trolling are done by people with broken minds. One cannot ignore the impact that they can cause both mentally and physically, even if their intrusion or assault may not be physical. The compulsive need of celebrities to share and engage with their followers puts them in a vulnerable position. This is where ‘vanity’ meets ‘jealousy’, a toxic cocktail of virtual, social interaction.
It’s dangerous to fool yourself into believing the online world is ‘virtual’ and the person behind the keyboard can’t inflict real-life harm.
― Ginger Gorman, Troll Hunting: Inside the World of Online Hate and its Human Fallout
Trolls have multiple roles. They can be the bloodhounds of those ‘passionate dogmatic’ leaders (the ones we saw in the earlier part), individuals with no agenda, or fans of celebrities. But trolls have one thing in common – they are messengers of hate. They carry hate in their heart. This hatred comes from self-loathing, which in turn comes from their insecurity.
Trolls can gang up and have pitched battles, much like the one on the streets. We can see this in ‘trending topics’ of opposing themes. This is where polarization begins. Polarization is the ultimate goal for those who want to succeed at any cost.
I recently had a poem published in a mag for mental awareness. It is geared toward people with disabilities to learn how to write poetry as a tool for therapy. Working through their depression and anxiety.
I personally suffer from depression and sometimes it’s hard to even get out of bed. I lack the ambition to do anything. Withdrawn into my own little space within my head.
I have been using poetry as a tool for many years now. My earliest poems have a lot of roller-coaster mood swings. From the low desperation of suicidal thoughts to the high-on-life phase of bipolar.
I remember when I was first diagnosed with bipolar depression. It was the lowest time in my life. Never having been diagnosed until the age of twenty-two. Couldn’t understand Why Me? My family did not understand it either. Placing the blame on themselves and feeling shame that their daughter was crazy. Or was she?
The point is many people suffer from depression and anxiety. Still very much misunderstood and often undiagnosed. In my family, most of our siblings have depression and anxiety.
I had the opportunity to be featured on their webpage. I wrote a whole article about feelings of and emotions. And I realized that others suffering could be helped to feel better with my poetry. It was meant to be read not hidden under the bed. I caught myself feeling shame. That people would know. I’d be opening up that part of my world for all to see. I felt vulnerable. And I questioned why I had submitted it there. I guess I thought it was going to be a place I could identify with others and understand myself better.
Some of my poems would fit like a glove plus I’d learn about the struggles of others. Even in today’s society depression is much understood. It would be nice if someone could wear my shoes.
I hope with this article that others will be helped and understood. That people would stop placing labels and get to the core of the problem. I don’t use disability as an excuse. I embrace it and treat it like any other disease. I am no longer a victim but a survivor. It’s a matter of perspective to stay positive and hard work.
Today I am stable and enjoying each day as if it’s my last. One day at a time. So I remain humble and count my blessings every day. My challenge for readers is to try to educate themselves about depression. Don’t look down on or judge because you never know it could be you next time.
Stop labeling depression as crazy. I’m no different than you. I get by with a little help from my friends.
In the meanwhile pick up that paper and pen and express yourself.
Happy penning © Eva Marie Ann Cagley
I am a goal-oriented person. I love making long-term goals. I’m also very visual, and I like having things around that remind me of my goal. Subtle things that I see and think, “Don’t forget that goal we made”. For me, daily reminders of my goals are almost critical to the success of that goal. Some objects I have around that will remind me months or years later that I need to make decisions that push me towards achieving my goal every single day. Even when things get grindy, as they do with most long-term goals, the visual reminders are so effective at keeping me on track and reminding me to be patient and consistent. The best part about long-term goals is the feeling of achieving that goal. The feeling of achieving a goal you have been working on for a decade is indescribable. And then… You get to set another goal!
The best way I can describe how I use visualizations is with a story I’ve told a number of people. The story is about my watch. I had a career-based goal. I told myself when I achieved this goal, I would get myself my favorite watch. My favorite watch is the IWC 50 Years of Science for Galapagos Aquatimer edition. The career goal I set was significant for me. The specific goal would take years to achieve and require me to do a lot of self-improvement work. At one point, I favorited a youtube ad for the watch. I watched that ad at least once a week… for years. 2-5 years after I set my goal, I had improved a lot but hadn’t reached my goal. I was trying to figure out what to do with my life and was starting to feel hopeless. I went into an IWC boutique and got their promotional book. I kept it on my desk and looked at my soon-to-be watch… for years.
We all have the ability to give up. Long-term goals span seasons of your life. Things change, goals change, and priorities change. There are countless reasons to re-evaluate long-term goals and adjust.
The goal I set wasn’t one that I could give up on. To give up on the goal I set would mean abandoning my core values. The IWC book was with me through some of the darker times of my life. It was a light that shined through everything and reminded me of who I knew I was going to be. I doubted myself. I experienced shame, anger, and confusion. I told myself I gave up. I felt lost. I saw my book with the fancy watches. Sometimes I’d sit down and stare at my future watch to kind of lower the volume of the background noise in my life. I remembered where past Mike was when he made his goal. I remembered all I’d already been through. I’d look at how the current passing issue will only be another thing that got in my way for a hot minute. I envisioned the Mike that has his watch. What would future Mike do right now? How would Mike overcome this so he can be more capable? What would future Mike be thankful for when he looks at his IWC? Future Mike would take action, so start making decisions that will lead to getting my watch.
Nine years, a trip across the country, a house, and many many setbacks later, my wife got me my watch. Sort of… It would be awesome if I could say I was wearing the Aquatimer while writing this. I can’t, but I’m totally cool with it. I knew I was achieving my goal. l knew I was going to get my watch. If I could find one. The watch I wanted was a limited edition. I usually saw one available when I looked but there had been fewer and fewer readily available in good condition. I looked for a while and couldn’t find one in time. In many stories, there’s a sad story of lowering standards and missing out. My wife who had been cheering me on, humoring my IWC obsession, and saving precious space on her bookshelves for my IWC books swooped in to save the day. She noticed what was going on and said she’d think of something. I was admittedly skeptical at first but went with it. My wife is pretty awesome with presents. She got my favorite new IWC watch, engraved with something very meaningful, and told me something that meant a lot, and she gave me my watch at ILPalio, a very nice restaurant in our town, in front of some of my favorite people. Zero regrets. I wouldn’t change a thing. To be fair, the watch she got me is way more work and brand appropriate than the one I wanted. She made the right choice, as usual.
I enjoyed achieving my goal and getting my watch, and soon after made another goal. The reward for achieving my new goal would be the Aquatimer, again. I still had my IWC books, but my wife had another plan. The specific kind of watch I got requires the watch to be in motion to work. If you put it on a desk for a weekend, you have to reset the time if the battery dies. The way around this firstiest world of problems is to buy a special device that winds your watches for you. Watches are that boujee. I asked for a watch winder as a Christmas present. My wife gave me the nicest watch winder I’d ever seen, and said something amazing. She said something along the lines of, “The second spot is for your next watch. I know you’ll get it so I’m saving myself time and you can remind yourself of your goals every day.” My wife speaks my nerdy love language.
I got my watch two years ago as of writing this. Every morning I get up, I take my watch out of the winder. I look at the empty spot next to my watch. I envision the Mike that has his favorite watch. What would future Mike do right now? How would Mike overcome today so he can be more capable? What would future Mike be thankful for when he looks at his favorite watch? Future Mike would take action, so start making decisions that will lead to getting my watch.
My friend and brilliant talking partner, Melissa Hughes, and I have been thinking a lot about curiosity lately.
Curiosity is central to my work as a coach. How can you help clients move off “I’m stuck…” if you’re not honestly curious by asking open-ended questions? And I made curiosity the theme of my podcast, Getting Unstuck–Cultivating Curiosity because our routine-filled lives blind us to so much potential wonder.
Curiosity is central to Melissa’s work as a neuroscience researcher as helps the rest of us understand the cranial convolutions between our ears. Curiosity, along with its evil twin, worry, notes Melissa is what pushes us to investigate the unknown and pulls us away from perceived danger. “We need both,” she advises.
She had used a curiosity-rich phrase a while back that stuck with me as the potential antidote to our autopilot lives:
Pay attention to what you’re paying attention to.
Living that philosophy even a little bit would force us to slow down. We might not just smell the roses; we might first see them.
So, we decided on a little experiment. We would deliberately engage in a long-standing behavior – something we had done many times before – to see what we might have missed or what had changed. We could engage in what I refer to as some wonder wandering.
I decided to take a walk in our nearby forest preserve — Yes, we have a forest preserve in Queens, NY! — an activity I had engaged in countless times during my now 11 years in the area. If I slowed down, took my time, didn’t listen to a podcast or a playlist, but just observed, what would I see?
Off I went to the forest preserve and, it turns out, miles of musings — a deep internal dive. It’s very interesting what comes to one’s mind when it isn’t flooded with the daily deluge of data.
I was still rubbing my arm from a brush with a bee when I noticed the vanity license plate — “Mizery” — held in a frame customized for one of our two New York football teams. The plate was for the New York team that had appeared only once in the Super Bowl to the other New York team’s eight appearances. “Mizery,” indeed. (And yes, the driver of said auto was obviously not the only one in pain because “Misery” was already taken.)
I am not a fan of either team. I follow the New England Patriots, not because they’ve appeared in 11 Super Bowls, but because I lived in Boston for some 25 years before moving to New York.
Actually, I’m more of a Red Sox baseball fan, which is interesting because my wife is a Yankee fan. Two eternal enemies like lions and hyenas. Or wolves and cattle ranchers. My wife and I get some interesting looks on the subway. One guy, pointing to our respective baseball caps, asked, “How does that work?”
Truth be told, my wife is more of a soccer fan, especially of the Juventus club, which plays out of Turin, Italy. My wife was born in Italy, so that may have something to do with her allegiance. She also speaks fluent Italian. Many a local we’ve met on our trips to Italy has acknowledged that she sounds like a native. Oh, and does that ever display her tail feathers. And get this, she’s self-taught!
I’m not self-taught anything. Well, that’s not true. I know a lot about World War II. My wife will quickly bury herself in a Duolingo lesson or move to clean the table if I start to wax on about the discovery of a long-lost submarine or Winston Churchill. If you want to stop a cocktail party dead in its tracks, ask me about the last book of fiction I read.
Speaking of cocktail parties, we’ve only been to one in the 11 years I’ve been here in NYC, and that was one we hosted. We had our downstairs neighbors up after meeting them in the elevator a time or two. Ben and Judy, not their real names, haven’t reciprocated because they don’t have a living room. Well, they do, but it’s filled with boxes of her late parents’ personal effects.
People grieve differently. I respect that, but I couldn’t live that way. I hate clutter. OK, I have a small display of some of my parents’ personal objects that have survived the passage of time. My dad’s shaving brush always elicits a raised eyebrow from guests who stay in that room, as does one of my mom’s elephants from her once large crystal and ceramic herd. But that display is not an “altar”; it just occupies a shelf of my bookcase. It’s not like l pray or recite chants in front of it. I’m not religious.
My parents led all five of us kids to the water of Judaism, but they couldn’t make us drink. I chose not to have a bar mitzvah. What, suddenly I was going to be a man? I grew up in very gentile Park Ridge, Illinois. There was only one other Jewish family that I knew of. I felt like a real outsider, especially when an elementary school chum informed me that “The Jews killed Christ.”
Me: “We killed Christ?”
My mother: “It’s more complicated than that.”
Our temple was 30 minutes away in the Village of Skokie, and I always felt like an outsider there, too, because the local kids all knew each other. But I did like sitting with my mom at the temple on Friday nights even though I had to wear a wool suit. My mom and I would play the “Amen” game where we had to guess by the Rabbi’s intonation when he was going to finish his sermon and say, “Amen.” We sat there staring intently at the Rabbi and then each other and then at the Rabbi with our index fingers raised in anticipation.
I can’t tell you what the Rabbi’s messages were, even though they probably had profound secular applications that I wish I knew now. All I know is that the “fun” of our little game was short-lived because when the Rabbi said “Amen,” the congregation’s president would next get up and ask for money.
Money in the form of gelt, or coins, especially the chocolate ones was something we would get at Hanukkah. My favorite Jewish holiday though was not Hanukkah but Passover. I loved dipping hardboiled eggs in salt water, and you can’t beat all the reclining. (The four glasses of wine? Not so much. Too sweet.)
I believe there is a God-like Universal Spirit – the first few pictures from the James Webb telescope have confirmed that for me – and he, she, or it never asks me for money. (You choose whatever pronoun you like.) I don’t hold conversations with the Spirit where I ask for guidance, but I notice that my thoughts are often answered serendipitously. It’s kind of uncanny.
Religion is great for many people because it gives them a sense of community. But I hate proselytizing. Don’t ask me to experience and share the Grace you get from Whomever, and I promise not to try to enroll you in the Temple of The Sun-Drenched Pine Tree.
I am curious, though. Whatever happened to “live and let” live? Why is “I don’t share your beliefs” not good enough? Why, instead, does it have to be “So, you can’t believe or practice it either”? I don’t wear a black robe, have a job for life, or feign to respect precedent, so I can only offer opinions.
It was about at this point in my mental meanderings that I crossed the four-mile marker, circling back to where the bee had said, “Hey, watch it!” In addition to enjoying my contemplative journey, I noticed that the Parks and Rec Department was installing new and much-needed trail signage. The overflowing garbage cans still left much to be desired, but most people, it appeared, were at least trying to get their trash near the cans. And there was the copse of once small pines that had grown into evergreen adolescence, sharing their wonderful scent, released courtesy of the summer sun.
I had noticed, too, that even on a mid-week, mid-afternoon, the forest preserve drew a healthy, eclectic group. It was heart-warming to see new moms walking with their babies, pairs of seniors engaged in lively conversation, and a few cyclists preparing for next year’s Tour de France, replete with their colorful spandex riding shorts and jerseys, helmets, and gloves. “Vive la France!”
I imagined empty thought bubbles above everyone’s head. My mom and I, I mused, would have invented a game where we imagined what they were thinking or saying.
Wonder wanderings, indeed. Just curious about that.
I am Kind and JoyfulThink back. Do you remember the day you realized you were in control of your thoughts? Prior to my recent deep dive into mindset, this simple statement: “Whatever Follows I AM Follows You” was completely unknown to me. I was also informed — now that I’d read that statement — I was required to add only positive words behind it. Just as you can’t un-ring a bell, I couldn’t get it out of my head, the constant clang, clang, clang rang on as the phrase tumbled around in my brain. I ruminated on it for days until I settled into this truth: Whatever follows I am is not only who I am now, but who I will be going forward.
It was choice. I hadn’t considered that I could choose who I was going to be just by changing what I told myself. I tried many iterations of it. I AM a woman. I AM a daughter. I AM a nurse. I AM a mom. I AM a wife. Those initial words were clear statements for me. I was comfortable owning them.
But other words I wore just as comfortably were not my own. They were negative, mean-spirited, painful words, stupid, dumb, weirdo, idiot, ugly, not good enough. Yes, I owned and used those words on myself daily. Those untruths that others told me had become my words too. The clanging of those hateful words tumbled louder with my newfound saying, Whatever Follows I AM Follows You.
How could this be? Could I really change who I was by changing what I told myself? I’d been comfortable wearing those negative words for years. Go from being meanspirited to kind? Is that possible?
Isn’t it interesting how we rarely consider the power of our words, especially when we use them on ourselves? But the majority of the population goes through their day criticizing themselves, just as I had, for their perceived lack. How few people use their words to consistently elevate themselves. Imagine being as kind to yourself as you would be to your grandmother, or a stranger. What If… I wondered. What if I allowed myself to think positive thoughts?
I started small, and quietly, internally, definitely not out loud. Whatever Follows I AM Follows You. I AM ok. I AM nice. I AM helpful. Nothing drastic. I repeated, I AM aware that my thoughts create my reality, and whatever follows I AM, follows me. Gradually, a shift started. Wow, perhaps this could be true! Then, I became a bit bolder. I began saying positive words to myself while looking in a mirror. Who was this person peering back at me? The one with tears in her eyes just hearing, I AM Brave. I AM Bold. I AM Confident. I AM Worthy. I AM Enough.
That was the day my dear, supportive mate arrived behind me to say, “No, my sweet love, you are not just enough, You Are More Than Enough.” Since that day I use my positive words like a badge honor.
This transformation began several months ago. I now sing it from the mountaintop, because I know if I, a woman with 60+ years of inner critic and a harsh imposter perched on her shoulder can stand in front of people as a keynote speaker, published author, and proud spokesperson of Own Your Value, You Are More Than Enough, is able to say I AM Competent, Powerful, Successful, then you can too!
For those of you who already Own Your Value, congratulations, I’m proud of you. For those who aren’t there yet, lean on the faith I have in you, and begin. The process isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon, and it’s for the rest of your life. Twice daily, like brushing your teeth, I AM….
The kindness I’ve gifted to myself has brought me more joy than I can say. I love the new me, and so does everyone else. It’s nothing short of a miracle that I created myself.
Join me. It’s available to you too.
A wonderful way to begin each New Year is by getting complete with the things in the past. You can write down troubling habits, personality qualities that you do not espouse, problems, and concerns on a sheet of paper and burn them in a bowl or fireplace. Watching them dissolve into flames is a way of reclaiming your power over your inner world.
After doing so, we must then fill the void by beginning to create newly so that we move into 2023 with greater clarity, grounding, and peace.
I often think that what we’ve been taught about visioning is somehow wrong, or at the very least incomplete. Visioning, in how we’ve been taught to conceive of it, means thinking about what things you want to do, create, and accomplish in the new year.
I’m all about contribution, so I do love that, but what I know is if that’s the only way you think about your year, it will leave you hollow, empty, and unfulfilled.
See, you can create the grandest vision of what you want to accomplish.
You can travel the world.
Land the new perfect job.
Find the love of your life.
Drop 15 pounds.
Buy the new, hot car
… and still be left unfulfilled.
Disconnected.
Empty.
So perhaps there’s another way…
In Christian text, the book of Romans 12:2 tells us:
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
When you are committed to your spiritual growth, to living your highest essence, to being a loving person… you cannot be conformed to this world but you must commit to renewing your mind.
