@LIFESCRIPTS – BIZCATALYST 360°: Recent Episodes
BIZCATALYST 360
Have you heard of MEDIUM’S ManyStories (MS), and are you using it to Bundle your assets? It is as easy as ABC I23. Social media savvy means having multiple promotional platforms that work harmoniously for you. We know the obvious ones like FaceBook, X, LinkedIn, and Instagram; the list goes on as it renews, changes, and expands. But what about your other platforms, like your blog site, online magazine columns, books you have authored, and video/audio podcasts to which you were a guest or are a host? Bundle them together for greater reach and clout.
Like the insurance company on TV that promotes Bundling, use MS to Bundle your assets and resources. It requires less work, exemplifies the saying, “United We Stand,” and works because a bundle of sticks is stronger than a single stick.
As an agented award-winning author with books translated into foreign languages, a columnist in the two magazines Living Your Dream in BIZCATALYST360° Online Magazine and the Coachella Valley’s terrestrial magazine Desert Health News, a blogger for online Patheos’ Above and Beyond the 5 Senses, and a Video Podcaster on Dreaming Healing for DreamVisions7Radio Network, I use this technique each time my Video Podcast, articles, or blogs are released. My Vartices (video articles) in BIZCAT3600 with an attached video get more reads, social media attention, and shares, making Varticles a perfect promotional vehicle for MS. It’s not as complicated as it may sound.
Please allow me to walk you through the simple step-by-step Bundling process.
Imagine it is 9 pm EST on a Tuesday. Dinner is done, the children are in bed, and it’s time for my Dreaming Healing Show on Dreamvisions7 Radio Network out of Rhode Island. At the end of the show, during which commercials for my five books and Dreamy Writers Conference Cruise on Holland America are advertised, I jot down the guest’s insights and add them to the Press Kit information sent by their publishing house to write my 1500-word Living Your Dream Varticle (video article) and 500-word Dream article for Desert Health News, distributed in California’s Coachella Valley stores, and home to Coachella & Stagecoach.
Both writings about Dreams have different titles, content, and stories presented in the podcast. One is a read-and-watch Varticle; the other is a read-only article.
They are sent to the different magazine editors. Once published, the MS Bundling fun begins.
The links to the published article and Varticle are:
- emailed to me by the editors, which I copy and paste onto MS where it says SHARE YOUR STORY in the top right-hand corner of my page. Take a look. https://www.manystories.com/@KathleenOkeefeKanavos
- then, I immediately use the social media links provided by MS to share and promote it
- and tag @MS, @MEDIUM, my magazine editors @BIZCAT @DesertHealthNews, my Video Podcast Network @Dreamvisions7RadioNetwork, podcast guests, guest’s publishers & agents, my publisher, distributor and agent, @InnerTraditions @Simon&Schuster, my…. Well, you get the picture. The published posts are displayed and promoted again by MS, who shares them with their readers and sends me the updated stats. Everyone is happy and impressed. EASY BREEZY!
Everyone and anyone affiliated with the article and varticle or my message about dreams is tagged so the MS link is shared and promoted on their professional pages with many followers.
You may say, “I can’t do that because I don’t have a column or a podcast, or….” You have MS.
If you are a writer or blogger reading this article but don’t use MS…Why NOT?! Here’s your chance. If you post articles or blogs on your website, the LinkedIn Blog page, or the many group blog spots, here are three easy ways to use MS to get the attention of your dream agent, publisher, column, podcast, followers, etc. Bundle! Start Small. Build Big. But Bundle!
Create a blog on your website like mine: https://www.kathleenokeefekanavos.com/nightmares-are-your-gifts-in-disguise/ Then, post your blog link on MS https://www.manystories.com/@KathleenOkeefeKanavos and promote it again on your social media pages at the same time MS shares it with their readers, which shows another platform (MS) promoting your work. Again, the steps are as follows: 1.) your website blog, 2.) Posted in MS Link 3.) Shared. This is Bundling. It will get attention.