What does it mean to renew your mind?
Well for the new year, let’s imagine that instead of another year trying to lose weight and make more money – we focus on who and how we are going to BE instead of what we are going to do.
You see being is the foundation of doing.
You will only act according to what you value and what you believe.
So instead of:
I’m going to travel the world; I’ll BE interested the people and places right where I am.
I’m going to make more money; I’ll BE grateful for all that I have each moment of every day.
I’m going to spend more time with family; I will BE more present to everyone everywhere.
Your DOING results from you BEING
And your BEING results from what you value.
So while I was writing this post, I had a glitch with my computer where I lost hundreds of files. Just PPT and videos… 10 years’ worth of them. Gone.
I had to decide in that moment who I was going to be.
I did everything I could to retrieve them.
Hours on line with tech support.
Called my tech team.
Nothing.
They are gone.
As I absorbed the reality of this, I started to feel free. Perhaps the past teachings no longer fit me. The past is over. I am free to let the new creation begin. How apt for the beginning of this year.
Charles Fillmore, the co-founder of the Unity movement, once wrote,
You are the creator of your own world, and the beauty and glory of it all is that the creative power is within you.
The past is gone. It is no longer representative of who you are. You are fee to create newly. So now it’s your turn.
WHO YOU WILL BE IN 2023!What way of being do you want to bring to your…
Career
Home
Relationships
Finances
Health and well being
You can create your life from the inside out, choosing each moment how you will be in the face of your life circumstances.
This is your ticket to freedom and personal power.
Words often fail to express full meaning and understanding, yet they are often all we have to attempt to express the ineffable. Admittedly, I fall short regularly.
I’m blessed/cursed with the knowledge shared with me as a teenager that has yet to fully settle in the hearts and minds of seekers like me; that we are cosmic consciousness condensed into these forms, a coalescing combination and synergy of genetic material and soular frequency that, when fully submissive to it, leads us toward our perfected form, fit and function in the world.
So much is possible, yet so little is understood about our true nature that encompasses both science and spirituality. The fact is there is no physical form, only vibration. Science has proven that today. Even with that knowledge, we cannot fathom its application toward fulfillment in human form; the essence of loving and being loved unconditionally.
The latter is perceived as some far-off destination barely visible on the horizon, yet the reality is that it is experienceable in the present moment, right here and right now. How? By suspending all your beliefs, your thoughts, and simply feeling the embrace of that love. Oh, that sounds too simple. That’s the point – it IS.
Many talk about their ‘mission’ and ‘purpose’ yet frame them in terms of limited understanding as though there is still something missing in their quest for fulfillment in purpose. The intellect searches for what is missing rather than what is already present. The ultimate challenge in physical form is to return to the spiritual, the consciousness individuated and finely attuned to the specific thread in the tapestry of the ONE, so to speak.
As a teen in turmoil in college in 1975, I knelt and prayed to know ‘truth’ and was willing to die for it if necessary. Beyond scoffing at that request as being the silly notion of a teenager seeking purpose, consider its potential as prophetic and timely in our planetary development. The answer came in another question, “Are you willing to die for what you believe in?” Are you? Consider that deeply for a moment.
It only took me two choices to settle and agree I was; the first, Christ Consciousness, and the second, Cosmic Consciousness. I exited this world for a few moments, embraced by the Great Light, then moved to another scene and given my ‘mission’ to work with points of light surrounding me in order to facilitate a new world order of natural design.
My life as I knew it fell apart with a devastating divorce in 1988, with a trifecta complete with corporate and church expulsion. The following year I was again reminded of my commitment during a spiritual retreat with others at Woods Canyon Lake in northern Arizona.
I’ve spent nearly 50 years exploring what that means in living the ‘spiritual’ life, exploring the various paths and texts in order to find the freedom in them. What I mean by that is letting go of the interpreted prescriptive notions in order to find that emerging Self and being submissive to it. We have focused on the ‘local’ self rather than the non-local Self in our progression.
Recent discoveries and further inquiry in the field of quantum sciences seem to point back to ancient knowledge contained in the Vedas and strewn across various texts spanning the notions of spiritual development. Where does it lead us? We don’t know fully because it is still an experience in process, yet we’ve had a global wake-up call to consider it more vigorously. Who is talking about it?
Complexity doesn’t have to be complicated. Beginning anew from simple principles of understanding natural order can eventually filter through all the existing systems today, from business to politics and social constructs that serve humanity’s thrivability. The old command and control systems are no longer functional. They need to evolve with our help, not our resistance.
The emerging Self is the manifestation of awareness from nothingness, perhaps similar to the knowledge shared with Wilbert Smith from the ‘people from elsewhere’ who offered advanced knowledge from their perspective that humans have yet to discover. They state that our reality is a manifestation of our awareness. When our awareness includes the synergy of spirit and soul, lineage and frequency, a natural order (harmony) emerges.
For some reason, I have understood that at a very deep level, from a place words cannot express, yet. It’s an experience that coincides with the quote I’ve shared over the last few years, “We cannot think our way through a system built on vibration, we have to feel/sense our way through it.”
I had the opportunity of a conversation with Dr. Ervin Laszlo, generally recognized as the founder of systems philosophy and general evolution theory, and exploring the nature of the Higher Self. I’m aware of the risk in perception of sanity in expressing the possibility that life here on Earth has such meaning and potential for us. We’ve recently experienced the devastation of a world falling apart and in desperate need of healing and repair. I’m reminded of Einstein’s admonition, “We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking that created them.”
Perhaps this healing process of the ancient wounds of separation from Self is what we are experiencing now. Victor Aquista’s blog explores this healing process. Dennis Pitocco’s efforts with BizCatalyst 360° shares thousands of articles, poems, and videos of this same process viewed from an equal number of perspectives. Reimagineering humanity is indeed being explored through a plethora of explorers today.
What would a fuller expression of Being for each of us look like? Are we truly in the process of the fulfillment of prophecy strewn across the ancient calendars and texts as we approach the ‘golden age,’ so named as the epochal shift from the Piscean to the Aquarian age? How do we manage the shift? Can we stop micromanaging our lives and tend to macromanagement?
It would seem these considerations are valuable and worth the effort to explore in co-creating a transition from old paradigms of capitalistic competition and fighting for superiority, which we know historically only cause continued cascading problems. No one can deny that this is a necessary and prudent path to take for our global society. We cannot deny the fact we share one planet, either, so we need to consider its needs as stewards.
Is world peace possible? What might it look like? How might it happen in congruence with an intrinsic natural order we see in the reflection of the universe around and within us? James Gardner, J.D., shares this intrinsic natural order concept in Biocosm, an exceptional work of exploring biological and electronic intelligence coalescing as ONE.
Interestingly enough, a conversation for my podcast in January of 2022 brought the experiment to a head for me in being introduced to the Live and Let Live Global Peace Movement. I leapt at the chance to be its Executive Director in hopes that somehow those others mentioned above would begin to appear as part of their own submission to their mission and purpose. Maybe you are one of them and this is simply a serendipitous synchronicity of opportunistic flavor in this moment.
I remain curious and invite you to join me in that curiosity toward Self-expression.
A post on LinkedIn referred to concepts that were part of Japanese culture. I shared the post and while interacting with comments and rereading, I thought it might be fun to write more personally about them.
Wabi-sabi. Embrace imperfection.
Nothing lasts, nothing is complete.
Accept your own flaws and those of others.
Find beauty in imperfection.
I have this strong reaction to words like flaws, weaknesses, imperfection… The reaction is fueled by knowing that our biggest strength is also a weakness – when applied in the wrong setting. This logically means that our flaws could also be strengths if put into a different context, and we can start by wondering who convinced us that these were flaws at all? Perhaps they are only flaws because we hid them away? Without practice, we don’t know how to handle them gracefully.
As you may know, I am deeply flawed: I am sensitive… Oh my, bull in a China shop.
But you can’t just tell your kid to not be sensitive – or that something is wrong with them because they are. Rather, you could model what sensitive with flair looks like. And I never had a model like that, growing up. Once I embraced and learned how to interact productively with this side of me, it became a strength much more than a weakness. It took half a century, but now I have come back home to me. So many other changes followed once this huge shame lifted from my heart.
We can’t make strengths out of the parts of us we won’t take ownership of. And we can’t stop these parts from roaring if we keep them locked away in the dungeon. (Sometimes they even get out and bite us in the butt at the most inconvenient time.) It is much easier for me to embrace others’ sensitivity now I have embraced mine. Once I learned how often it is my fxxx-ups, not my successes, that connect me with other people, their quirks and stumbles also become potential points for connection.
Sure, there may be places and times for sharing – and places and people with whom sharing is not safe or welcome. Discernment is also a strength. But what a relief it can be when none of us need to pretend perfection.
Kintsugi. Repair cracks with gold.
Imperfections are a thing of beauty.
The journeys we all take are golden.
Our flaws are embellishments that make us more beautiful.
This concept is in my opinion so closely related to Wabi Sabi that they should be in the same piece. When we put gold in a crack, it is sure to draw attention. But what does it say?
It is easy if this is a literal crack and literal gold. The art form of Kintsugi renders a repaired pot more precious than it would otherwise have been. One part of me wants to write “Duh – you just added GOLD!” But doesn’t it also say: “This pottery is so precious that we want to preserve it, no matter what it takes to keep it together?” There is something very sweet in that thought that makes me think of old family quilts, with so much history, hanging decorating the wall because they are too fragile to be used on the bed. Perhaps not gold, but prominently displayed, and not relegated to the spare room or a box in the attic.
I recall a brown-lidded urn that at some point had found its way into my parents’ home. I highly doubt that the lines were in fact gold, more likely bronze or brass, and I clearly recall not liking the thing one bit. Thinking back, I believe what put me off was that it was a random thing to be admired for its craftsmanship. It was art-ificial, not a beloved thing that had memories.
Not like the big platter that was carefully repaired – not with gold, though – after it broke into three pieces when I toppled over the sofa table. The platter found a place on a hook on the wall. Now, as I write this, I recognize that ever since I was four-five years old, every time I looked at the platter, I felt guilty for breaking it. The story rarely mentioned my grandfather who tickled me while I was residing under the sofa table, and I was just trying to get away. Perhaps the adult in the room should have thought ahead…
Now I can let go of that guilt. Shikita ga nai, accept and let go.
The definition of Kintsugi clearly emphasizes the proverbial use; that humans, too, are more beautiful when they are flawed.
When we attempt to show a flawless persona, we are so focused on “holding it all together” (what a fitting expression) that we can’t also consider the person in front of us. Are they having a good day? What’s on their mind? Does our fearful energy, trying not to be “found out”, contribute anything positive to the situation? Discernment.
Leonard Cohen famously sang “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.”
Might it be where the light gets out?
The first piece in this series is on wastefulness.
There have been times over the years when my family has had to take two cars to get someplace. Inevitably, this leads to a race. To be honest, I don’t like this. It just seems to me that the race becomes reckless. I struggle with each driver taking a little more risk and hoping to get lucky with the traffic lights and more.
This competition seems to encourage faster speeds, breaking the law and doing things a driver would not (and perhaps, should not) normally do. While at times in the past, I have participated in these races, I have found more recently that I do not find them enjoyable and I no longer want to participate.
You may think I am negative or just being silly, and you may be correct. However, the real reason I am choosing to no longer participate in these races is because I do not believe in relying on luck. In my life, I truly want to win!
Recently, a friend of mine shared something about winning with me. She told me the word “Win” can be an acronym to help us live a better life. She said “WIN” means “What’s Important Now.” I loved this and could not stop thinking about it.
Let’s face it! We live in a very distracting and distracted world. There are so many things clamoring for our attention every day. It is too easy to get off track and forget what matters most. This line from the 1983 movie, Mr. Mom has been a favorite quote of mine:
“It’s real easy to forget what’s important, so don’t!”
You all know from my columns that I have strong feelings about distracted driving! You know even more that I am on a crusade against distracted living. Never in the history of the world have we had more things to divert us from what really matters most!
It is critical for us to learn to focus on what is important now!
It is too easy to neglect our kids for our cell phones. It is much too tempting to “pop in a movie” instead of having a conversation or playing a game. It is simpler to go to dinner and a movie (while staring into our phones) and not be engaged in meaningful dialogue and activity.
I find if I ask myself, “Jim, What’s important now?” I am better able to reflect on the best activities I could be engaged in. Granted, I do not always do what is best or most important, but I am striving so to do. I want to do what is best—what is most important right now.
You can see it all around us! People everywhere have forgotten what is truly important now! Let’s not be that way!
Let’s not hope we get lucky and have our kids turn out to be responsible adults. Let’s focus on what is most needful now and act upon it. Let’s be intentional parents who take the time to really teach and love our children!
Let’s not just hope we get lucky and have our marriage be wonderful and fulfilling! Let’s take the most important actions today that will build, enrich, and strengthen this most important relationship!
Let’s not just hope we get lucky in the workplace and have all the raises and recognition we wish for. Let’s be deliberate about improving ourselves and our productivity by doing what is priority work!
Let’s not just hope we get lucky and have a life of health and strength! Let’s get off the couch, log off the internet, exercise, and improve our diet. Let’s focus on taking care of ourselves today!
Let’s not just hope we get lucky and have the happiness we long for. Let’s get our heads into good books, take time to replenish our reserves, and work hard to be happy now!
It is so easy to just head down the road of life, racing each other to get where we need to go and not really take any thought for what is most important right now. Let’s stop the racing! Let’s stop the rushing to get somewhere before someone else.
Let’s all take a small moment regularly to pause and ask “What’s important now?” and then take those actions. Let’s really WIN at life!
It was one of those nights. Sat outside a prison in my car as the rain poured down the windows. I wondered, ‘why do I do this?’
At home in our cottage, my wife and three daughters would be snuggled up in front of the open fire, watching television. And here was I, miles away in a freezing parking lot, waiting to ring the bell and be welcomed into the stark interior of yet another jail.
I’d been there before, and they were not very friendly. Even the Chaplain, under whose auspices I’d been invited, was the theatrical type who’d previously turned his nose up at my presence, because it wasn’t about him.
By contrast, I was more your Mike Tyson. Knew I had the goods, no need for posturing, just give me the platform, and let’s rumble.
I ran the engine for the fifth time, trying to keep warm, bereft of inspiration, and wondered what to say. Inspiration was about to dawn, but meanwhile, I sat there feeling flat.
Suddenly I had an idea. There was a little Gideon Bible in the glove box. I’d pull it out, open it at random and use whatever I saw first. It seemed exciting, like doing the Lotto, maybe I’d strike gold? But no. Clicking on the interior light, my heart sank as the story of the woman with the issue of blood met my eyes. I knew it well.
‘Shit,’ I thought, glancing out at the prison walls, ‘these are men, not women with sanitary problems,’ and with a sigh, dropped the book on the passenger seat. Time was running short, and I needed an idea.
Suddenly, before I could open the door and make a dash for the gate, an inner voice spoke.
“You may mock, but you know perfectly well what it’s like to bleed for twelve years, just like that woman.”
Immediately, memories of my young life came flooding back, year after year of increasing trouble, prison after prison, heartache upon heartache, until there had been almost nothing left of me.
……“Dragging your bleeding soul around, with nobody to make you well,” it continued.
Once again, I glanced at the uncompromising walls, and the voice continued, “Every one of those men knows exactly what it’s like to bleed, year after year, their souls broken, with nobody to bind them back together.”
They were the bullets in the gun that I needed. Boy, was I suddenly ready! Not loud, in fact humble, as if about to carry a potion that must not be spilled.
Everything went as expected; unfriendly staff, disinterested Chaplain, banging doors, noisy keys, cold seats, and the prisoners themselves were more boisterous than usual. I simply shared with them exactly what I’ve just shared with you, at which my audience grew increasingly quiet. At the very moment when one could have heard a pin drop, I invited whoever would like to come to the front, to please do so.
This was often a magical moment.
All I’d do was offer my hand to one at a time, and whoever took mine would be impacted by a power that I knew not of. Some fell to the floor, others buckled and cried, and occasionally somebody fell unconscious.
All the while, those who remained in their seats stared in animated curiosity.
Over the years, I never did understand what was happening to those who were hit by the power. It was personal, different for everyone, and sprung from their many different needs.
Some considered me powerful or clever, but I was just ‘the pizza delivery man.’ I got it handed to me, and simply passed it on to somebody else. Simples.
Suddenly I was awake and surrounded by a host of doctors and nurses in the middle of the night. Pain in chest and both arms. Fear and fascination competed within as awareness began to crystallize. One doctor said to another, we need to anesthetize before we shock. Ventricular tachycardia was in control of my heart rhythm, reducing pumping capacity to a minimum. Will I survive or is this my last memory? There was no shining light or other-worldly phenomena. The calm and kind face of one physician had the effect of calming me and is my last memory of this event. Then it was morning…
Fortunately, I was in one of the world’s best cardiac care facilities, recovering from a heart attack three days prior. Doctors told me the struggle went on for 18 minutes while they salvaged life from a wounded heart. Grateful is a feeble expression of what I feel about how this team of people, in the midst of chaos, did all the right things to preserve a life.
On the best medications, with world-class medical processes followed, amidst giants of cardiac care, I did not expect to be touring the valley of the shadow of death. When I went to sleep the night before, all seemed well. Then fate injected a surprise ushering me to a place I’d never been.
Why? Where is the opportunity in this crisis? When will my last moment come? How should I then live?
The reality in this valley of death is whatever you’ve done is on record, can’t be changed. So if your record is this man or woman cared and shared, kudos will likely come. If how people will remember you is self-centered and indulgent, nothing can change that view.
Without falling into the trap of self-adulation or self-effacement, I am on a mission to lift more than I need to be lifted, to love more than expected, and to celebrate the good and joys of life more than ever.
No big change, just a different level of commitment emerging from this experience – an audit of my mission complete with compliances and discrepancies. I am fortunate to have had such an experiential audit and then live on to improve from its findings.
It is all upside if any reader can somehow vicariously join me in elevating life for those you influence.