Don’t toot your horn. Let MS toot it for you using your article/blog. Again, as easy as 123.
- After you share your link, tag the magazines, people, and companies (like agents and publishers) whose attention you wish to attract or sites on which you want to be a participant, columnist, blogger, or show host
- It will introduce you by showing (actions speak louder than words) that you are worthy of being published and promoted by other platforms and have a means of promotion (Bundling) that goes beyond just YOUR social media, can help promote them,
- and help you stand out as being a head above the crowd in the sea of social media noise
Bundling your assets on MEDIUM’s MS (ManyStories) is as easy as ABC, 123. Get your articles featured, stand out to potential professional advances, and loop-promote your writing with no end in sight. Build it. Bundle it… and they will come.
Among the many magazines that come to our home for Anne, because she’s a designer and decorator, is one called, Architectural Products. A recent edition ran an article called, “The Smartest Building in Austin” (starting at page 28 in the print edition, page 30 in the digital edition). I don’t remember if Big Brother was identified as the architect of the building. But I do know he’s involved somehow.
I know that because the article said this, in part:
Sensors — approximately 6,000 of them — are attached to the spine. These connect to an automation system that allow[s] ownership and management to understand how people move within the structure and how the various spaces get utilized, such as conference rooms and parking. This data, along with the building’s integrated technology allows for optimization of the user’s experience and a highly personalized and responsive environment for comfort, health, and security … Smart Entry/Exit Stations with license plate recognition (LPR) cameras [are] … Designed to be completely touchless from the time a person pulls into the parking garage until arriving at the individual’s desk.
A few of the terms, phrases, and clauses in that paragraph had my Spidey Sense at DEFCON 1.
Shades of Orwell
Here are the terms that lit me up, along with my translational commentary:
- The spine. According to HPE Aruba Networking, “A spine-leaf architecture is data center network topology that consists of two switching layers — a spine and leaf. The leaf layer consists of access switches that aggregate traffic from servers and connect directly into the spine or network core. Spine switches interconnect all leaf switches in a full-mesh topology.” Guess who controls and has access to the full-mesh topology. Hint: It’s not the folks who work in the building.
- Allow[s] ownership and management to understand how people move within the structure. See #1.
- Optimization of the user’s experience. If you’re not sure who gets to define optimized, see #1 and #2.
- A highly personalized and responsive environment for comfort, health, and security. If you’re not sure whose comfort, health, and security are assured here, see #1, #2, and #3.
- Smart Entry/Exit Stations with license plate recognition (LPR) cameras. The cameras, of course feed into the spine. From there, see #1, #2, #3, and #4.
- From the time a person pulls into the parking garage until arriving at the individual’s desk. If you’re not sure to whom it’s important to monitor said person (who turns into an individual on the way to its desk), see #1, #2, #3, #4, and #5.
In addition to 1984, all that terminological obfuscation puts me in mind of this quote from Albert Camus:
The welfare of the people in particular has always been the alibi of tyrants, and it provides the further advantage of giving the servants of tyranny a good conscience.
George Orwell’s 1984, of course, is about a totalitarian regime, INGSOC (English Socialism), which exercises total control over every aspect of its citizens’ lives through physical and mental manipulation, surveillance, and propaganda. (It uses violence, too. I don’t know if the folks in the smartest building in Austin are prepared to go that far. Let’s hope not.)
Public domain, via Wikimedia CommonsIt makes you wonder what the limits of the smartest building in Austin’s control might be if the spine is run with AI. It’s shades of HAL in 2001. And if it gets that far, it’ll be easy enough to imagine a person getting through all the security checkpoints, turning into an individual arriving at its desk, hitting the power switch on a computer, and hearing this.
After all, if we’re controlling lives, controlling computers, and requiring bioscans, we’re flirting with totalitarianism, are we not? And let’s not forget, totalitarianism is dictatorial and utopian. More specifically, it’s able to become dictatorial precisely because it’s ostensibly utopian. It’s Fred Sanford’s statement, “Promise ‘em the elevator and give ‘em the shaft,” writ large. And while we’ve managed to get 24 years into the 21st century, let’s not forget the 20th century totalitarian state was the greatest intellectual justification for mass murder in history. Just sayin’.
From there, it’s not much of a stretch to imagine the smartest building in Austin and its architects creating a logo for their own regime, something that couches their desire to exercise total control over every aspect of the building’s occupants’ lives in some seemingly positive but nevertheless transparently euphemistic language. The logo and its tagline might be something like this:
Cut the Cards
Mr. Dooley (or Martin J. Dooley) was a fictional Irish immigrant bartender created by and appearing in many columns written by the American journalist and humorist, Finley Peter Dunne, in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Mr. Dooley was famous for the expression, “Trust everybody, but cut the cards.” That’s invaluably sound advice, more pertinent today than it was when it was written, that should be universally applied. To put it another way, question everything. Always. Without fail.
And be absolutely sure of this: The bigger the organization, the institution, the bureaucracy, or the government that promises what it will do for you will be necessarily good for you, question it all the more. Hidden agendas and unintended consequences are certain to follow any such promises. How do we know that? It’s in the history we ignore so blithely and consistently. It’s why we are where we are.
If you don’t believe that’s true, there’s a building in Austin you’re gonna love.
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!!!!
Author’s Note: May is Mental Health Awareness Month. I offer this post as a means of sharing my experience, even as I grant I’m more fortunate than many. If you or a loved one struggle with mental health, call the NAMI HelpLine at 1-800-950-NAMI (6264), text “HelpLine” to 62640, or email helpline@nami.org. If you or someone you know is having thoughts of suicide or experiencing a mental health crisis, dial or text 988 to connect with a trained crisis counselor 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. There’s more help available in the world than you might think — and more people in the world willing to help than you could ever imagine. You are not and don’t have to be alone.
I have a confession: I play Angry Birds 2.
I started playing to keep myself occupied while waiting for people to respond to instant messages (which, much like the Express Lanes in grocery-store checkouts, are anything but instant), waiting in line at the DMV, waiting for doctor or dentist appointments, waiting at railroad crossings, or keeping my wife company on the couch while she watches Fixer Upper, Property Brothers, Love It or Li$t It, Windy City Rehab, Home Town, Good Bones, Flip or Flop, House Hunters Renovation, This Old House, Grand Designs, and Dr. Pimple Popper.
But after playing for a while (say, roughly 350 levels or so) something revelatory and quite unexpected happened: In the face of what seemed like insurmountable frustration at having to replay every room in every level, sometimes innumerably, only to be unable to reach — or to be unable to conquer — the Boss Pig (or the King Pig, or the Chef Pig, or the Foreman Pig, or any other of his myriad manifestations), I learned patience.
Boss Pig
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license
Perseverance
First, Angry Birds 2 taught me the patience to study. The game can be a series of mindlessly distracting tactical moves (which attracted my initial interest), or it can be a strategic, fully engaging, and relentless pursuit of a singular goal (which attracts my abiding interest): Blast the Boss Pig to Hell, move on to other levels and, in some instances, to other worlds entirely. Wow!
Second, Angry Birds 2 taught me to persist, to endure, to recognize the temporary nature of frustration, and to realize the conquering power of tenacity. By its addictive nature (or mine), the game compels players to keep coming back, regardless of the seemingly impossible adversity — to think, to examine, to analyze, and to find a way to move on.
To find a way to move on. Think about that. Moving on, determining to move on, finding a way to move on, settling for nothing less than moving on is the modus operandi for a rewarding life. It’s the remedy for procrastination. It’s the antidote for anxiety. It’s the defeat of paralyzing depression. It’s the answer to the age-old philosophical question: Why are we here?
To move on. Period.