I was listening to Megyn Kelly today. She hosts a talk show and podcast, The Megyn Kelly Show, that airs live daily on SiriusXM. (She is one of my daily sources for what’s going on in the world.) She wasn’t shy about her irritation with a group of NYU students who apparently complained that their organic chemistry professor was too hard. The students that signed the petition against him complained that their grades did not reflect the effort they put in. As a result, the university fired him claiming that he had failed to meet the university’s teaching standards. He was a long-time professor and the author of a well-regarded textbook on the subject so I assume he knew his shit. The little whiners won.
I have heard many stories like this one about Gen Zs (anyone born from 1997 onward according to Pew Research) and their sniveling, entitled, and sensitive ways. My first reaction was screw you little whiners (OK boomer). The truth is at fifty-eight I know more than I did at twenty-eight and I think most of us can agree that experience in life leads to wisdom (most of the time). You can’t get there without passing through each generation, making mistakes, paying your dues, and learning on your own. It’s the natural path in life. Generations are famous for not understanding each other. It’s nothing new, but it’s my first-time being part of the “other,” “older” generation.
As a gerontologist, I am fascinated by cohorts and how each new generation is impacted by unique circumstances shared by people who were born in a similar time, shaping their views on how they think, work, live, and love. I am grateful that I had the experiences I had as a young adult exploring the world on my bike, at the roller rink, or playing outdoors. I was free from worries about selfies or likes. I was a teenager in the seventies and a young adult in the eighties and I’m a proud Boomer. We are described as independent, confident, self-reliant, self-assured, competitive, goal-centric and we have a strong work ethic. Those characteristics served me well and the truth is, I wonder how the younger generation is going to survive in the real world.
Life is hard and it seems to be getting tougher. On my journey, I learned that it takes a lot of hustle and determination to succeed in this world. There were no shortcuts to adulthood and not everyone gets a trophy.
But I have to wonder if that is still true in the world we live in today? Each generation has influenced the world in their own unique ways and this generation is no different. Is it possible that their influence is so impactful that society is changing to accommodate them rather than forcing them to grow up and suck it up like the rest of us had to do? And if so, what does that mean for their future and ours?
Maybe Instead of criticizing I should use all this great wisdom I’ve earned as an older woman to good use and support, connect, and learn from other generations of women. Last week I had the opportunity to be included in an event hosted by Kim Newberry, owner of Newberry Bros. Coffee, a local hotspot in Newport, Kentucky. I’ve known Kim for many years but never had the opportunity to be more than an admirer and acquaintance. I was delighted and a little surprised to be invited to the event she was hosting. This is the text that me and twelve other lucky ladies received:
YOU Inspire ME!There are many women I have met over the years who inspire me. Women who bring love, warmth, joy, humor, creativity, compassion, spunk, and SO MUCH MORE to my life, and to the lives of countless others. You are one of those women.
I have been thinking a lot about assembling a small group of inspiring friends for reasons I am still working through in my head. There is too much negativity all around us. It is emotionally, physically, mentally and spiritually debilitating. At least that is true for me. And it overshadows the positivity that is also present but often silenced or trivialized because it does not carry equal (or greater) weight. Life is sometimes a heavy lift.
I feel that if we put our heads and hearts together, we can come up with some really amazing ways to make a difference in our own lives, and in the lives of others. Our very own “Circle of Love,” if you will.
Let me know if this is of interest to you. If not, no worries. If so, I will reach back out to schedule a date/time to get together at our bar and see where this might take us. If nothing else, consider it a night out with friends you have yet to meet.
“Love You. Mean It.” ~Kim
I wasn’t exactly sure what this was all about but I knew I wanted to be a part of it. It was a cold Monday night and I wasn’t 100% delighted to dress and prepare to mingle with a group of women I didn’t know. I’m considered an extrovert because I’m not shy and can speak easily in a crowd, but honestly, over the last few years, I have leaned towards intimate connections rather than small talk in a crowd. I am enjoying an introverted life. Recently I have connected with so many incredible women that have responded to my blog and I have enjoyed deepening friendships and connecting with women I admire. It’s uplifting, inspiring, and exactly what I want and need in my life. So, I put on my lipstick and my big girl panties and headed out the door.
We shared, laughed, consoled, cried, encouraged, and enjoyed the moment. Two hours after we arrived, we were no longer strangers, we were friends.
Meeting this group of thirteen women was the best decision I have made since marrying my husband Pablo four years ago. After a little bourbon and wine, we began to warm up and the noise level in the room was energetic. We were buzzing like bees attacking honey. Kim invited us to sit and we enjoyed delicious comforting soup and homemade focaccia. Kim stood up and quietly said a few words to welcome us and then asked each of us if we would share one thing about ourselves and she invited us to “toot our horn.” The room was quiet as we processed this request. We were all a little shy, a bit uncertain, overthinking what to share, worrying if what we had to say was worthy of a toot. Despite what you see on social media most women never speak highly of themselves and are uncomfortable doing it. All it took was a little encouragement and someone to go first (me) and we were lit like a winter fire on Christmas morning. We even had a team captain who accompanied each story with a pre and post-toot from a birthday horn. We were each given our own individual celebration. We shared, laughed, consoled, cried, encouraged, and enjoyed the moment. Two hours after we arrived, we were no longer strangers, we were friends. The evening was like a scene from a movie and I felt like the Grinch who stole Christmas and my heart grew three sizes that day.
Kim inspired me to pay it forward and I decided to extend grace to all generations of women, not just the one I belong to. I recently learned about Generations Over Dinner which is a program intended to inspire meaningful conversations across generations by modeling and creating an experience that connects the values of all perspectives across the age continuum. Generations Over Dinner was launched by the Modern Elder Academy and the founders of Death over Dinner (another fascinating program about opening the conversation about how we want to die. They provide a complete tool kit for creating your own event, including how to host, topics to discuss, and scripts to ignite the conversation. I am energized and inspired to connect and not criticize women of all generations and I invite you to join me for a meal and a conversation.
In 2023 I am kicking off an invitation to women of all generations to join me in conversation and a meal. I’m ready to host a dinner with anyone interested in joining other women to be the change we want to see in the world. Will you join me?
I would like to be known as an intelligent woman. A courageous woman. A loving woman. A woman who teaches by being.
~Maya Angelou
As I sit here early on a still quiet Sunday drinking my coffee, I sit here in amazement at the depth of loss and grief. To those innumerable people sharing their moments of loss, while attempting to grasp the enormity of what’s next? How will I cope? How will I get through the next moment let alone to the next day?
Have you been there?Imagine the spectrum. Knowing that there is a moment that you, your loved one, dearest friend, child, admired colleague, or notable personality that has meant so much to you dies. Some from natural causes, some from terminal disease, some from violence, or some by their own hand. We each struggle to make sense in those moments. Attempting to abate the loss through deflection or rejection.
During the last, I sat in my own loss bubble and rejected the realities of the heartbreak that I experienced. I replaced it with people, things, emotions, and numbing agents that only postponed the reality of heartbreak.
I sat with others in grief recovery as their leader never truly healing my own fully. I sat in the heartbreak, surrounded, enveloped, and grieving not yet giving in to it. It was juxtaposition or more to the point a dichotomy within that struggled to push away the heartbreak, but the walls crashed in again and again. It wasn’t until the walls shattered and came down that I was able to recognize the heartbreak and accept it.
Facing loss finally. It was neither the loss of my Dad due to cancer nor my daughter’s suicide that finally led me to acceptance of the heartbreak, but rather it was time. Time that had passed with perspective gained. Recalling a film about when a woman was faced with a character that was death, she welcomed in, for she did not fear him. It was that way for me in facing heartbreak, it was unwelcome, intrusive mentally, physically, spiritually, and emotionally, and I wanted no part with it.
It was a letter of forgiveness to my daughter, then to myself, and then to each of my family members that I had affected and hurt by actions or inactions.
You cannot make truly make amends for heartbreak other than taking ownership, accountability, and acknowledging your part within the heartbreak.
You’re in the heartbreak. You sit down across from it, pour a cup of coffee and say ok, I am finally ready to talk with you. What do I need to learn? How do I embrace you and not loss myself to the darkness? How do I go forward with the vast emptiness that I feel within?
You allow.
You allow others in once more.
You do not push away, you embrace, accept, extend, and love more deeply.
The first is you, forgive, love, and embrace all of who you are. In your imperfection, through your stubborn pride, throw away doubt, fear, and embrace the courage to do hard things.
You reach out and embrace others who are also in need, for in helping them heal you heal more each day. It is not through sympathy, but by empathy through the strength of knowing, seeing through shared experience, and embracing them as kindred. It is the soul connection that heals.
You sit in the heartbreak with others not as knowing all, but rather as someone who sits alongside a wounded equal sustaining one another. It is within person that we align our souls with as kindred and wounded souls where we can experience the most amazing healing through shared experience and the abiding love of family reimagined.
I dream of painting and then I paint my DREAM.
~Vincent van Gogh
The older I get the greater I dream
The visions of youth are now dimly seen
How lovely it is though years have flown by
You’ve much to accomplish & things yet to try
Each day’s an adventure & much is in store
Be fully expectant and open the door
In your DREAMS .. may you soar
Dreams contain wishes .. they unwind .. goals are entwined.
Dreams are filled with creativity and WONDERMENT and imagination.
To be fulfilled: they require desire, commitment, persistence, and HARD work.
In the preparedness of SOWING dream seeds there are elements of luck and favor.
All of your life .. DREAM
Is there a fountain for dreams?
As the heart is the well-spring of life
DREAMS are birthed in the human heart
Allow your HEART to connect to your mind
Allow your MIND to connect with your heart
Your mind is like a flowing stream
.. thoughts & IDEAS flowing in ..
.. you need to write them out ..
.. to make room for more ..
In stillness .. awakened
It’s lovely to sit by a stream
.. so as to savor .. so as to dream
.. might the water be whispering?
.. does wonderment help us create?
.. thoughts and IDEAS tend to percolate
.. in time .. with nurture, they proliferate
She dreamed a thousand dreams of those sunlit regions and was consumed with longing for this other and richer self, forgetting—what is so easily forgotten—that even the fairest dreams and the deepest longings do not add an inch to the stature of the human soul.
~Jens Peter Jacobsen, Niels Lyhne
DREAMS are connected to your heart and your level of consciousness.
“Your visions will become clear only when you can look into your own heart. Who looks outside dreams; who looks inside, awakens.” – Carl Jung
“Dreams are ageless. The more you grow as a person, the more your ability to DREAM can grow.” – Amina Alami
Increasing consciousness increases your capacity.Spiritual awakening increases your capacity. The greater your capacity, the greater your DREAMS will be.
DREAMS are seldom realized without struggles, setbacks, disappointments & challenges.
Life has a way of crushing our dreams .. and our souls .. and our hearts .. and our spirits.
But in some are found a deep well-spring .. those who “drink with the root of their heart”
“Know ye not that there is in this world a secret confraternity? There are people who by natural constitution have been given a different nature and disposition than others; that have a larger heart and swifter blood, they wish and DREAM and demand more, have stronger desires and a yearning which is wilder and more ardent than that of the common herd. They are fleet as children over whose birth good fairies have presided; their eyes are opened wider; their senses are more subtle in all their perceptions. The gladness and JOY of life, they drink with the roots of their heart, while others merely grasp them with coarse hands.” – Jen Peter Jacobsen
In all struggles: our mind is like a ship“When all seems to be against you, remember, a ship sometimes has to sail against the current, not with it .. The storm only comes to teach you how to skillfully sail your ship .. You don’t command wind in the direction it blows, but you command a ship in the direction it sails .. Your mind is a ship; it can sail across the universe as long as you don’t allow negative thoughts to sink it.” ― Mashona Dhliwayo
“I want to be in the arena. I want to be BRAVE with my life. And when we make the choice to dare greatly .. to DREAM greatly .. we sign up to get our asses kicked. We can choose courage or we can choose comfort, but we can’t have both. Not at the same time.” – Brene Brown
The power of light…“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it or giving up on our DREAMS. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and JOY. It is these experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.” – Brene Brown
Light Source: “In His Light .. we have light” – Psalm 36
“The fruit of the Light consists of goodness, righteousness & truth” – Ephesians 5
Might dreams rest best in gratitude?“Do not only indulge in DREAMS of having what you have not, but reckon up the heap of the blessings you do possess, and then thankfully remember how you would crave for them if they were not yours.” – Marcus Aurelius
Wish upon your own bright star.
Hold close this thought: DREAMS don’t work unless you do.
Follow your DREAMS .. though they seem afar .. seem impossible
“Call nothing thy own except thy soul. Love not what thou art, but only what thou may become.” Dream the Impossible Dream – Man of La Mancha
https://spillwords.com/dream-a-new-dream/
“Join yourself with nature” was the morning prompt from The ORIGIN Methodology of Self-Discovery. Now, it was time to listen for my question; a question specific for this step in my awakening. Sitting quietly in my meditation room, I heard, “How can you join together what was never separated?” What follows is my journal entry for that day:
Auh, yes ~ ‘Advaita’ – “not two”
Only in our minds do we separate
in order to define
in order to discover our uniqueness
in order to experience “I am” and then “I AM”
in order to experience this journey of life, this journey of Being, forgetting & remembering, to BE consciously, then transition into the collective unconscious to begin the cycle again on this continuum of change, through our lineage of BEING-ness ~ ancestors to ME to children to grandchildren… carrying the seeds of beliefs, perceptions, experiences, dreams, memories, fears, loves, joys, lessons, insights, wisdom, life, from one generation to the next ~ a blueprint, a subconscious blueprint from which to grow, learn, remember, choose and create one’s life – my life.
A forgotten blueprint, once remembered, can be changed and transformed – old patterns into new; fear-filled drama into dreams fulfilled; baby steps into leaps of faith.
Seeds planted centuries ago grow into oak trees. That is the natural cycle of Nature. We all live in this natural cycle of continual change and growth – this evolution or devolution from generation to generation – as it is a choice, a conscious or subconscious choice to change, to continue old patterns, or create new ones.
I am here now, a Soul in manifested form as a unique expression of the Love, Oneness, Source from which I came to BE, representing my lineage in this moment in time and space. I am the one with the opportunity to transform old patterns into new; to break the chains of fear and uncertainty and manifest the dreams I share and carry from my ancestors.
I am the one in physical form who is growing roots in the soil of my Soul, reaching deep and stretching high – “As Above, So Below”.
I am Nature personified in physical body, as rivers of ancient waters flow within, constantly renewing itself with cellular seeds of life.
The fires of my mind ignite with conscious awareness, creating new pathways and dreams to follow as memories emerge from deep within.
I breathe the air of my ancestors, and all those who came before me, deep into my lungs, and exhale my unique contribution to the whole. With every breath, I share mySELF, for we are “not two.” We are Nature and Nature is Us.
There is no need to join with Nature – only remember.
I write while I am in the garden. To write properly about a garden, one should not write while standing outside or just being near it, but in the garden.
It is not easy to have a beautiful garden; it is as difficult as ruling a kingdom. One must resolve to love even the imperfections, otherwise, one is deluded.
The time of the garden is therefore the time of life. It does not push us forward, like the mechanical time that governs our lives today, because a true place always roots us in the present time, here and now. There are no goals to achieve, no objectives to attain, for life has only one end: itself. The same is true for beauty, which constantly flows from the process of living.
To find this life, true life, and this time of nature which is also our true time, that which knows our animal body: this is what pushes us to open the door of a garden and to enter it, each time as if we were going to penetrate a world apart, buried within us.
Nature does not complete its work: it is chaotic. Man feels obliged to finish it, so he plants a garden and builds a wall around it.
The garden, a miniature image of creation, has confirmed that this is the only lasting, deep and fulfilling relationship possible.
One grows a garden so as not to feel alone. More often, it is the garden that cultivates us…..
The garden is a mirror of society and of the relationship with nature; it is at the same time a mythical space, where the collaboration between artist and architect is possible with more imagination and freedom.
In a garden, that which pulsates in the darkness – the dark, invisible force of roots and seeds – wants to surface. The task of the gardener is to care for this darkness and to transform it into light, colour, and form.
People are divided into those who build and those who plant. The builders finish their work and sooner or later are seized by boredom. Those who plant are subject to rain or storms, but the garden will never stop growing.
In building a garden, the form of its architecture must be well related to its function. In ancient times, the construction of each gazebo, each pavilion, each bend in a corridor was designed to meet very specific needs. Both repetition and extravagance must be avoided. The same applies to the art of writing poetry, where all redundancy must be abolished. The branches of knowledge are all, in one way or another, related to each other. The design flaws of a garden are similar to the lexical flaws of literature, since the purpose of the garden is to offer landscapes and that of literature to express ideas. This is why I say that building a small garden is as difficult as composing a poem of only four stanzas.
A garden also has its own identity. However, there are uncertain corners in which it is difficult to give birth to and grow what we want. Plants and flowers are like our plans: some do not grow, others grow when we least expect it.
…Anyone who wants to lead the world should first try to lead a garden…
Hindsight is my worst enemy. As I learn and grow I look back at past choices. I have regrets and they haunt me. Driving home from a hospice visit with Mrs. C. I try to remember- or try to not remember- my last weeks with my own mother. I wonder if those weeks could have been turned into months or even years had we made different decisions or continued treatment.
The questions haunt me: was she able to eat if I had simply tried more textures? Maybe the nurse was wrong. Was she able to take the life-extending medicine had I tried different applications? In hindsight, I see how I might have given her more attention in both quality and quantity. As I see the situation in my mind’s eye- a mind that is over a decade older and richer in both wisdom and experience- I see how I would tend to her both physically and emotionally if I had it to do now. I have learned more about the needs of the dying and the experiences of the dying and their caregivers. In hindsight, I see how I failed my mother.
In this moment I am glad to be for her the daughter who does not visit her.
I stand at the bedside of Mrs. C and she opens her eyes and smiles in surprise. Alzheimer’s disease prevents her from recognizing me for who I am, but the presence of whomever she believes me to be makes her happy. She grabs my hand and holds it to her chest. I wipe away her tears and she whispers two of the only three words she has ever said to me: “thank you.” I ask her if she is thirsty and get no response, yet she swallows the juice through the straw from the glass I hold for nearly a minute. She nods when I ask her if she likes the music I am playing. I remind her that she has beautiful blue eyes and silky gray hair as I comb through it. The creases in her forehead become deeper when the percussion comes on strong behind Sinatra’s voice; I change the music to something softer. I linger… again she takes my hand in hers and ‘recognizes’ me again, this time kissing it. I tell her I love her. Though I truly do love her, I tell her not to express my own feelings because she needs to hear the words. In this moment I am glad to be for her the daughter who does not visit her. In hopes to make up for the time I did not spend stroking my mother’s hair, I now graciously arrange the delicate strands of gray around the face of Mrs. C.
During grad school, the topic of “dying with dignity” came up multiple times. Some of my fellow students had the notion that certain medical treatments could deny them their dignity. They expressed that they would rather be dead than to “lose their dignity” and linger on in ‘this state’ or ‘that…’. They believe that the quality or value of life is measured in ability, not simply in being alive. In every conversation in any context, I took exception to this opinion. Human life is sacred not because of the function of the mind or body, or the value that others place on a person’s actions, but “because from its beginning it involves the creative action of God and it remains forever in a special relationship with the Creator, who is its sole end.” (Catechism of the Catholic Church [CCC], 1997, para 2258) Hastening death for fear of a lack of dignity is not only contrary to natural law, but contradicts the nature of inherent dignity.
Having dignity does not mean you are valued by others, it means you are worthy of being valued.
Wikipedia (2022) defines dignity as the state of being worthy of honor and respect; it says nothing about being honored or respected. Having dignity does not mean you are valued by others, it means you are worthy of being valued. That worth does not come from other people, but from God. It can be recognized or ignored, but it cannot be taken away from the person. This means that even with the use of any means of medical care, the person maintains dignity. What may lack is the ability of others to recognize it. While the Catechism of the Catholic Church (1997) allows for the “discontinuing of medical procedures that are burdensome, dangerous, extraordinary, or disproportionate to the expected outcome,” ordinary care must be maintained even when death is imminent (paras 2278-2279). So one may choose to not proceed with, or continue medical intervention that could be considered burdensome or extraordinary, particularly if this burden is greater than the benefit one would gain from the procedure or treatment. What many fail to understand is that the perceived lack of dignity – or the fear of a lack of dignity – is not a reason to withhold medical treatment. On the contrary, it is because of the person’s inherent dignity that any treatment that is not burdensome or extraordinary must be given and maintained. Further, the burden of recognizing dignity is the responsibility of everyone except the dying person; her dignity is within her, recognized or not.
I watched my mother lose her ability to perform the most basic bodily functions such as swallowing before she died quietly in the middle of the night while I slept. Nine months pregnant with my sixth child, I trusted the hospice doctor and nurses to make decisions and tell me what I should do from week to week. With my inexperienced eyes, I saw a blurred line between palliative care and wanting her to move on so that she would not be suffering; the one thing I was sure of is that I wanted her to not be in pain anymore. She was unable to communicate in her final days. Or, I should say, I was unable to understand her. I had no hospice experience, and only after she died did I realize how emotionally immature I was. I projected my weaknesses and inability to care for her onto her, believing that she was losing her dignity when in reality I had simply failed to recognize it.
The absence of Mrs. C’s daughter tells me that she does not recognize the dignity in her frail bed-bound mother. Although I am tempted to call her and tell her how much I enjoyed my visit with her beautiful mother, and how we listened to music together and it made me laugh and cry, I will simply keep the moments to myself and be who her mother needs someone to be- one who recognizes her dignity all the way to her natural end.
References:
Catechism of the Catholic Church (2nd edition). (1997). Lebreria Editrice Vaticana.Dignity. (2022, Dec.16) in Wikipedia. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dignity
Will it be good news or will it be bad?
I know not the difference, for that I am glad
The conductor of Truth holds our lives in His hand
minds cannot grasp but our hearts understand
This isn’t a game, not a trend nor a fad
but the climax of lifetimes with nothing to add
Alone before God, stripped of fear we now stand
in places and spaces where once we felt banned
With steadfast devotion, no leaning to gad
to stray from our course or waste time being sad
Homeward bound toward a new and proclaimed promised land
Souls united as One to an ancient command
In feathers of freedom our forms now are clad
released from the shackles of pain we once had
Committed to destiny, not what we planned…
surrendered to Grace, flame by flame, strand by strand.
This time
Finally broke the glass covering
Deepest
Fears.
Turned inside ourselves to
Face frightened, exiled
Parts and shards.
You during, after
Scary bout of Covid.
Me, as I welcomed the
Rebirthing, groovy sixties.
Created space as
Housemates and friends.
Neither took flight.
You and I scribbled kind notes
Placed on
Countertops.
You embraced new ideas,
Podcasts, resources for
Growth as
I continued learning about
Bravery.
As health returned, you scrubbed floors on
Your knees, cleared office, garage of unneeded
Items.
You honored
My need for space boundaries, a huge gift
My young selves never received.
You and I kept turning towards each other with
Gentle kindness.
Learned collaborative
Double solitaire,
High fives, win/win,
Building a bridge
Forward.
Astonishing emotional
Honesty, a conduit to
Our inner worlds.
Renewed curiosity began
Smiling.
Open hearts, soft hands,
Relaxed bellies,
Warm feet,
Twinkling and teary
Eyes listened.
Even though
Beloved belongings exited the
House of Joy
A dress, love notes,
A collage.
A Home of Love still
Held innumerable past moments of
Kind words, warm hugs,
Eyes meeting eyes,
Passionate kisses,
Unfettered laughter,
Playful caressing,
Sensuous lovemaking,
Dancing in the
Dining Room to
Candlelight,
Meals shared with
Thankfulness spoken.
Reparation happened in similar fashion.
Love held Us as
We
Transformed in
Faith, forgiveness, &
Grace.
Love held Us,
Love holds us
Still.
Like many people, I travel home for the Holidays. Over the years I have grown accustomed to choosing Thanksgiving or Christmas. I rarely attend both Holidays simply due to so much travel within a short period of time has become hard on my body. Most often I drive so I can have the freedom of coming and going whenever I would like. It’s one way to maintain autonomy and not be held to any of my siblings’ schedules. Plus, my dog Gus is usually with me. This year was no different, but there was one pivotal exception. This year was the first time I stayed in an Airbnb.
Over the years I had often debated staying in a hotel when coming to visit, only to be met with disappointment or a sense of strangeness from my sister. She would usually respond, “No! That would be weird.” So I continued to stay at her place. A simple two-bedroom, cottage-like home. The home has maybe 900 square feet of living space. So you can only imagine how small it might feel when I come to visit along with my dog. For about 3 nights and 4 days her home houses 3 people, two dogs, and a guinea pig, not to mention the coming and goings of friends and other siblings, which is just part of my sister’s daily routine.
Perhaps it’s reminiscent of the way we grew up. I am the youngest of eight. The oldest four siblings were well into their adult years living on their own. The younger 4 grew up together. Sharing rooms and being in and out of each others space was common. There was rarely any personal privacy. Even in the bathroom, it was likely for someone to come to use the restroom while someone else was showering. As a courtesy, everyone knew to holler, “I am in here!” letting whoever was in the shower know the bathroom was occupied by a second person. When finished, you holler again, “Okay, I am out!” That was our way of being respectful of each other’s space and needs. You never knew how long someone would be in the shower. Frankly, when nature is calling there is only so long you can hold off the natural process of going to the bathroom.
I was around the age of 13 or so when I finally had my own room. Wow! What a luxury. SPACE. I got to decorate it, and had my own closet. The only downfall was it was off the main hallway and dining area. If people were up late, I would hear everything, but when tired enough, the sounds became a comforting noise that lulled me to sleep. What can I say, it’s the family noises of conversations, evening snacks, light music, laughter, and the dog walking up and down the hall checking on each room. It’s the comforting sounds of a home full of life. I imagine, similar to the comfort a mother has when she hears the sound of the final child coming through the door. All her babies are home safe. She can finally rest and go to sleep in comfort. It’s the keen hearing and sense only a mother has. It’s in the sounds, rhythms, and cycles of the home that bring discomfort and stress, just as much as they bring ease and a sense of comfort. All is well within the microcosm of the world we create together in our home.
Even as I sit here writing, I am filled with emotions. Tears running down my cheeks, so much so my nose has sniffles. I cry. Why am I crying, you may be wondering?
I miss the sounds of home. One that is full of life. While, I do have Gus. He is wonderful and greets me with such joy every time I walk through the door. My home is full of life. Yet, there is something just a little more magical, when I go visit family for the holidays.
The sounds of laughter, playing with my youngest niece, and to be reminded of where I come from. It’s a glimpse of my own past while being fully present with who I am today. It’s the comfortability of my siblings who tease me with sarcastic tones. I recognize that the teasing no longer bothers me like it once did. It’s the language of wit and sarcasm which used to pierce through me like the point of an arrow. Now it simply bounces off me with laughter. Internally, I recognize I have changed in so many ways. I sometimes wonder if they notice the way I have changed too. I embrace my experiences with them differently. More open, less defensive. I learned to play more and laugh. The smells of cooking and preparing for the holiday traditions we all grew up with and now are making them our own. Slightly changing recipes with an added spice or two, yet still traditional and true.
This year, it was a little bit different. I stayed in the Airbnb. Like many of you, I resisted this change. It meant I would not wake up in the morning to certain sounds of my family waking up or watching my niece sleep peacefully in her bed. These moments are so brief, she’s already 11-years-old. Soon visiting her will not be the same. It changes just like the seasons. They still happen, yet they feel different each time. Perhaps a little colder, or a litter hotter.
Maybe the leaves turned to their red, orange, and yellow colors a little later this year than the year before. It’s witnessing the last leaf holding on to the branch as it gives way to winter. The last leaf finally lets the wind guide it gently to the earth.
It’s the eternal cycle of growth and change. Sometimes I feel like I am the last leaf holding on to each moment just a little bit longer knowing this exact moment will never come again just in this way.
Watching my niece grow up and my siblings grow older is no different. We all have a little bit more silver in our hair, a little more morning aches, slower to move, needing a little more time to warm the body as the joints crack and pop. While my niece is a few inches taller, filled with the energy of youth. Signs of change, it happens right before our very own eyes unnoticed and noticed all at the same time. It’s only natural to ask, “Where does the time go?” It was not that long ago when I was that 11-year-old. While I am still excited for life, it’s now through the eyes of a 46-year-old. I listen to my thoughts. The sound of my parents’ voices are so clear, but wait it is my voice. I recognize that it’s happened. What my parents always used to say when my 11-year-old self would be irritated with them watching me. They would often say, “You will understand when you’re older.” I realize now they were just taking in the moment.
Time is so fleeting. It’s common to think we have so much time ahead of ourselves. I suspect there comes that moment for all of us when we realize that we have more time behind us than ahead of us. When choosing to live in the moment, the relationship and experience of time changes. Now, I feel it in my body, thoughts, and emotions, that my sense of time is not linear at all. All of my experiences exist in this internal moment of now. I just as easily can tap into my 11-year-old self, while living in my 46-year-old body. Truthfully, I am not much different than my niece who simply plays, has goals, and shares life with so many. I would like to think that I now live with a bit more wisdom and whimsy. I remain open as my niece shares her own wisdom and perspective on life. I can see her expression: her life is still lived from the depths of her heart and passion. When I visit, I have had to learn to step back just a little, and give her space too. So, I observe from a distance, while being very present. I am observing my niece transition from child to adolescence, while I transition from maiden to crone. We are both the tree and the leaves surrendering to the natural cycle of life. I suspect I might have a little bit more resistance, like the last leaf on the branch, eventually, I let go. Eventually we all let go.
BUT this year I stayed in an Airbnb. I thought about all the things I might miss. I surrendered to this change. Well, you know what? I LOVED IT! I realized I did not miss out on a thing. Gus and I settled into our own routine. I gained a peaceful night’s rest, and went on long walks in the foothills each morning. I walked over to my brother’s house for coffee and breakfast. Later I would head over to my sister’s home to hang out for the day and “help” with cooking. I really just watch now, and keep her company and do some yard work. My other brother would come over and turn on some music. We sang, “cooked” and got ready for Thanksgiving dinner. Really the moments leading up to dinner before heading over to our other brother’s home are the ones I enjoy the most. Natural and organic with some holiday traditions of baking pies and cooking the stuffing from scratch. There is one thing I still do. I eat the toasted buttered bread that’s used for the stuffing. My siblings and I laugh, because we can hear our mom still telling us, “Stop eating that, I only used one loaf this year!” Haha. Now we say it to each other. You know something, there is always enough stuffing.
Soon Thanksgiving dinner came and went. I had the luxury of returning to AirBnB which I resisted all these years. Only to discover, it gave me the space and peace so I can embrace my loud Italian family.
For now, I leave you with this. Welcome and embrace the change in your life. You never know what gifts it brings.
Once again, I begin a new journal as I close out the old. I’ve lost count of how many journals I have written over the years since the age of 12. I am now 72. Journaling, in the beginning, was a form of therapy; a way to write the words of pain on a piece of paper. I would discover that through the writing down of my thoughts, I could be somewhere else, somewhere without pain and sadness. As the years have passed and the journals were filled one by one, I felt a sense of completion for many of the childhood memories I wanted to forget.
As I entered adulthood and discovered that through relationships, which were not meaningful, I began a process of writing to express what I felt inside as a mother, a wife, and a grandmother. I wrote in my journals how I felt I had nothing to offer anyone. That I had failed as a mother, failed in my marriages, and failed God. Yet a voice I knew, that had always been there with me as a child, laying on a table in the emergency room, chin split wide open, saying, “Jesus, Oh Jesus,” was now saying, “Persevere” “I ‘am with you”.
In my first marriage, as a young Catholic girl, at age 18, I looked forward to marrying and being a wife and eventually a mother. But that was not to happen so early in my life. Journaling soon became a daily habit and my prayer life developed intensely over time. I grew closer to God. I gave Him my two kids in life to help me with and as time continued, my grandchildren through prayer. I also gave him my pain from the ongoing chemotherapy and all that came with cancer treatments. But I had to keep writing because of so many heartbreaks I encountered.
Today, I have no contact with my two adult children and four grandchildren. I lost a child that I carry in my heart each day. I have lost three of my siblings, and 3 marriages gone bad, and yet, journaling tells the story as it always has. I will continue to Trust God who knows my heart for the good I have done in life, and grateful for today. I sacrificed a lot in raising my children so that so that they could have a better life. I wasn’t perfect, no one is, but the most important thing is that if my grandchildren were to pick up these dusty journals one day, they will know the story. I will never stop journaling till I am unable to write, or I am called home, my writings will speak for me. They are words of truth. Journals tell a story.
I spent years of my life chasing “THE DREAM.” The perfect career, job, husband, house, etc. Chasing money literally killed my passion. Chasing love led to failed relationships and attracted people who didn’t value me. Chasing people’s approval turned out to be a waste of my time and effort in most cases.
It took me way too long to finally figure out that I wasn’t getting what I truly wanted in my life because I was playing out someone else’s idea of who I should be.
Often people attempt to live their lives backwards: they try to have more things, or have more money, in order to do more of what they want so they will be happier. The way it actually works is the reverse. You must first be who you really are, then do what you really need to do, in order to have what you want.
~ Margaret Young
Did you know that the number one regret people on their deathbeds have is that they did not live out their own dreams?
So, before you start chasing the dream, make sure that it’s your dream you’re chasing.
A Death wish …you may say!? Well, when you’ve got your head up in the clouds anything’s possible.
So for starters, Lord, when my days on earth are over and you decide to take me; please…just a few stops along the way. I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell. And I would prefer to take the more scenic route.
I hope if we spot a rainbow along the way, we can slide over it. I would also like to find the sign that says: “Angels Gather here!” That could be my temporary drop-off.
Who knows…they may even be expecting me. They’ve been my guardians all along and I have so much gratitude to pour out onto them for the many ways they have assisted me throughout life. Plus, Lord, I’ve always wanted a ride on angels’ wings so I hope you don’t mind as I feel this will perhaps be…my last chance on a wing and a prayer…
You mentioned previously that you have prepared the way and that the only way to heaven is through you, so would you be open to meeting the angels and me at the gate? The angels will then be ready to hand me over, I’m sure and I’m fully confident that YOU can take it from there.
I just celebrated a milestone birthday. In preparation for the event, I started reflecting on some of the stories I’ve accumulated over the course of my career and my life. These are stories I tell about my history – the events I’ve experienced in my personal and professional life and how I make sense of it all – the conclusions I’ve reached and the lessons I’ve learned. Some of these stories work really well for me, and I want to make sure I keep on telling them. But then there are those other ones, the accounts that honestly just aren’t all that helpful for me to carry forward into the next phase of my life.
Perhaps, as I experience this milestone birthday, it’s high time for me to revisit some of these stories, rethink them, and retell them in a brand new way.
Here are some stories I want to keep. There’s me at twelve shyly approaching the “adult in charge” of an organization I was a member of, asking his permission to engage in an activity that was only available to boys. My request ultimately led the organization to change its rules, creating a pathway for girls to more fully participate. I think back on that event to remind myself that yes I can take action when something doesn’t make sense to me, that I can be courageous, and that my actions can lead to positive change for others. If I had that capability at age twelve, then surely I can do the same today. That story is a keeper! And there’s me in my thirties, nervously presenting to my company’s board of directors. I locked eyes with a board member who kept nodding in encouragement each time I made a key point. His actions provided the confidence boost I needed, right there in real-time. That day, I promised myself that if ever I was in a similar situation, I’d return the favor, encouraging young talent who needed reassurance, support, or an external dose of courage. Thirty years later, I still hold that story in my heart as a guidepost for how I should behave as a leader. A keeper, indeed.
But what about the stories I tell and retell that I’d be better off revising? Do these stories say more about my own arrogance and hubris than they do about my insight and learning?
Maybe there are accounts I share where I got things just plain wrong, where I’ve misremembered, or where I misinterpreted events. Maybe there are other perspectives that are worth considering. And maybe if I dug deep enough there are better lessons I can learn. Is it time for me to revisit some of these well-worn stories, so I can arrive at new insight? Is it time to create revised editions that guide me to make smarter decisions and take better actions in the future?