Birds of a Feather
Finally, Angry Birds 2 is of a piece with two other things that have always helped me move on. The first is a quote from Mikal Gilmore, from his book, Shot in the Heart. I read the book in the late ’90s, during a bout of crippling depression characterized by stark, unrelenting terror.
The book recounts the Gilmore family’s dark history, leading to the execution of Mikal’s older brother, Gary, in 1977, by a Utah firing squad. (Gary’s last words: “Let’s do it.” Gary’s execution is also the subject or Norman Mailer’s book, The Executioner’s Song.) The book’s unremitting bleakness had me wondering at every turn of the page why I continued to read it while experiencing my own period of darkness. It felt masochistic.
But there, on page 374, I found my answer.
Gilmore wrote:
Depression is a hard experience to communicate, and perhaps a hard one to understand, but once you’ve had it you don’t forget it. It makes you look on the rest of the world with a bit more compassion, and it also causes you to watch the corners of your life more closely, so you can spot the darkness rapidly if it begins to creep back in.
Reading that gave me no instant relief. But I was in the care of a psychiatrist, whom I still see every six months, and I was surrounded by friends who’d also experienced depression. They told me I wasn’t myself — but I would be again. They were right. And Gilmore’s words assured me they were right.
Even more, Gilmore’s words eventually led me to see the depression I’d experienced as a gift. It taught me the temporary nature of misery. It taught me much about what I can and cannot control. It helped me to understand my capacity to overcome affliction and misfortune. It did make me more compassionate. It did teach me to watch the corners of my life ever more acutely. And it helped me to realize all I was capable of achieving if I mustered the resolve and the energy to just … keep … moving … on.
Failure Is Not an Option
The other thing that never loses its ability to help me move on is this quote from the brilliant inventor, accomplished businessman, technological pioneer, and ardent player of Angry Birds 2, Thomas Edison:
Many of life’s failures are people who did not realize how close they were to success when they gave up.
Give up? Not a chance. Giving up is a Boss Pig in a poke.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back in the game.
• “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.
When I was growing up, our next-door neighbors had some … uh … peculiar notions about housecleaning. As sons of a Marine, my younger brother, Keith, and I would walk into their living room and be astounded at the volume of clutter, the nature of the clutter, and the general lack of order or cleanliness.
One day, Keith, who’s always been the smarter and sharper-witted of the two of us, said, “Holy shit. If aliens ever came down and landed in their living room, the aliens would open the door of their spaceship, look around, and say, “What the hell?!”
To this day, the idea that extraterrestrials would necessarily have that point of earthly reference makes me laugh out loud.
Different Strokes
I understand one man’s pig pen can be another man’s paradise. I get that tastes, styles, tolerances, preference, and priorities differ. It could also be a sign of having too much stuff, making it difficult to organize and maintain a clean environment. Or as George Carlin put it:
Have you noticed that their stuff is shit and your shit is stuff? God! And you say, “Get that shit offa there and let me put my stuff down! (Thank you, Mac Bogert.)
On a more serious note, failure to keep one’s home clean can have negative effects on physical and mental health, lead to feelings of stress, anxiety, lack of control, and even depression. But it’s hard to tell, and we shouldn’t be quick to judge, regardless of what extraterrestrials might have to say about it.
That Was Then
In case you haven’t noticed, things have gotten significantly worse since then. And I don’t mean at that next-door neighbors’ house. I mean with the world. The world’s house is in disorder. We’re letting ourselves be divided, be pandered to. We’re devolving into lesser versions of ourselves. We’re judging, fearing, hating, and killing each other. And by and large, we’re acting as if that’s okay.
It’s reminiscent of the philosophical/psychological question of whether fish know they’re in water. It’s likely fish have no conscious awareness of being in water. They’ve adapted to their aquatic environment, thrive in it, and lack the cognitive ability to conceive of their being in water, to imagine any other environment, or to perceive water as a medium with which they interact. They probably experience water as an integral part of their environment, inseparable from it, perhaps in the same way we experience air as invisible, largely intangible, and as much a part of us as we are of it.
Maybe we’ve lived in an environment of corruption for so long — divided, pandered to, devolving into lesser versions of ourselves, judging, fearing, hating, and killing each other — that corruption is like water to the fish. It’s undiscernible to us, and we’re inseparable from it. If that’s the case, it’s as sad as it is wasteful and dangerous.
Plan B
Maybe we can start to recognize and free ourselves from the divided, pandered, devolving versions of ourselves in which we judge, fear, hate, and kill each other by taking personal responsibility for keeping our houses clean. In so doing, maybe we can free ourselves from the negative effects on our physical and mental health like feelings of stress, anxiety, lack of control, and even depression. The fact is I don’t know. But I do know, unless we try, none of us will ever know. We all have to share this third stone from the sun. We don’t have to expose extraterrestrials to the distress we’re inflicting on ourselves.
And we don’t have to compel them to ask, “What the hell?!”
If you’re anything like me, you don’t believe in indecision.
In an earlier post, I wrote about self-faith and our inner genius. Consistent with what I wrote, I typically assess the situation requiring a decision, trust my senses, apply my intelligence (such as it is), and decide. If my decision turns out to have been wrong — and presuming it wasn’t fatally so — I assess the implications of my first decision and make a different one. Since my stethoscope tells me I’m still among the living, I have to conclude that approach has worked pretty well, so far.
Nevertheless, I do understand the complex, contradictory aspects of human psychology. What I don’t understand is why we pay so little attention to them, why we examine and question them so infrequently, if at all. I don’t know if there’s any necessarily ordinal sequence or priority to any of those complex, contradictory aspects. But here are a few:
We have to allow for genetic predispositions, which affect our brain chemistry and our physiological responses to situational stimuli and, so, influence our psychological responses. Hello, serotonin and dopamine. Those chemicals and/or lacks thereof can affect mood and emotional responses. We also have to allow for the extents to which our experiences and the outcomes of those experiences influence our responses to circumstances in the present. If we associate mistakes with lowered booms , we’re likely to live our lives in defensive postures on precarious psychological edges.
Factor in conditioned thoughts, beliefs, perceptions, interpretations, biases, and ideological predispositions, and we start to start to perceive the thickness of the psychological stews in which we live. Add social and cultural norms, traditions, routines, expectations, and pressures — along with whatever independent, empirical perceptions we might have of any of those things — and, voilà! Instant cognitive dissonance.
Another aspect of human psychology, emotional regulation, is related to everything that precedes it here. Our ability to regulate and manage our emotions influences (and, if left unexamined may predetermine) our psychological responses. Throw in varying degrees of goodies like extraversion, neuroticism, conscientiousness, openness, self-awareness, courage, vulnerability, agreeability, skin thickness, et al., and we have the entire scale from peaceability to volatility.
I don’t give much credence to environmental factors like weather, lighting, spatial configurations, and noise levels; although, I readily admit to hating loud noises. And I suspect if I were locked in a dungeon for any period of time, I might tend to be a tad disagreeable. At the same time — since I’m the poster boy for the fact that wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age — I tend to discount aspects of our psychology like age and developmental stages. But I do recognize (hope) children, adolescents, adults, and the elderly likely have different cognitive abilities, coping mechanisms, and emotional regulation techniques.
Certain Uncertainties
In 1789, Benjamin Franklin wrote a letter to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy. (Jean-Baptiste and Ben used to fly kites together.) The letter read, in part, “Our new Constitution is now established, everything seems to promise it will be durable; but, in this world, nothing is certain except death and taxes.” Close but no cigar. Had Ben given that a few more moments’ thought, he surely would have realized the only thing more certain than death and taxes is uncertainty. Given the fact that Jean-Baptiste was struck by lightning while flying kites with Ben, I’ll bet he knew that.