I’m reminded of the old acronym THINK that we learning and development professionals refer to in the interpersonal communications classes we lead. To engage in more productive and respectful conversations, we advise our students to pause before speaking, to consider if what they’re about to say is True, Helpful, Inspiring, Necessary, and Kind. In other words, to THINK before they speak. If what they are about to say fails the THINK standard, we advise our students to reconsider what they are about to say, and revise and reframe it in a way that reflects better THINKing. Can I apply these same criteria to the stories I tell myself and others, and create updated versions that are more … well … thoughtful?
Are my stories True? When I share a story, I’d like to think that I’m being honest, that the events I’m relating really happened the way I describe them, and that I’m interpreting them correctly, at least from my vantage point. But am I representing the whole truth? Would someone else recall these incidents in a very different way?
What about the story where I’m the little guy, trying unsuccessfully over and over again to alert a senior leader about a critical mistake he’d made that somehow only I had the wisdom to see? The way I tell the story, I’m a defeated hero, a modern-day Joan of Arc, trying in vain to protect an organization I love from certain doom. If only he had listened to me.
Certainly, there are elements of truth here. But am I telling the whole truth? Did I voice my concerns professionally? Did I state my concerns in a compelling way? Is it true that I was a vanquished hero or was I just an unpersuasive, inexpert communicator? Did I pick the wrong time to share my message? The wrong venue? Could I have leveraged the power of others by gathering more input? Should I have presented external research or shared quantitative data to make my argument more persuasive?
Now I’m not at all excusing the leader who didn’t listen to and heed my concerns. Far from it. He bears responsibility for his role in the story. But by thinking more broadly about the truth, by considering that the leader’s perspective on this event might differ from my own, I find myself taking responsibility too. He owns his part and I own mine. That’s a better story.
Are my stories Helpful? How about the stories I tell about living life on the fringe? I don’t really do HR, I explain to my colleagues in the HR department I use to work in. As a Learning and Organizational Development professional, I have a background that’s different, an outlook that’s different, and a focus that’s different. And I’m not really an academic either, although I have a Ph.D. and use to work for a university. See, my work is grounded, practical, and focused on application as opposed to theory. I wear my non-membership as a badge of honor. Don’t blame me. I’m not really a part of “them”.
What purpose do these stories serve? Do they help move us all toward some greater understanding and connection, or do they just provide me with a convenient excuse? What would “all-in” participation look like and would that be more helpful?
Are my stories Inspiring? Do they motivate action, or do they keep me and others stuck in place? Back to my schtick about living life on the fringe. Has my “outsider identity” just become a well-worn groove, allowing me to slip into the role of cynic whenever it suits me? I’m beginning to think that any story I tell that begins with the words “I’m not …” is now ripe for revision. I’m not an athlete. I’m not a joiner. I’m not HR. Do these stories set me on a path to explore and learn more or do they serve as a boundary of sorts? Inspiring stories lead to action – to change – and I’m thinking that I’ve got a few stories that need a healthy dose of editing.
Are my stories Necessary? Does my current version of a story provide any new insight? Will anyone – and will I – learn anything new from what I have to share? Or does telling my story just provide me with an opportunity to air old grievances, to celebrate a Festivus of sorts? For those not familiar with the episode on the Seinfeld show that mentioned Festivus, Festivus is a made-up holiday observed by the Costanza family. As George Costanza explains in the show, the holiday celebration isn’t complete until each family member shares their account of how others have disappointed them during the prior year. So I ask, how many of my stories serve no purpose other than providing me with an opportunity to air some unresolved complaint? Can I edit these stories in some way to get off the old grievance train so they provide new insight and learning?
Are my stories Kind? Does my story acknowledge that each character – including me – was doing the best we could do at the time with what we had to work with? Does the story acknowledge positive intent? Is it respectful?
I struggled with this one for a while. After all, I’ve had some experiences where someone really did wrong me, where I was hurt, possibly even intentionally. How do I recount these incidents, which really did happen, and describe each person who was involved in a kind and respectful way?
That’s when I recall a memoir writing class I once took where the guest lecturer spoke about how she manages to remain kind to the very real people she writes about. In her books, the author freely dishes dirt as she weaves comedic tales about her parents, failed romances, her husband. How does she reconcile all of this with herself … and with them? How is this kind?
Well, the author advised us students to take a closer look at each story she relates in her books. “I make sure that I never present a character in any worse a light than how I present myself,” she explains. “I don’t elevate myself above the other characters. They did stupid things. They made mistakes. And so did I.”
I can do that too, I realize. I can edit my stories to make sure I don’t present myself as the hero, battling against others who would do me wrong. They may have inflicted pain along the way. But quite honestly, I’m sure there were times when I did too. A story, retold that way, is more complete, more truthful, and more kind.
ReTHINKing helps combat negative self-talk too. I’ve often said that no one has ever said anything worse about me than what I’ve said to myself. All that self-criticism can feel very real sometimes, and can be limiting. But when I closely examine these stories I tell myself about myself, I start to question. Are the faults and flaws I attribute to myself really True? Is this story about some screw-up that I go over and over again in my mind Helping me to accomplish anything? Does the story Inspire me to take action or does it send me into hiding? Is it Necessary because it’s providing me with new insight and learning? And is it Kind, or am I holding myself to a standard that I would never apply to anyone else?
There are stories I need to keep, and keep telling, and stories I need to revise and edit. Some of the events in these stories occurred decades ago, but the possibility is there that they can produce new insight and learning. All I need to do is THINK about them in a new way. And that’s my plan for this milestone year.
Egg-frying hot, the pool deck warmed their shivering, lanky bodies. After swimming lessons, they met on the concrete to warm up. Snuggling as closely as possible, one of the nine-year-old girl’s jobs was draping a large beach towel over them, completing the goose-bump sandwich. New England summer mornings can be chilly, but their newly budding friendship made it easier to cope.
The vanilla-tussle-haired girl was eleven months older than her chocolate straggle-topped friend who had bigger feet. Yet, they were both long and lanky with matching crystal blue eyes. They nicknamed each other Nilla and Coco.
Once warmed up, they would throw their shorts and T-shirts over their dried swimsuits, hop on their bikes, and head to the town market to spend their quarters. Each day they chose a different drink and candy bar. After a snack, activities included games of tag, handstands, pulling wheelies on their bikes, and seeing who could hang on the chain-link fence the longest.
Sadness fell upon them every day at 5:00 PM when they had to separate and head home. But there was always tomorrow. Or was there?
Both girls had begged their moms to stay at each other’s house. Nilla’s mom insisted she needed to meet the girl and her parents first. The girls had a plan – the next morning at the pool was the big date.
The following day, Nilla immediately saw Coco wrapping her towel around her like a burrito. She grabbed her mom’s hand and dragged her across the pool deck. “Mom, this is Coco. I mean Sandy.” She might have noticed the pure shock on her mother’s face if she hadn’t been jumping for joy as she raced to her new best friend. Ironically, Coco’s mother walked out of the women’s restroom and was headed their way. The girls were so excited because the day had come when their moms would meet, and they could now stay overnight at each other’s house. Better yet, Nilla hoped the moms would become best friends like their daughters, and they would all be together forever.
In that moment, both mothers grabbed each of their daughter’s hands, whipping the girls around and heading off in different directions. The friends were in disbelief and begging out loud for answers as they simultaneously screamed for each other.
The mothers were aware of the new friendship but had never heard their “real” names. It was the summer of 1975, and I will never forget it. I AM NILLA.
Later that day, similar conversations took place in each of our homes. Apparently, she was told the same story I was. We could never stay at each other’s house and, moreover, never be friends and never speak to each other again.
How could this be? What did we do wrong? Our friendship was based on the real stuff, like which M&Ms tasted the best, how cool it would be to be an archeologist, and which Brady Bunch brother was cuter. We didn’t even know each other’s last names or where we lived. We didn’t think that stuff mattered.
Apparently, she also received the same “talking to” because to this day, forty-seven years later, we still have never spoken.
Why were we yanked out of each other’s lives, you ask? Because, unbeknownst to us, Coco and I had the same biological father. Each of our mothers had been married to the same man and become teenage mothers. Once my mother and “The Man” divorced, he quickly married her best friend. You read that right. My mom and Coco’s mom were once best friends, too. But apparently in a town of fewer than 1800 people – I suspect neither of them could handle being the talk of the town – again!
I did my best to ignore Coco so I wouldn’t get in trouble, but we were only a grade apart in school. She would stare me down and pierce her lips whenever I caught a glimpse of her. She always seemed mad and me, and to this day, I have no idea why. I always wondered if I missed her more than she missed me.
Ironically, Coco later had a child from a boy I dated in high school. She happened to name her son the same name as my brother. Her son and my oldest son are only a few months apart in age. Isn’t history fascinating?
I have never tried to reach out to her. My biological father has never expressed an interest in knowing me, and I have just let sleeping dogs lie. Both Coco and my mother have passed away, and I wonder if it would bother them if their daughters ever chatted again.
For last year’s words belong to last year’s language, and next year’s words await another voice.
~T.S. Eliot
As the new year unfolds, I sit with deep reflection on the year experiences that have touched me in one way or another. It’s a quick look back ‘year in review’ to see what caught my attention, where did I find my joy, and examine the tough scenarios that invited me to dive deeper.
I have always considered these a benchmark in my own personal growth and awareness.
Now living in Portugal, we have found many new cultural traditions that celebrate the holidays and the end of year. As residents of the country (not yet citizens) we are hungry to embrace as many as we can. It surely is not mandatory but feels honoring on so many levels.
One of the long-standing traditions on New Year’s Eve, and the one I am most fascinated by is called 12 Raisins
“Probably the most popular tradition in Portugal to celebrate New Year’s Eve revolves around a tiny, dried grape. At the stroke of midnight, the Portuguese begin eating their 12 raisins to represent the 12 months. One raisin is traditionally eaten at each stroke of the clock.
It’s said that these raisins will bring you luck for the year to come. When you eat them, you’re supposed to make a wish such as good health or prosperity.
Before midnight strikes, the Portuguese will already be diving their raisins, so each person in attendance has 12. If you are spending New Year’s Eve at a restaurant, these will usually be handed out to you.”
As I sat with this new concept, I was curious on the definition of ‘wish’.
Wish – verb
- feel or express a strong desire or hope for something that cannot or probably will not happen.
“We wished for peace”
I have decided to not WISH, but more so INTEND.
Understanding that if we want to make a real difference for good in the world that creates a ripple effect, then it starts with US.
So, this year, I will be eating 12 raisins at midnight, making one intention at a time. My hope is that each personal intention will hold a space as a reminder of what it takes – to just be a good human.
12 Raisins – 12 IntentionsMindfulness – with intention
Acceptance – across the board
Grace – magnified
Courage – with accountability
Compassion – for the world and myself
Flexibility – mentally and physically
Vulnerability – when it matters
Connection – with consistency
Curiosity – at every turn
Awareness – with an open heart
Intentionality – for creating more ‘good’ in the world
Love – will win every time
These are my intentions – my benchmarks. My new voice for my next year. What are yours?
Feliz Ano Novo!
Consider every person in the USA that wakes up in the morning. What if there were some form of synergy with others worldwide; not knowing a couple of million folks of course? For that matter, any country. What are the first thoughts that enter your head? Do we step out of a dream into reality trying to reconnect with a dream?
I have written essays describing ‘flying dreams’ in one of my ebooks that BizCatalyst 360° brought to visuality by Dennis Pitocco’s brilliant creators.
A Beacon of Positivity
I certainly do fly!! No wings.
Very occasional ‘flying dreams’! And when gently flying around seeing the world from a different perspective, landing on reality’s ‘ landing platform can be rather dull! Perhaps flying beside a swan where there is mutual synergy; as if a flying human is perfectly normal.
‘Ordinary’ dreams can wake you with a shock; potentially unpleasant or perhaps traumatised when a Chevrolet Corvette Stingray is delivered in the wrong color. Worse or when waking up, wondering if Mom and Dad were really quietly talking with me. Ir often just one parent. Were they transported by an Angel to provide occasional or rare contact.?
Dreams are real. You don’t think you’re dreaming when dreaming. It may have some influence on your day ahead, subliminally influencing you; to follow certain aspects of the dream. Often waking up with a shock.
Flying dreams; are truly awesome. And people on the sidewalk may look up but shock or surprise enters not their feelings. Perfectly normal.
Well, it’s 23.40 hours! Time to take off for a slumber.
I‘m Sequoia. I made SLIM SHAKY to give people with Parkinson’s a voice, to spread awareness of life with PD, to show people with Parkinson’s that they’re not alone, and to raise funds for a cure. And I made SLIM SHAKY because I love my mom.
It was years ago that I first said at the family dinner table that I wanted to make a rap music video for my mom, but I meant it as a joke. My mom’s never been into rap music or rapping, and that’s exactly what made it so compelling. Even when I thought of the name “Slim Shaky”, she just smiled and rolled her eyes, but I wasn’t planning on making it happen.
When it came time to make my senior project in college, I realized that with this “Slim Shaky” idea, I had the opportunity to share my mom’s experience of Parkinson’s with the world in an honest and uplifting way. I realized that I could go even bigger and launch a fundraiser to help to cure Parkinson’s. And I realized that I could help make my mom the coolest rapper ever. It was a no-brainer. My mom was unsure at first, but then agreed to help.
This good plan became a great one when I connected with Heather Kennedy, an accomplished and talented Parkinson’s advocate who uses all forms of media to tell the world about PD. I was thrilled when she said she would love to join my mom and become the second rapper in the project, the second Slim Shaky!
I started by talking with my mom and Heather about their experiences with Parkinson’s, and then I wrote lyrics for each of them based on those conversations. From there we were able to hold “studio” sessions to record the rap, and then after plenty of editing, we started filming! Oh yeah, did I mention that Heather lives on the other side of the country? We collaborated entirely online!
After much planning, practicing, rapping, and editing, SLIM SHAKY is here for you to enjoy. As you watch, I hope you learn something, I hope you feel something, and I hope you see all the passion and love that went into it. I truly am so grateful for the incredible energy that my mom and Heather brought to the project, and for everyone who helped make this silly idea come to life.
SLIM SHAKY communicates a message of strength, but it also shows how life with Parkinson’s can really suck. About five million people worldwide are living with this degenerative illness, and there’s no known cure.
The Michael J. Fox Foundation vows to find a cure for Parkinson’s Disease by funding high-impact scientific research.
We’re asking for your generous support so that these five million people can sing, dance, love, and be loved, and maybe even rap, long into the future. It means more than you know.
SUPPORT OUR CAUSE HERE
Sequoia Lowe has since graduated from WCSU and now works in the media industry. He’s thrilled fo the release of SLIM SHAKY as an opportunity to express his love for his mom, spread awareness about life with PD, and raise funds for a cure. “My mom and Heather are incredible,” he says. “It takes so much courage to do this, and they both killed it.”
Most of you know Charlie Walker as one of the founding members of Dirt Road Storytellers. Charlie crossed over at two o’clock today (1/15/23). Charlie was one of my very best friends as he was with many of you. Let us remember him as an amazing fly fisherman, great storyteller, and dear friend.
Charlie loved life and lived it in God’s light. I will miss him so much.
Everyone has a story to tell, a lesson to teach, and wisdom to share…
Life is a beautiful masterpiece bound together by your experiences. Open up and share your story; become an inspiration to others. You can make a difference because you matter. You were created with purpose. Live your life with intention, go out there and make a difference by being the difference.~Melanie Moushigian Koulouris
We proudly recognize storytelling excellence as we announce the recipients of our (first annual) 2022 Radiance Awards, bestowed upon those select individuals who have found their voice and shared their story across the universe via 360° Nation RealVoices 360° …
CONGRATULATIONS are extended to Mark Reid, Yonason Goldson, and JoAnna Bennett for stepping up to tell their stories that matter! Enjoy their stories and many others here: REALVOICES 360°
We are all storytellers. We all live in a network of stories. There isn’t a stronger connection between people than storytelling.
~Jimmy Neil Smith
Ready to Share YOUR Story?Do you have a “story worth telling”? What experience, epiphany, or lesson do you have –that will make a difference to someone else? What experiences have shaped you? Your life story is more than an accounting of events. It’s also a memoir about your thoughts and your feelings surrounding the events, as well as how those specific events changed you. Events that can positively change the lives of others as they begin to realize that they are not alone in their journey of self-discovery. Your voice matters. Your wisdom of experience matters. Because YOUR STORY matters.
All Voices Matter: Time to Share Your Story?
As we gather together with families and friends during this Christmas Season; in love and kindness to share our blessings and our thankfulness for another year that has come and gone, for the strength and healing we’ve seen in our lives and in the lives of others,
May we take a moment to reflect; on those who’ve fought a good fight but are unable to join us as we look forward with the hope and anticipation of a child to another blessed year, one filled with continued strength, healing, and thankfulness, one where we can be found wearing a smile, even on the hardest of days. And when lacking the strength in ourselves on those days, may we be able to find it in the memory of those who are no longer here, and wear it proudly in their honor.
Lastly, though notably most important, may we be ever mindful of the reason we celebrate this season; why we set aside the time to celebrate with family and friends, why we go out of our way to spread cheer and good tidings to even those unknown individuals we pass by on the street as ships in the night,
May we find hope, thankfulness, and joy not only during this season but throughout the days and years to come, as the shepherds and wise men of old did when they went searching, bearing gifts for the New Messiah and King, the lowly baby born of a virgin, wrapped in swaddling and laying in a manger, as there was no other place to lay Him.
And may we find our life’s inspiration and the strength to push forward against all odds in the fact that long ago, out of love, a love we can not truly comprehend, God thought enough of us to send his Son as a baby to grow and know our way of life and our sorrows, before giving his life for ours that we may have everlasting life.
How many Jewish mothers does it take to change a light bulb? The answer contains the secret to the eternal struggle between light and darkness. That’s what the Festival of Chanukah is all about. More than religious oppression, national self-determination, or military resistance, Chanukah celebrates the supremacy of illuminating wisdom over intellectual and spiritual obfuscation. That’s why the message of Chanukah couldn’t be more relevant for both Jews and non-Jews. If we want to bring reason and civility back to our society, it’s time to reclaim the light of clarity and cast off the black clouds of moral confusion. And it starts right now.
Troy Bickham, Texas A&M University
Why, every Christmas, do so many people endure the mess of dried pine needles, the risk of a fire hazard, and impossibly tangled strings of lights?
Strapping a fir tree to the hood of my car and worrying about the strength of the twine, I sometimes wonder if I should just buy an artificial tree and do away with all the hassle. Then my inner historian scolds me – I have to remind myself that I’m taking part in one of the world’s oldest religious traditions. To give up the tree would be to give up a ritual that predates Christmas itself.
A symbol of life in a time of darknessAlmost all agrarian societies independently venerated the Sun in their pantheon of gods at one time or another – there was the Sol of the Norse, the Aztec Huitzilopochtli, and the Greek Helios.
The solstices, when the Sun is at its highest and lowest points in the sky, were major events. The winter solstice, when the sky is its darkest, has been a notable day of celebration in agrarian societies throughout human history. The Persian Shab-e Yalda, Dongzhi in China, and the North American Hopi Soyal all independently mark the occasion.
The favored décor for ancient winter solstices? Evergreen plants.
Whether as palm branches gathered in Egypt in the celebration of Ra or wreaths for the Roman feast of Saturnalia, evergreens have long served as symbols of the perseverance of life during the bleakness of winter, and the promise of the Sun’s return.
Christmas slowly emergesChristmas came much later. The date was not fixed on liturgical calendars until centuries after Jesus’ birth, and the English word Christmas – an abbreviation of “Christ’s Mass” – would not appear until over 1,000 years after the original event.
While Dec. 25 was ostensibly a Christian holiday, many Europeans simply carried over traditions from winter solstice celebrations, which were notoriously raucous affairs. For example, the 12 days of Christmas commemorated in the popular carol actually originated in ancient Germanic Yule celebrations.
The continued use of evergreens, most notably the Christmas tree, is the most visible remnant of those ancient solstice celebrations. Although Ernst Anschütz’s well-known 1824 carol dedicated to the tree is translated into English as “O Christmas Tree,” the title of the original German tune is simply “Tannenbaum,” meaning fir tree. There is no reference to Christmas in the carol, which Anschütz based on a much older Silesian folk love song. In keeping with old solstice celebrations, the song praises the tree’s faithful hardiness during the dark and cold winter.
Bacchanal backlashSixteenth-century German Protestants, eager to remove the iconography and relics of the Roman Catholic Church, gave the Christmas tree a huge boost when they used it to replace Nativity scenes. The religious reformer Martin Luther supposedly adopted the practice and added candles.
German Protestants sought to replace ornate Nativity scenes with the simpler tree.
Wikimedia CommonsBut a century later, the English Puritans frowned upon the disorderly holiday for lacking biblical legitimacy. They banned it in the 1650s, with soldiers patrolling London’s streets looking for anyone daring to celebrate the day. Puritan colonists in Massachusetts did the same, fining “whosoever shall be found observing Christmas or the like, either by forbearing of labor, feasting, or any other way.”
German immigration to the American colonies ensured that the practice of trees would take root in the New World. Benjamin Franklin estimated that at least one-third of Pennsylvania’s white population was German before the American Revolution. Yet, the German tradition of the Christmas tree blossomed in the United States largely due to Britain’s German royal lineage.
Taking a cue from the queenSince 1701, English kings had been forbidden from becoming or marrying Catholics. Germany, which was made up of a patchwork of kingdoms, had eligible Protestant princes and princesses to spare. Many British royals privately maintained the familiar custom of a Christmas tree, but Queen Victoria – who had a German mother as well as a German grandmother on her father’s side – made the practice public and fashionable. Victoria’s style of rule both reflected and shaped the outwardly stern, family-centered morality that dominated middle-class life during the era. In the 1840s, Christmas became the target of reformers like novelist Charles Dickens, who sought to transform the raucous celebrations of the largely sidelined holiday into a family day in which the people of the rapidly industrialized nation could relax, rejoice and give thanks.
His 1843 novella, “A Christmas Carol,” in which the miserly Ebenezer Scrooge found redemption by embracing Dickens’ prescriptions for the holiday, was a hit with the public. While the evergreen décor is evident in the hand-colored illustrations Dickens specially commissioned for the book, there are no Christmas trees in those pictures.
After the London Illustrated News published an image of Queen Victoria’s tree, the public eagerly sought to mimic the tradition.
Wikimedia Commons
Victoria added the fir tree to family celebrations five years later. Although Christmas trees had been part of private royal celebrations for decades, an 1848 issue of the London Illustrated News depicted Victoria with her German husband and children decorating one as a family at Windsor Castle. The cultural impact was almost instantaneous. Christmas trees started appearing in homes throughout England, its colonies, and the rest of the English-speaking world. Dickens followed with his short story “A Christmas Tree” two years later.
Adopting the tradition in AmericaDuring this period, America’s middle classes generally embraced all things Victorian, from architecture to moral reform societies.
Sarah Hale, the author most famous for her children’s poem “Mary had a Little Lamb,” used her position as editor of the best-selling magazine Godey’s Ladies Book to advance a reformist agenda that included the abolition of slavery and the creation of holidays that promoted pious family values. The adoption of Thanksgiving as a national holiday in 1863 was perhaps her most lasting achievement.
An engraving of Queen Victoria’s tree in Godey’s Ladies Book popularized Christmas trees in the U.S.
Godey’s Lady’s Book
It is closely followed by the Christmas tree.
While trees sporadically adorned the homes of German immigrants in the U.S., it became a mainstream middle-class practice when, in 1850, Godey’s published an engraving of Victoria and her Christmas tree. A supporter of Dickens and the movement to reinvent Christmas, Hale helped to popularize the family Christmas tree across the pond.
Only in 1870 did the United States recognize Christmas as a federal holiday. The practice of erecting public Christmas trees emerged in the U.S. in the 20th century. In 1923, the first one appeared on the White House’s South Lawn. During the Great Depression, famous sites such as New York’s Rockefeller Center began erecting increasingly larger trees.
A Christmas tree was erected on the White House South Lawn for the first time in 1923.
Library of CongressChristmas trees go globalAs both American and British cultures extended their influence around the world, Christmas trees started to appear in communal spaces even in countries that are not predominately Christian. Shopping districts in Dubai, United Arab Emirates, Hong Kong and Tokyo now regularly erect trees.
The modern Christmas tree is a universal symbol that carries meanings both religious and secular. Adorned with lights, they promote hope and offer brightness in literally the darkest time of year for half of the world. In that sense, the modern Christmas tree has come full circle.
Troy Bickham, Professor of History, Texas A&M University
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
This is a story of how I went from being pals with a friend from Texas to a few years later sharing stages with him and his band across the U.S. during a major summer heavy metal travelling tour. The story is mostly of the events that led up to the tour, as well as some of the shenanigans we got up to during the tour.
“Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.”
~ Kahil Gibran
Two steps behind, but only a heartbeat away, the gap is widening at a perfect pace.
At first, I was the only thing you needed to survive as you grew inside of me; we were breathing the same air. It is almost unfathomable to express in words, yet it is a feeling I will carry with me always.
And from the moment you were born my role began to shift from nurturer, protector, teacher, coach, and role model to where we are today, all the above, more but different.
I stayed close when you needed it most and gave you space to test your waters, find your courage, and fail if you needed. My presence was meant to guide from my own wisdom, yet still give you the landscape to grow into you… not me, but YOU.
It has been the most profound privilege to watch you navigate your own life with a sense of confidence and wonder, knowing that you would always have a safe place to fall.
You have learned to use your words when it was easier to be silent, take on tough conversations, ask a million questions out of curiosity or misunderstanding, practice gratitude even when it’s hard, engage in meaningful relationships, love fiercely from your core, and enjoy all the little details that add up to a life well lived. I have never been prouder of the human you have become.
I have walked in front of you, walked beside you, and now I am taking my place behind you. Letting go gradually has given us both the strength we need to grow into our new roles in a new season of life.
This is a mother’s love that in time loosens the grip and revels in watching you do YOU, with all your heart, passion, and with a strong moral compass.
I am always here for you in all ways that you need the most on any given day or moment.
An ear to just listen…without judgement
A shoulder to cry on…with strength to hold the broken parts
A bucket of wisdom to share if needed…with personal perspectives that you do not need to subscribe if they do not fit
And an open heart to hold your heartbreaks…and celebrate all your wins.
Two steps behind and only a heartbeat away…
Sam Schmid was in a coma for two months after a horrific 5-car accident. His injuries included, among other things, a brain aneurysm, stroke, and severe brain injury. In what was termed a Christmas “miracle,” Schmid “woke up” as his doctors were discussing pulling his life support systems. He had to re-learn everything, including how to swallow, speak, and walk. After two and a half years of intensive – 40 hours/week – speech, physical, and occupational therapy, Schmid is back in school and able to work. His advice? Never give up – find the miracle within you.
Being your True Self is the hope of many, but it can be scary too. How often do we sabotage ourselves from living into the truest expression of who we are because we are afraid?
We worry that we do not really have what it takes to be our authentic selves. Michael Canfield had achieved the heights of being a musician, yet he went into a downward spiral of self-destructive behaviors due to his avoidance of painful memories. What he learned is shown in this film. He says that being free means facing yourself so that you can let go of what holds you back and become all that you dream of being. “You shall know the truth and the truth shall set you free,” became a living statement for him even when he did not like what he saw. Facing himself allowed him to heal and to enter into the fullness of life and of his giftedness as a musician. His story is a lesson for anyone hoping to find their way to freedom by letting go.
Thomas Adam, University of Arkansas
Each season, the celebration of Christmas has religious leaders and conservatives publicly complaining about the commercialization of the holiday and the growing lack of Christian sentiment. Many people seem to believe that there was once a way to celebrate the birth of Christ in a more spiritual way. Such perceptions about Christmas celebrations have, however, little basis in history. As a scholar of transnational and global history, I have studied the emergence of Christmas celebrations in German towns around 1800 and the global spread of this holiday ritual.
While Europeans participated in church services and religious ceremonies to celebrate the birth of Jesus for centuries, they did not commemorate it as we do today. Christmas trees and gift-giving on Dec. 24 in Germany did not spread to other European Christian cultures until the end of the 18th century and did not come to North America until the 1830s.
Charles Haswell, an engineer, and chronicler of everyday life in New York City, wrote in his “Reminiscences of an Octoganarian” that in the 1830s German families living in Brooklyn dressed up Christmas trees with lights and ornaments. Haswell was so curious about this novel custom that he went to Brooklyn in a very stormy and wet night just to see these Christmas trees through the windows of private homes.
The first Christmas trees in GermanyOnly in the late 1790s did the new custom of putting up a Christmas tree decorated with wax candles and ornaments and exchanging gifts emerge in Germany. This new holiday practice was completely outside and independent of Christian religious practices.
The idea of putting wax candles on an evergreen was inspired by the pagan tradition of celebrating the winter solstice with bonfires on Dec. 21. These bonfires on the darkest day of the year were intended to recall the sun and show her the way home. The lit Christmas tree was essentially a domesticated version of these bonfires.
The English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge gave the very first description of a decorated Christmas tree in a German household when he reported in 1799 about having seen such a tree in a private home in Ratzeburg in northwestern Germany. In 1816 German poet E.T.A. Hoffmann published his famous story “Nutcracker and Mouse King.” This story contains the very first literary record of a Christmas tree decorated with apples, sweets, and lights.
From the onset, all family members, including children, were expected to participate in the gift-giving. Gifts were not brought by a mystical figure, but openly exchanged among family members – symbolizing the new middle-class culture of egalitarianism.
From German roots to American soilAmerican visitors to Germany in the first half of the 19th century realized the potential of this celebration for nation-building. In 1835 Harvard professor George Ticknor was the first American to observe and participate in this type of Christmas celebration and to praise its usefulness for creating a national culture. That year, Ticknor and his 12-year-old daughter Anna joined the family of Count von Ungern-Sternberg in Dresden for a memorable Christmas celebration. Other American visitors to Germany – such as Charles Loring Brace, who witnessed a Christmas celebration in Berlin nearly 20 years later – considered it a specific German festival with the potential to pull people together.
For both Ticknor and Brace, this holiday tradition provided the emotional glue that could bring families and members of a nation together. In 1843 Ticknor invited several prominent friends to join him in a Christmas celebration with a Christmas tree and gift-giving in his Boston home. Ticknor’s holiday party was not the first Christmas celebration in the United States that featured a Christmas tree. German-American families had brought the custom with them and put up Christmas trees before. However, it was Ticknor’s social influence that secured the spread and social acceptance of the alien custom to put up a Christmas tree and to exchange gifts in American society.
The introduction of Santa Claus‘Santa Claus in Camp,’ from Harper’s Weekly, by artist Thomas Nast.
Harris Brisbane Dick Fund, 1929For most of the 19th century, the celebration of Christmas with Christmas trees and gift-giving remained a marginal phenomenon in American society. Most Americans remained skeptical about this new custom. Some felt that they had to choose between older English customs such as hanging stockings for presents on the fireplace and the Christmas tree as proper space for the placing of gifts. It was also hard to find the necessary ingredients for this German custom. Christmas tree farms had first to be created. And ornaments needed to be produced.
The most significant steps toward integrating Christmas into popular American culture came in the context of the American Civil War.
In January 1863 Harper’s Weekly published on its front page the image of Santa Claus visiting the Union Army in 1862. This image, which was produced by the German-American cartoonist Thomas Nast, represents the very first image of Santa Claus.
‘Santa Claus and His Works,’ from Harper’s Weekly, Dec. 25, 1866.
Artist Thomas Nast, HarpWeekIn the following years, Nast developed the image of Santa Claus into the jolly old man with a big belly and long white beard as we know it today. In 1866 Nast produced “Santa Claus and His Works,” an elaborate drawing of Santa Claus’ tasks, from making gifts to recording children’s behavior. This sketch also introduced the idea that Santa Claus traveled by a sledge drawn by reindeer.
Declaring Christmas a federal holiday and putting up the first Christmas tree in the White House marked the final steps in making Christmas an American holiday. On June 28, 1870, Congress passed the law that turned Christmas Day, New Year’s Day, Independence Day, and Thanksgiving Day into holidays for federal employees. And in December 1889 President Benjamin Harrison began the tradition of setting up a Christmas tree at the White House.
Christmas had finally become an American holiday tradition.
Thomas Adam, Associate Professor of International and Global Studies, University of Arkansas
This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.
I wasn’t sure how this story would be received since it wasn’t a fun, happy tale of adventure. And then I realized that was the challenge – to create a story out of a bunch of flat, boring, and harsh facts, and to see if I could make it interesting enough to capture a potential reader’s attention. So I decided to go for it, and ended up writing my tale of woe into a story, and I figured I wouldn’t worry about how the subject matter might be received. Instead, I focused on the storytelling aspect.
We are all connected and have many similarities. Paintbrushes may not be one of them, but you will soon get the point.Let’s get literal for a second. For starters, we all eat, sleep, and breathe. Another lane most of us have in common is work, whether inside or outside the home. We work hard for the money, as Donna Summer sang back in the day.
Speaking of work, I think one of the world’s most thankless and challenging jobs is that of our domestic engineers. Superhumans are running the world’s households, and they might even raise or educate children simultaneously.
Regardless of your type of work, home or otherwise, your “profession” requires training, knowledge, routines, and habits at some point in time. After we step outside our comfort zone and learn the tools and education needed for the job, work then becomes the most repetitive portion of our life, leaving little space for creativity.
Over the years, when I have asked my clients to share their gifts and talents, the majority use a past-tense response. I used to play guitar. I used to write poetry. I used to sew. I used to be an amazing baker. USED TO. A shocking percentage will respond with, “I have no talents.” Of course, we all have talents and gifts, we just don’t recognize them as such, or we have put many to rest and forgotten about them.
Either response, “I used to, or I do not have” originates from the same root cause. They correlate with “choosing” to become too busy. Yes, choosing.
Just as we are encouraged to become storytellers and writers as preschoolers, we are also encouraged to develop talents and uncover our gifts. As children, we have a solid bandwagon loaded with mentors and supporters. We are encouraged to learn an instrument, take art classes, and play sports. Time and money are spent on developing this area of growth. Our drawings are hung on the refrigerator and walls. We are encouraged to sing and dance when the family gathers. The audience is packed if you are playing in the band, performing the lead in a community play or when your brownies win at the County Fair.
As the “responsibilities” of adulthood creep in, the time we once spent on our talents and gifts shrinks. Quickly society teaches us that creativity does not put food on the table and is a waste of time. As young adults, most of us are not taught to block out precious time for creativity. Unless you hold a position in tech development or engineering, we quickly learn that talents and gifts are something you do in your spare time, of which there is little.
As a disclaimer, I am not being all-inclusive here. I know this blog won’t resonate with you brilliant souls who fought the norm and have kept your artistry alive.
So, I ask, where do you find joy? Let’s start there. I don’t know how many times I have been told this month to find my joy or to do what me joyous. Two months ago, I would have told you joy meant checking things off my work To Do list, organizing my new office, unpacking boxes, and cleaning the house. Honestly, I find joy in doing these things. However, deep joys such as gardening, writing, drawing, having conversations, dancing, biking, kayaking, walking by the ocean, binge-watching TV, and more have not hit my priority list for quite some time.
Yes, I have been blessed to love my career. A picture hanging in my office proves it. “If you love your job, you will never work a day.” But when Hurricane Ian trampled upon us two months ago, I began to analyze that work is work. Isn’t it? Even though I find joy in it, it has become monotonous, snuffing out my creative fires.
Yes, my talents and gifts are present in my profession, but I have lost the “downtime” portion of my joy. My “busyness” story defines me. I have worked nearly every day for the last three years, which hasn’t seemed unreasonable up to this point, after all, “I love what I do; it’s not work.” As I coach my clients, family, and friends to rekindle and discover their old and new talents and gifts, I realize I have not done so myself.