I’ll leave you with two perspectives. The first is from the noted physicist, Richard Feynman, who said:
I think it’s much more interesting to live not knowing than to have answers which might be wrong. I have approximate answers and possible beliefs and different degrees of uncertainty about different things, but I am not absolutely sure of anything and there are many things I don’t know anything about, such as whether it means anything to ask why we’re here. I don’t have to know an answer. I don’t feel frightened not knowing things, by being lost in a mysterious universe without any purpose, which is the way it really is as far as I can tell.
The second is from Woody Allen. He wrote:
I took a test in Existentialism. I left all the answers blank and got 100.
If you can’t decide which one of them is correct, make peace with the uncertainty.
It’s the best we can do with our friend, psychology.
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.
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
“You will never find time for anything. If you want time, you must make it.”
Charles Buxton
We all share the same 24 hours in a day, yet some people seem to effortlessly accomplish their goals while others struggle to keep up. The secret lies in effective time management—a skill that can transform your life and lead you to success. In this blog post, we will explore practical strategies to make the most of your time, ensuring a balanced and fulfilling life.
One of the fundamental principles of time management is prioritization. As the renowned productivity expert, Stephen Covey, once said, “The key is not to prioritize what’s on your schedule, but to schedule your priorities.” Start your day by identifying the most critical tasks and allocate your time accordingly. When you focus on what truly matters, you can achieve more with less effort. By doing so, you not only increase your efficiency but also move closer to the life you envision.
“Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.”
William Penn
Reflecting on how we spend our time is crucial to effective time management. The above insightful quote from William Penn reminds us of the value of this finite resource. Take a moment to evaluate your daily activities, identifying those that contribute to your goals and eliminating habits that waste your time. This mindful approach ensures that each moment is an investment in your personal and professional success.
The Power of PlanningEffective time management starts with a well-thought-out plan. Break down your goals into smaller, manageable tasks and create a daily or weekly schedule. As the saying goes, “Failing to plan is planning to fail.” When you have a roadmap, you can navigate through your day with purpose and avoid the chaos of unplanned moments.
Take ownership of your time by consciously making choices that align with your goals. Create a balance between work and personal life, ensuring that you allocate time for relaxation and self-care. Recognize that making time for what matters requires intentional effort.
Embrace the 80/20 RuleThe Pareto Principle, or the 80/20 rule, suggests that 80% of your results come from 20% of your efforts. Identify the tasks that yield the most significant impact and prioritize them. By focusing on the most critical aspects of your work and life, you can achieve remarkable results with minimal input.
So, mastering the art of time management is something that requires self-awareness, planning, and intentional choices. By listing your priorities, planning your days, and focusing on what matters most, you can unlock the full potential of your 24 hours. As you go through the path to success, remember the wise words of William Penn: “Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.”
Make the most of your time, and watch how it transforms your life.
The workday on the farm was hard, backbreaking, and exhausting.
Everyone worked and had tasks that they were responsible for and had to do every day except Sunday.
Sundays were special and was our day of rest and worship. We all took baths Saturday night while mom ironed my white shirt, my Sunday blue jeans, a dark blue denim pair that I only wore on Sundays for church.
I loved the sanctuary; it was breathtaking with stained glass windows. The pews were polished and shiny. I loved to sing hymns and gospel songs.
I always close my eyes when the preacher prayed, but I said my own prayers hoping the crops would grow good and the rain would come to our fields.
It was a good place to grow and the farm gave us so much. I learned about kindness and helping others and how hard work made us stronger.
It was a time of great responsibility, and often hardships, yet it was a good life, built on hard work, family, friendship, and church on Sundays.
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!
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.
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.
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?
I used to come here every Sunday.
I would sit alone in the back pew. To be honest I mostly held my head down and read from my Bible.
The old church is closed now but I still come and sit in the back row and with my Bible. It’s the same one my mother gave me when I was five.