We are moving out of our home after living here only two months before the storm. It will take up to six months to repair the damages to our house. While re-packing boxes, I found a large Tupperware bin full of coloring books, colored pencils, markers, paints, brushes, and writing journals. I realized my beachcomber bike had flat tires, and it hit me. I had not ridden it for six months. And at one point, my kayak paddles fell from a shelf and nearly decapitated me. These discoveries reminded me that I have lost a bit of my joy. These talents and gifts had been tucked away, waiting for me to find time to slide them into my busy schedule. I no longer looked at coloring or making funny TikToks as joy. I have looked at them as burdens and could not equate the time I would spend doing them to the outcome I would receive if I stayed on task in my business.
Surely there is hope. I am putting it out here. There will be a societal focus and acceptance of joy and creativity. As a collective, we have the power. Over the years, I have watched the evolution of certain areas of wellness improve, such as self-care. Surely the evolution of finding joy and creativity might be next. A few decades ago, we began improving stress at work by addressing self-care to decrease stress. When I was operating corporate wellness programs, we enforced walk breaks and brought in a chair massage therapist weekly. Many self-care recommendations over the years have improved – we are not done yet, but they have improved. No one talked about self-care in the ’80s. Right?! Look at us 40 years later. Slowly but surely.
It is time to paint the picture of joy. Let’s begin conversations about how to define and achieve joy.
I am not naïve. Surely businesses won’t replace board meetings with quilt contests, bake-offs, and holiday talent shows, but I am encouraged that conversation will escalate, and joy will eventually become second nature.
Ask yourself, how do you define joy, and what are you doing when you feel joyous or creative? Then identify a few baby steps to embed joy in your personal and professional life. It might involve dipping your toes outside your comfort zone.
How about trombone lessons or reading to nursing home residents?
You may not have a set of paintbrushes to dig out, but surely you can start singing in the shower again.
As you may know, I am ALL ABOUT the HAPPY—even when it doesn’t seem to be there…even when ALL we may feel is Sadness, Fear, Pain, Anger, or just Flat out CRAPPY!!!
And this is not to say that we shouldn’t feel Sadness, Fear, Pain, or Anger—they are Amazing Emotions to be expressed and embraced as part of the Human Experience!!! I merely wish to show that HAPPINESS can be present AT THE SAME time as these feelings, found at the opposite end of the emotional spectrum, and that our external circumstances don’t dictate our joy. By looking inside ourselves, we can FIND THE HAPPY IN THE CRAPPY!!!
I offer up some tools when speaking of this, that can up-level our hearts and help us FIND THE HAPPY IN CRAPPY: (1) Honesty, (2) Gratitude, (3) Self-Love, (4) Acceptance, and (5) Patience.
The very first time I realized these tools were so helpful in allowing me to see through the shit and find my joy, was when I lost many physical and mental faculties, and eventually the ability to walk. Embracing these tools sequentially—the process of “Becoming Chronically Fabulous”, as I’ve come to call it—has enabled me to FIND THE HAPPY IN THE CRAPPY in all of my shitty situations, especially my flare-ups.
Until recently…
This flare-up, which started mid-October, (right after seeing my doctor about a burning, red rash that randomly was appearing on my face) has thrown me—physically, energetically, and emotionally.
I have gone through my process: (1) have gotten completely HONEST with myself and laid out the shit—acknowledged the symptoms I have been having and how I have felt about them, (2) have found my pieces of GRATITUDE (my things to celebrate) which have been keeping me grounded and centered as I’ve begun digging through the shit, (3) have granted me the SELF-LOVE and permission to feel all the feels when processing the shit, (4) have ACCEPTED all of the shit and have allowed myself to stay there as long as necessary to process…I’ve been leaning into all of what I’ve been feeling about my flare and about myself…I’ve been talking with my therapist every two weeks about the things that have been bothering me, the stuff I need to let go of, and the “aha” moments I’ve discovered, and (5) have been trying to be as PATIENT as possible and have been choosing to see the GOOD and the HAPPY as it pops out randomly in this shitty experience.
Overall, I’ve been quite calm, positive, and able to recognize the HAPPY bits over the past month or so. But something has been nagging at me, and I haven’t been able to put my finger on it. I haven’t been able to quite shake it.
Have I not been completely honest with myself???…
Am I not allowing myself the time, space, and grace to process???
Over the course of the past two weeks, the Universe has decided to speak—answering these questions through various signs. My horoscopes, Oracle cards being pulled for the collective in FB groups to which I belong, headlines for emails, podcast episodes that I’ve been listening to, random articles being shared in my social feed, and healing sessions in which I’ve been taking part—ALL have been telling me to let go, to not be afraid, to move forward with courage, etc…I have obviously been in need of a perspective shift, but I have not been able to figure it out for the life of me.
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And then a personal encounter with a stranger…
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I met a woman in the bathroom, as she was coming from the handicapped stall, for which I was waiting. She glanced at me in my wheelchair and then apologized for using the stall, saying “I only use this when my Rheumatoid Arthritis acts up”…she then proceeded to speak of how her aches and pains were intensified by the cold, wet weather and she wondered if the same went for me—as if she knew what I was going through.
We struck up a conversation about our various health conditions. I couldn’t believe the similar experiences we shared, not only physically, but also emotionally and energetically—we were so much aligned, it was as if I were having a conversation with myself.
A few things differed, however. She was a great deal older than I was and she had pretty much EVERY Rheumatological disorder in the book—many of which are quite a possibility for me, given the symptoms I have been experiencing lately. I was frankly blown away by how highly she was functioning, given all of her ailments. I mean she apologized to me for using the handicapped stall, for God’s sake!!! And I was in complete awe of her JOY and HAPPINESS despite her crappy situation.
And then it all became clear—all the signs seemed to connect and converge on this very moment. That thing of which I was afraid and needed to let go, in order to move forward, was staring me right in the face.
It was all about being honest with myself and needing to acknowledge a fear, only this fear was unknown to me until now.
I was not afraid of the potential “what if’s” of my symptoms—there’s a fifty-fifty chance of EVERYTHING either happening or not happening, and I will deal with whichever circumstance as it arises. I was, however, doubting how I would deal with said circumstances—and that scared the shit out of me.
I was afraid of my self-doubt and that was the fear of which I needed to let go. I knew I had gotten through way more difficult situations than what I could be facing and it was killing me that I was doubting my ability and my inner strength.
However, meeting that woman in the bathroom, the one with ALL of the shitty rheumatological circumstances, assuaged my fear of self-doubt. Because we were soooo much alike—in our determination, playfulness, hopefulness, zest for life, and our ability to find JOY when bringing HAPPINESS to others—it reignited the flame in my heart that I could thrive and be HAPPY, regardless of my external situations…And for that I was forever grateful!!!
So not only has my fear of self-doubt been alleviated—which has thankfully stopped that nagging sensation that’s been creeping up to thwart my inner calm, peace, and HAPPINESS—but I’ve also gained some more insight into my process of FINDING THE HAPPY IN THE CRAPPY…
“Becoming Chronically Fabulous” and embracing the tools of HONESTY, GRATITUDE, SELF-LOVE, ACCEPTANCE, and PATIENCE—in order to look within to create our HAPPY—is not always a sequential process, as I had previously thought.
This flare-up has taught me that my method can be cyclical and non-linear.
Depending upon how long our various shitty circumstances plague us, we may need to repeat using the tools of finding inner calm, peace, and joy numerous times. For instance, I had gone through the process of each tool to the best of my conscious ability, only to find that there was an unknown fear that I later needed to honestly acknowledge—signaling the need for the process of “Becoming Chronically Fabulous” to repeat itself.
Also, the tools can be used in a non-linear fashion. In this recent scenario, the order of the tools used happened to be: (1) Patience, (2) Self-Love, (3) Acceptance, (4) Honesty, and (5) Gratitude.
The Universe had been speaking to me for a while and I needed to be PATIENT that all would be revealed. When the dots had connected and I had met the stranger in the bathroom, I permitted myself all the feels (SELF-LOVE) and processed all the signs (ACCEPTANCE). That eventually led to the realization of my fear of self-doubt and the importance of acknowledging it (HONESTY). After all, was said and done, the encounter with the woman in the bathroom left me feeling nothing but GRATITUDE!!!
So, as the Universe has spoken to me over the last few weeks, I have had great perspective shifts in my physical being as well as in my thoughts regarding FINDING THE HAPPY IN THE CRAPPY.
It isn’t always that we are in denial or purposely avoiding our fears—sometimes we don’t know they exist and they just need some time (or some help from the Universe) to come into the light.
FINDING THE HAPPY IN THE CRAPPY is an evolving process and as new shitty situations present themselves, they seem to shed new light. The tools of HONESTY, GRATITUDE, SELF-LOVE, ACCEPTANCE, and PATIENCE are quite effective when going inside ourselves to search for calm, peace, and joy—leading to fabulous results, regardless of external forces. In effect, calling the process by which we embrace said tools “Becoming Chronically Fabulous” seems to be a good fit…
To sum things up, as the Universe Speaks, monumental changes can happen in our physical and mental states…the question is—Are we listening???
This past Thanksgiving, we gathered at our daughter-in-law’s home for dinner. The small gathering included my wife and I, both of our sons along with their wives, our one (and so far, only) granddaughter, two cats, and four dogs. The atmosphere was warmly chaotic. As dinner was preparing, various members of the family, both four-legged and two, drifted in and out of the kitchen, chattering or scrounging for snacks or both. Others helped with the various dishes. That is, until the head chef and hostess shooed everyone out unless they were specifically summoned because there were too many butts in a one-butt kitchen.
The conversations continued; small babbling brooks flowing first one way and then another; encountering topics like stones. Rising and ebbing as interest and excitement surged or abated.
As the adults chattered, our two-year-old granddaughter, Addy, systematically organized her own little dinner party. Grabbing her uncle by the hand, she brought him to the napkins, laid out the carpet as a table, and shared cups of “joose!” and small plastic plates of “kookies!” Every utterance an exclamation that brooked no disagreement as in, “Unca Dan! Have joose!”
Looking around, Addy demands to know, “Where Anty Marlee!?” And off she goes to bring anty Marlee to sit next to unca Dan and “Have Kooky!” In her world, seldom do things occur in isolation. Everyone and everything is connected. If uncle Dan is around, then auntie Marlee must surely be nearby. If Papa comes through the door, there is a squeal of excitement and a hug followed by a demand, “Where Meemaw?!” Followed closely by, “Where Buddy?!” Our chihuahua.
Children instinctively understand what adults forget; that communication and connection are two sides of one coin. Or should be. Communication without connection is as devoid of true meaning as were the shadows on the walls of Plato’s cave. Connection without communication is impossible.
Aristotle suggested that everything connects to everything else. One cannot become perfect in isolation, in the same way as a pen or a car cannot develop their full potential without the right environment. The pen or car cannot do what it was designed to do unless it is connected to someone skilled in its use. In Aristotelian ethics: We can only reach our full potential together with others. This becomes nowhere as clear as in the social circles that we build around ourselves: a family member can only flourish if the rest of the family flourishes. We do this through a combination of loving and caring connection communicated with words, touch, or even a look. When mommy gathers up her daughter, smothers her with kisses and hugs, and exclaims, “Do you know how much Mommy loves you?!” she communicates and connects on the deepest, most powerful level. Even as her daughter squirms free to return to her tea party, she replies, “Mmhmm.” The connection is affirmed and communicated. When Daddy swoops her up to his shoulders for a squealing, breathless run, the love, and caring is communicated. The circle is complete.
The babble and chuckle of brooks merged, connected, and became a small pond as we finally gathered at the dining table to join hands in prayer and thanksgiving.
I had the great honour of recording a conversation with Dr. Raj Persaud, Harley Street Psychiatrist and former anchor for BBC Radio’s “All in the Mind”. The conversation was wide-ranging and some of the questions we covered included:
- Using music to change your mood
- Language and music
- The importance of psychological safety
- Creativity and the advocacy of ideas
- The importance of incubation for innovation
- The chemistry of teams
- Music, business, and emotional intelligence
Listen to the dialogue between Raj and Peter here:
Following is a chapter in my forthcoming non-fiction book That Think You Do. The book is based on a series of blog posts I wrote back in the mid-to-late-2000s for a California-based company. The editor at my new publishing house found the posts and thought they would make an excellent series of books. The posts/chapters are based on my research in a variety of fields – neuroscience, anthropology, sociology, psychology, linguistics, … – and were quite popular in their day.
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A fascinating piece of social research has made it to my desk. It deals with males’ success rate with females in typical mating situations.
To readers outside of social anthropology, this means “What can guys do to make sure girls notice them in bars, at clubs, in the mall, in the hall, in the cafeteria, at the dance, …?”
The research points out one of those things that’s obvious. So obvious, one might ask, “Somebody had to do research on this?” Well, yes. Because when you think about it, it’s not what most guys do in typical mating situations and that’s probably why few males have the kind of success they want.
The Trick IsBe a little different from your mates, your buddies, your pals, whatever you want to call them, when you go out as a group. Or if you’re not going out as a group, be a little different than most other guys when you go out where other males will be. For example, wear flashy suspenders with bright accessories or otherwise drab, run-of-the-mill clothing. Or a different kind of hat. Or a clown nose. The trick is to get women to look, even for a second because that one second puts you one second ahead of the…umm…competition.
Women may not flock to you and they will, generally, be more receptive should you approach them.
It Works BecauseIt turns out that women of all ages cue to the different in mating situations. Neuroscience uses the term “difference sorters” for this and it means that, given one-hundred things that are all the same and only one thing among those hundred that are different, females as a group will devote attention to the one different thing before they’ll pay attention to any one of the one-hundred similar things. Evolution has designed them to look for the one perfect jaw and good teeth (for example) among all the other jaws and teeth because that one perfect jaw and good teeth meant a good hunter, good provider, and better genetic material for her offspring (than the hundred other fellows with common jaws and teeth), meaning her genes had a better than average chance of survival, too. Those evolutionary factors are still hard at work even though the pampas or forest or mountains have been replaced by malls, dance halls, cafeterias, offices, and so on.
So if you’re just a little different – not a lot different – females will notice you and make a mental note that you’re interesting. Specifically, they will note that you’re more interesting than the other males around you.
And guys, in case you haven’t figured it out yet, being interesting works really well when it comes to attracting females. Nice cars, big bankroll, great job, expensive clothes, great bling, these are all good things too, no question about it.
Of course, they’re good because they’re interesting. Especially when your competition doesn’t have them. Such things make you…umm…different.
Here’s What You Can’t DoDifferent is nice and it has to be different within certain boundaries. You can’t land your hovercraft in the company parking lot and expect to get the kind of attention you want. You’ll get attention, I’m sure, simply not the kind you want from females you’d want interested in you.
You can’t wear gold like Mr. T in his heyday if you’re going to a friend’s moving party.
Be different, yes, but be different within the setting’s limits. Stand out enough to be seen, not stared at.
You’ll do fine.
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I would appreciate both your comments below and hearing from you as I am seeking testimonials, endorsements, reviews, back cover copy, etc., to help promote my book following release. Please reach out to me directly if you’re interested in receiving an Advance Readers’ Copy.
Thank you!
Joseph
Sharing is Caring.It is a basic premise that we learn throughout life. But the truth is it has exponential effects on us and those we help. There are physiological and emotional benefits to giving back. We benefit even if we aren’t aware of the impact giving has on our health.
As a former special education teacher and pediatric nurse, I have focused my life on giving back to children in need. And in the community, I have been blessed to support ventures to give back to families of special needs children in a bigger way. When I started giving back magical shifts happened in my productivity, confidence, and courage. At the time I had no idea that giving back freed me from stress and cleared space for me to proceed in my healing journey.
One of the basic principles I teach and thrive on is “Kindness is essential towards others and yourself.” And this simple premise means giving to others is a huge part of my life.
But it also helped me realize and foster kindness towards myself through self-love, mindfulness, and writing. And I am grateful that I can share these principles with children, families, and the community.
My passion for giving began 22 years ago as a special education teacher. I was on a journey to understand the link between physical illness, disability, and mental health. I started the journey inspired by the health challenges of a very special boy named Alfonso. At the time I had no idea that his story and my career change would give me the courage to be vulnerable and heal from my child abuse and understand my learning disabilities on a different level.
Alfoso was a beautiful green-eyed and blond-haired little boy who suddenly lost his speech and experienced significant developmental delays. He faced these delays after a mosquito bite that caused encephalitis, seizure disorder, and significant learning disabilities. Alfonso was one of my most precious yet challenging students in my brief special education career. Caring for him fueled my curiosity and courage to understand the link between illness, disease, and disability. And I know now he finally gave me the courage to go to my true calling and become a nurse. Several years later, I cared for Alfonso on many occasions in the Emergency room. I reunited with his mom Elsa and learned about her efforts to support children and families with special needs children to access medical care and special needs services from infancy to adulthood.
And my passion for giving grew as I became a member of the Board of Trustees for Miami Family Friends years ago. We work together creating events for families focused on education, health, empowerment, and nurturing. We have created events to help parents and children thrive through the hardships of disabilities. We continue to launch new projects based on community needs. We invite any parents and families with special needs children to our events absolutely Free. Our next event is a Holiday party on December 2, 2022.
I know that giving back has helped me thrive in so many ways. And expanded my potential in life and career through the physiological and psychological benefits that lie under the surface of giving.
I give because I love to but knowing that my kindness benefits everyone brings peace of mind and body.
During covid 19, I launched a little project on my own to give me the courage to continue to heal. Our non-profit had limited events due to the pandemic but I had a deep need to continue giving. Giving back even during a lockdown pushed me along in my healing journey. As I worked through my challenges and focused on progress while I used inspiration to guide my giving. I realized at the time the power of art, reading, mindfulness, baking, and play in mental health and wellness. And as I used these tools for myself, I became inspired by the hardships of others and began giving to support. I supported families and children through donations I collected to create sensory mood boxes. Over the years, I gave boxes to individuals or families. The family boxes were the most fun. I incorporated special gifts for everyone from infants, children to parents. And gave it to families facing hardships like illness or death.