I am old now and to be honest I don’t read much anymore, yet I hold it in my hand and remember the songs and sermons from so long ago.
For now, I will say good night and hope you feel the peace I shared, the friendships I cherish. It’s time for me and my old dog Buddy to take the long way home.
The Marshall Tucker Band released its self-titled debut album on Phil Walden’s Capricorn Records in 1973. As soon as my buddies and I heard “Take the Highway” and “Can’t You See”, we were instant fans. In 1977, the band released its sixth album, Carolina Dreams, which was certified platinum in the same year and was their most commercially successful album. It contained the track, “Heard it in a Love Song”, that reached No. 14 on the Billboard charts.
“Heard it in a Love Song” provoked philosophical debate that endures to this day. The controversy is about the last two lines of the concluding verse. Here they are:
Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler and I guess I always will.
Those lines have produced four distinct interpretational camps:
- Camp One holds that the word, will, at the end of the last line isn’t a verb. Rather, it’s a noun. The song’s writer, the late Toy Caldwell, intended it to invoke the free will of the narrator (singer, Doug Gray), to bail out on his lover and to blame his infidelity on his being a wrangler and a rambler. This view is typically held by Aristotelians. Nietzscheans, on the other hand, tend to see it as a reflection of the fact that being a wrangler and a rambler causes the narrator to experience feelings of guilt; although, he beats feet, nevertheless.
- Camp Two wonders if the last line was Toy Caldwell’s version of the age-old philosophical question: Why are we? That, of course, sends the existentialists into a complete tailspin because without more specificity — why are we what? — they can’t determine meaning or purpose. And without that same specificity, the teleologists have no phenomena — no purpose or design — to direct them toward some ostensible end.
- Camp Three wonders, “Always will what?” Toy Caldwell wasn’t known to be a mystery writer or a practical joker. So, the answer to that question remains perpetually elusive. But it doesn’t bother philosophers that much. The only ones who really worry about it are the grammar snobs and the syntax freaks. They want the same kind of specificity the existentialist and the teleologists want. But the grammar snobs and syntax freaks don’t want it because they’re curious. They want it because they’re perfectionists.
- Camp Four believes Toy Caldwell just didn’t give a damn. Ironically, while not everyone buys that, it’s the one explanation that could satisfy the Aristotelians, the Nietzscheans, the existentialists, the teleologists, the grammar snobs, and the syntax freaks. Go figure.
Nevertheless, it’s a beautiful song and yet another indication of the talent — to say nothing of the enigmatic intellectual acuity — Toy took with him at the tender age of 45.
Plan B
As a public service — particularly for cover-band artists who also happen to be freakish about philosophy, grammar, and syntax — I offer a few modest alternatives to the last two lines of the song. No credit or recompense need be given to me; although, I have set up an account for voluntary donations. In any event, here are the alternatives:
- Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler and I guess I’ll hang at will. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler, so I guess I’ll hang with Will. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler, so I don’t have time to kill. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler, so I guess I’ll take a pill. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler ‘cause I fought at Bunker Hill. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler and, Babe, this ain’t no drill. - Always something greener on the other side of that hill.
I was born a wrangler and a rambler and I’ve been on Doctor Phil.
No Pressure
As I suggested, there’s no obligation to give me credit or to pay royalties for using any of these lyrical gems. But if the spirit moves you to make a donation to the voluntary fund, please have your credit card ready and call 1-800-BAD-POET. Operators are standing by.
And if anyone ever asks where you got any of those clever lines, just say you heard it in a love song.
Cain’t be wrong.
I was reading an account by a sailor who traded on China in the 1820s. On their way up through the Philippines, they ran into a storm, their anchor ropes burst, and they drifted through the night, fearing that they would land on some reefs that would have torn out the bottom of the ship. As I can tell you this story, you can deduce that they survived the ordeal.
Melissa Hughes is not that happy about dentists, and Yonason Goldson warns us to not be afraid of fear itself but to use it as a guide.