During this time of giving and healing, I focused on others, and my career and rested from writing. But I am grateful for everything I learned on this journey and the opportunities to share with the community. And I am confident 2023 will bring many more opportunities to give to others and spread love. I hope you find ways to give back to the community. And in that giving, I hope you find the blessings the gift of kindness brings into your life.
Let yourself be drawn by the stronger pull of that which you truly love.
~Rumi
My work isn’t always easy. It can be overwhelming at times. It can also be exhausting – I’m dealing with the emotions and personal experiences of other people. Challenging the status quo comes often with a steep emotional toll. I have learned how to handle my emotional exhaustion before it turns to burnout.Often, I go where I feel most alive and spend time in solitude.Yesterday, I went to the ocean just to enjoy the sound of waves on the shore. The sight and sound of waves at the beach have an incredibly calming effect on me. Watching the sun set behind the blue waters literally took my breath away. It was a magical experience.
The most unexpected thing happened as I listened to the waves within me. I literally felt my heart opening up again after such a long time. It was a moment of deep growth for me as I courageously ventured into the waters of my heart.
As I dove deeper into my heart, I started feeling this overwhelmingly intense energy with me. I felt alive again.Love is the most powerful force in the Universe. You can access it anytime you want to..you are loved….it is within you.
Some time near the beginning of the COVID outbreak, the bank branch where I conducted most of my financial transactions was remodeled. It was a shock to me that the renovations resulted in a permanent closure of the drive-through lanes and that customers now had only two options: to use a drive-up ATM or to go inside to retrieve money from their accounts by talking with a bank employee on a video screen.
The memory came immediately of my summer breaks during college when I worked full-time as a teller at a bank. I had applied for the position after my freshman-year dorm mate’s sorority sister told me about the job. It happened that she also lived in my hometown and had a connection at the bank.
I did get the job, but while I expected to learn the technical and financial aspects of being a bank teller, I did not realize that I would also be learning much more. Slowly and steadily, I became confident with transactions and being sure to cash checks, make deposits, check balances, complete transfers between accounts correctly, and “prove” my drawer at the end of the day. I learned how to interact with customers, each with their own needs, questions, and personalities; and how to respond when I asked for the driver’s license of a long-time customer and was met with the reply of “I’ve had an account here for XXXX number of years, and I’ve never had to show my license before!”
I worked at three of the bank’s branches, sometimes with the inside customers but mostly with those in the drive-through lanes. I enjoyed both, but I think more challenges and surprises happened inside.
One day, I knew something was going on when I saw that one of the inside tellers had walked away from her station. Our standard procedure was to confirm that signatures on checks were legitimate. The teller was away longer than normal, as she had discovered that her customer had given her a check with a forged signature. The customer, probably realizing that he was not going to get any money, left the lobby in a hurry. The security guard on duty observed what had happened and left to apprehend the customer, and I believe he did. I left that day thankful that nothing worse had happened… .and that I hadn’t been working the inside counter!
Of the three branch locations, my favorite was the third and last one to which I was assigned. I had more in common with the other tellers (one with whom I have remained in contact, 30 years later), and the branch manager was optimistic and friendly, which impacted employees and customers alike.
While working the “tubes” (the canisters that travel between the tellers and customers in vehicles) of the drive-through lanes at this branch, I began to recognize many of the customers and learned when they would typically arrive. I started to notice a particular gentleman who came on a regular basis. Our conversation was rather limited, of course, but he seemed to want to say more than other customers. He would typically send in a check to be cashed or deposited, but, one day after a month or so of the usual transactions, imagine my surprise when I opened the tube he had sent in and found a rose!
That story ends there, but my reason for sharing these experiences is to grieve the disappearance of bank tellers and interactions with people and the resulting effect:
The less interaction we have with other humans, the fewer stories we will have to tell our family, friends, and the world.
As writers, let’s work harder to share our experiences, positive or negative, to avert the arrival of a story-teller-less world.
"Evil is always a “personal choice”. The phrase, “The devil made me do it!” seems humorous at first as a lame excuse for anyone to absolve themselves of any mea culpas." ...
"The Circle" is an anthem to breaking out of life’s daily grind. It’s applicable in so many life settings." ...
"This poem was inspired by the recent Lunar Eclipse and the beautiful, magical sight of a large red moon suspended in our sky." ...
"What’s going on in your life that you’re grateful for? How do you keep that focus?" ...
"Pink, green, yellow, and blues, Exhibiting altogether varying hues. With little colored planets revolving all around, All gazers are left with nothing, just spellbound." ...
"Art and love are the same things: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you." ...
River deep clouds combine, Join themselves as one, Such a scene quite divine, Stop and stare before they’re gone. Floating free in harmony, Gently caressing heart and mind, Blessing visual memory, Nothing else so sweet and kind. Wonderful the scenic beauty, Makes the world a better place, Happy drifting from reality, Before the eyes an […]
"Want to know how to weather the times, economic upheavals, business successes and failures, the birth of a child, and the loss of a friend?" ...
"One thing I don’t want to forget is the empathy the other drivers displayed that day. For a cynic like me, their actions did indeed prove that human kindness still exists." ...
"Perhaps, I will find that story; and if not, I would write a story telling them how much I loved them and how I lost them both." ...
"Lead a life of your own design, on your own terms. Not one that others or the environment have scripted for you." ...
"Yes, there are more but just for today... Here's to all who connect and love to see... the beauty and the uniqueness of each tree!" ...
"Like Dr. Seuss’s The Grinch, I had an idea. An awful idea. Jim had a wonderful, awful idea." ...
"The journey within can surely ignite the passion for living a new awareness. Noticing the reflective patterns in our lives allows us to see sides and recognize no difference... all in and is one." ...
"What’s our history of aging at home and what kind of caregiving will we need today? How can we make the home a creative stage set for the last third of life?" ...
"I really hadn’t given too much thought to them worrying about me at the time. There was time, for that later." ...
"Being curious naturally forces us to slow down, to take ourselves off the autopilot or cruise control mode that is daily life for most of us. Being curious encourages us to engage more meaningfully with others at work, at home, and at school. " ...
"Perhaps it's just a day or a moment in the sun, but living with a smile lets you know that you have won." ...
"What holds a lot of us back is fear of the unknown…and forever being led to believe that we are not worthy or strong enough, or smart enough to make a go of it on our own." ...
"Perfection is unattainable and unrealistic. It is a goal that places overwhelming expectations on us, those we love, and our experiences." ...
"How many big mistakes can you make and still end up with an amazing life? Quite a lot, it turns out, if the Goddess has your back…"
"How can you create more boundaries to ensure work remains a harmonious passion, not an obsessive one?" ...
"Be open to new experiences. Embrace the unknown. And find the adventures that work for you. The results will be unique and powerful." ...
"Size Matters as it's those little things that get us to the next spot on the ladder of life." ...
"My clothes still dripping wet from standing in the rain and my thoughts were a mile away from there wondering what my parents were thinking by now they figured out I had run away." ...
"He came again after all these years hoping that the chair would still be there, and it was, still resting in the sand near the sand dunes." ...
"Questions, stories, thought-provoking possibilities, and tips to play with as you Let Your Purpose Find You..."
"What are the memories that still tug at you as an adult from your childhood? Love to know if anyone has stories like this!" ...
"We are all alchemists and magicians, having innate prophetic knowledge, to create and manifest through the imaginative faculty of our minds. Yet we don’t. Why?" ...
"No matter the season or the reason I find myself most at home among the trees. Perhaps they beckon to you as well to come, stay awhile. Where do you go to be filled with light and to shine?" ...
"The birth of a new day. Witnessing the pure wonder and delight of myriad colors, elevating the inward spirit, caressing the heart with optimism and positivity." ...
"I take Autumn as My Own; to rest my body and each weary bone. A time to reflect, wonder, then plan." ...
"A flickering flame on a candle elicits feelings of warmth or even hope. Hope for a better time waiting for its chance to arrive." ...
"Perhaps we could develop the habit of asking ourselves, “What attitude am I broadcasting to the world today?” ...
"There is a journey of the heart that calls to those who are seeking something more" ...
"What if, just for today, you stopped acting like luck was something that happened for or against you and instead accepted what is and planned and executed what's next with more integrity and intention?" ...
Slaves Of men They were But worse off Were those Who afflicted For they were Slaves of SIN!
"It never mattered … when you were the little kid or when you were the big kid, we just knew everyone belonged there." ...
"The leaf floated in the calming wind, twirling slowly and even rising back up toward the oak." ...
"How about YOU, friends? How do you see your life in the past and/or now? What lessons have you learned that we could all benefit from knowing? Any regrets?" ...
When Prospero is taking pride To enslave Caliban with his advanced civility of might And only tend to deride Caliban retorted with sheer vexation towards his master Who gave him the strength of language with its intriguing nuances just to admire? With his inherent rational fabric And claimed of having liberty to curse out of […]
"As I revisit my past, the pain becomes acute and tears rise to the surface, interrupting my peace. Nudging at my confidence. I remind myself that it’s ok. I’m ok." ...
"Whatever else you do with your life, nothing will remotely compare with the incredible accomplishment of having managed to get yourself born." ...
"What does beauty mean to you? Is it just an expression? Is it how we appear to others? How we feel about ourselves? Or does beauty live on the inside?" ...
Why is beauty important in life?
"It’s with the concepts of discernment, perception, and observation that we can begin to change up our need to judge everything and allow it to simply be what it is." ...
"It is inspiring to listen to someone who has taken cancer head-on and is smiling through the process." ...
"The circuity of comedy and conversation takes us through sharing sacred space in truth-telling as well." ...
"Hope drifted through the dapples of sunlight through the trees. Visiting birds brought joy as I knelt on wounded knees." ...
"Be mindful of what you don’t know. Be sure to extend your hand before you offer advice. Be patient. And most of all, be kind." ...
"If we let grief shake us into being kinder human beings, we wake up to our shared humanity..." ...
"If you do not feel a sense of power within then it is going to be very difficult to impossible to influence another." ...
"The stories we tell are how we live our lives. In these times of change, it is heartening to share the stories that have enlivened us." ...
"Sometimes people would tiptoe around me. People wouldn’t know what to say, or they would feel uncomfortable around me." ...
"Is there a situation you’ve been in where you did or didn’t have all the facts? How did it turn out?" ...
"When we purposely change failure to learning consciously it is a start; that one step. The challenge can become that creating a new belief in our ability and deserve-ability takes time … real-time, persistence, and focus." ...
"We all have such magic inside of us, and we don’t realize that an arbitrary set of rules often hinders us from accessing it." ...
"What if, just for today, we receive each moment as a small cherished piece of the whole pattern, make it welcome, and say “thank you” for coloring my life exactly this way?" ...
"The photos were many and it came to me I would create a large canvas in Sepia the color of memories." ...
"We count our time not in minutes, but rather in time well spent. Counting moments without counting time is how we live a life of abundance." ...
"One thing I can tell you with absolute certainty: Murphy will be showered with love." ...
"Some days, it's hard to be optimistic. But cynicism –the idea that people are inherently selfish, greedy, and dishonest –is making humanity lonelier and more divided." ...
"It turns out that frustrated writers who pine for a muse or help from above are adhering to a 5,000-year-old tradition." ...
"We can work our whole life and never live. Never belong. Or, we can belong and work, and live our whole life." ...
"Momma spent almost two weeks looking for a foster or final loving family for the three of us without much success." ...
"We live our lives as if we were living forever but act wisely as if we were dying tomorrow." ...
High above birds do sing A welcome sound for all to hear Winter calls miss not its glory
"When is the last time you conducted an evaluation of what you allow into your mind? Is it time to conduct a fearless inventory of what is flowing into your brain?" ...
"I want to show up consistently, be in service, and do it hand in hand with folks driven by similar motivations and missions that go beyond ourselves!" ...
"Be intentional, consistency is key, only start a business you feel completely aligned to so it doesn’t feel like work, but more like love." ...
"The object of life is not to be on the side of the majority, but to escape finding oneself in the ranks of the insane." ...
"Cathexis is not love. Control is not love. Abuse is not love. Neglect is not love. Love is love." ...
"Struggle is inevitable and a necessary part of our own personal transformation. It also gives us an opportunity to lean into this discomfort and push through the veil - finding the gifts on the other side." ...
"What I “do” is translate the invisible, inaudible, intangible energies of other dimensions into a form to which more people can relate and, hopefully, from which receive the divine guidance that will assist them in transforming their lives." ...
"Someone once told me the definition of hell; on your last day on earth, the person you could have become will meet the person you became." ...
"My mother is my greatest epitome which I have no choice but to eulogize I am mesmerized by her envious legacy and never tend to hide" ...
"A rose of peace, a shining light Full of joy, a gift of Nature Blessing hearts with optimism" ...
"Life dictates we will experience problems.To complicate matters the space between problem and solution can feel excruciatingly vast." ...
"Do you ever have those days when you feel lonely, cut off, and isolated from the rest of the world?" ...
"The stars and The constellations Above - And the Full faced moon Hanging over The earth" ...
"We can have the exact same stimulus and we may have completely different stories that our mind tells us about the situation. " ...
"That one sentence that felt like a door slamming in my face was truly a blessing. Hindsight being 20/20, it was also one of the best pieces of advice I have been given and led me on an incredible journey." ...
"There are many ways to work with energy invoked through Sacred Geometry and mandalas. Just looking at the symbol will activate light and codes which exist within you. Try the above exercise and experience what happens for you." ...
Any Gumshoe (Detective) who is candid, will readily tell you that “CIs” (confidential informants) AKA: “snitches” are very necessary and a valuable asset when it comes to solving cases; instigating investigations; developing case leads; providing intel of the latest news on the streets and the “who’s who in the zoo”. Intel makes a detective’s world […]
"Tell me the facts and I’ll learn. Tell me the truth and I’ll believe. But tell me a story and it will live in my heart forever." ...
"The dirt road opened to a field where three roads converged. My eyes went to the old church with the steeple missing." ...
"When we let go of the need to control and change the things we don’t have the power to and accept what comes our way, our stress decreases significantly." ...
"Becoming who you want and attaining what you want can be done even with a lack of help." ...
"One man cannot do right in one department of life whilst he is occupied in doing wrong in any other department. Life is one indivisible whole." ...
"I was sitting at my desk the other day with a characteristically blank look on my face." ...
"Sunshine is a benefit, not just to keep us warm, but feeding the body with what could be interpreted as positive vibes."
"Don’t look for an easy button: It takes courage to work hard. You have to be willing to do what others are unwilling to do." ...
Once upon a time, when it was the best of times and the worst of times. Times that tried men’s souls. It was a dark and stormy night . . . wait a darn minute! Belay all of that. Gumshoe has regressed into a writer’s web of mangled hackneyed and weary-worded topic sentences that were […]
"It’s hard enough to get anyone to care about you no matter where you fall on the spectrum of demographics but getting old is something that most of us will have to learn to deal with." ...
"What would you do if you saw the tsunami wave coming up the shore towards you? What would you do if you were trapped in your car as it sunk below the surface of a rushing river?" ...
"No matter one’s belief, gratitude should be elevated, especially for those of us who are blessed with abundance in whatever form that is." ...
"Change your pants. Change your life. Change your pants. Save your life. Find out why being intentional about showing up in the world congruent with "who you are" in this world can do both." ...
"You may be wondering Why Jaya-Li didn’t simply ‘release and open her wings’ to get home, rather than walk." ...
"Getting a positive cancer diagnosis is indeed life-altering and life-changing. It is critical to act and to move in a direction that is positive, along with acquiring a mindset of saving one's life." ...
"Do you agree that it’s in the face of tests and difficulties that human virtues like Fortitude, Endurance, and Bravery truly show up best …and inspire us to become the best version of ourselves?" ...
"Oh, Moon! I am utterly overwhelmed by your croon Wearing a Silvery shoon You make your emphatic presence on Earth’s floor with unique melody and tune..."
"We may not always notice the blessing in those difficult times but it is those dark moments that help us find our voice, vision, and passion again." ...
"Happiness is not an idea, it’s like breathing – necessary and often not given thought." ...
"How do you define “smart, good, important, or special”? How do you define “success”? Where do you stand on reciprocity (giving back) vs paying forward?" ...
"What would it feel like to work with some who invites you to reclaim your presence whether you have a case to win, a story to tell, a keynote to shape, or a vision to sell?: ...
"I discovered that people really had a lot to say and felt like they needed to be heard, in a way that was truthful, and in their own authentic voices." ...
"Active listening takes additional time. Time to be present with what is. It’s a skill that can be learned, and it’s certainly worth the effort." ...
"What people or situations have rejected you? What did they represent? What are their values and ideals? What were you hoping to accomplish by being accepted by them? What loss has occurred now that you’ve been rejected?" ...
"Neuroplasticity, sound healing, meditation, and visualization have saved me. I would not be where I am at physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, or creatively without it." ...
"You cannot survive on your athletic skills alone when playing. Mental training is just as important." ...
"A peacock is dancing in the wood To allure peahen in loud What an aesthetic scene Colors and flavor are mixed to produce an enigma of love." ...
"Is our understanding of the world—and even our sense of self— diminished as we lose our paper trail?" ...
"Who are the mentors and teachers in your life that you are grateful for and assisted in paving a way for your own evolution?" ...
"Be slow to speak, and only after having first listened quietly, so that you may understand the meaning, leanings, and wishes of those who do speak. Thus you will better know when to speak and when to be silent." ...
"What begins as a random walk often ends up taking you somewhere, somewhere that you later realize was exactly where you wanted to go." ...
"The word awesome has been co-opted to describe everything from running shoes to taco salad to the latest boy band. What does the word actually mean?" ...
Set them free Like a Helium balloon Carried by a brisk breeze or A paper kite flying up into the sky.
"No one said being responsible for other beings was an easy choice requiring no compromises. I knew what I was embarking on." ...
"That was my first true adventure, and I knew with all my heart that there would be many more, more than I could have ever imagined." ...
"How do relationships with our siblings and significant others impact our lives? What stories play a role in framing our personality?" ...
"Have you ever encountered a silence after sharing something that whispered TMI? Have you had something shared with you that you didn’t know what to do with – and you thought TMI?" ...
"Such a rare privilege cannot be taken for granted. A supremely elegant and majestic swan and a heron, standing awaiting an unexpected fish." ...