What are you afraid of?
When I was a little girl, I was sure a lion lived under the staircase going down to the basement. Our house had an odd floor plan where the basement was not below ground but opened directly out to the backyard. And because of this, a lot of things happened in the basement: the guest room, a pantry, and, not the least, the bonus room with the piano where I was supposed to practice. (You can imagine how eager I was to do that with a lion living under the stairs.)
But I challenged myself because, despite my fear, I knew that under the stairs were two big boxes of toys that we had outgrown and yet not ready to let go of – and every time I looked, there was no lion. My knowledge was an anchor that let the storm of emotions wash through me without pulling me towards the reefs.
Today, I am not afraid of the dark, and I don’t suffer from leophobia; I have even petted a lion cub. It is not that I want to be exposed to predators unleashed, but that can hardly be said to be an irrational fear.
Fear is 3) an emotional response to 2) a physical reaction to 1) a stimulus.
The physical reaction is increased heartbeat; release of cortisol in the bloodstream; widening of pupils; blood running from the organs and skin to the main muscles, getting the body ready to run or fight. The stimulus can be whatever – like my childhood’s staircase in a remote part of the house or your dentist.
Some fears are inborn. Fear of falling is inherited from our ape ancestors and the reaction is one of the tests a baby goes through right after birth along with testing their reaction to a sudden loud sound.
Some fears come to us through exposure to unpleasant situations – like me putting my four-year-old palm on a still-hot burner after the pot had too recently been removed. Or my sister being run down by a big dog when she was two. Or Calvin being thrown from his bike.
And finally, other fears are directly or indirectly taught by our more immediate ancestors and other members of our “tribe”.
Basically, fear is supposed to stop you from doing something that can kill you and prepare your body so your chance of survival increases.
A baby ape must grab his mother’s fur, or he will not survive when she scampers up in a tree. In wild nature, a sudden sound may be a predator or a falling tree, and you must react or you will likely not survive for very long.
But stoves, dogs, and bikes are all something we humans have invited into our lives. They are not dangerous per se – only when we don’t know how to behave with them. While I learned not to put my hands on hot burners, I have also learned to cook. My sister is no longer afraid of dogs after having had enough nice exposures with her own dogs to negate her original shock. And most Calvins eventually treasure the freedom to roam that comes with a pair of wheels. Their desire is stronger than their fear of bruises.
I think these three examples illustrate something central about fears: They can be diminished to a controllable point or disappear if we are gradually exposed to positive experiences. And if we are motivated enough and know how to anchor ourselves enough to stay with the emotion instead of running away from the situation every time it comes up. The latter may require professional help; exposure therapy and mindfulness are normal treatments for phobias.
What is left is the fear that we learn or pick up from others.
Some things we are taught to fear: don’t run with a pair of scissors, or with a pencil in your mouth; look to both sides before crossing the street; don’t eat those berries; put on your seatbelt; only walk out in the water to your knees…
Still, the reasons can be easily explained: “or you may get cut/ punch a hole in your brain/ get run over/ get poisoned/ get killed in a car crash/ drown…”
The parent fears losing the child. Typically, the child is not afraid at all.
Were you ever afraid of something somebody told you was dangerous just because they told you? Or did you have to touch the electric fence yourself? (A wet blade of grass is excellent for doing that. Don’t pee on the wire.)
Having experienced the loud screeching of a car braking or the pain and stitches that may be the result of running with scissors creates the fear – not the warnings.
The fear is of the wrath of the parent implying directly or indirectly that we will be shunned if we don’t do as we are told. That is a real death threat to a two-year-old – and we all have one of those living inside us, afraid that our belonging will be severed.
Personally, I don’t recall my parents ever having voiced that I could be sent back to where I came from or given up for adoption or that they didn’t know how somebody like me could ever have become part of the family. Others have gotten this message more directly from exasperated or cruel parents or scheming siblings.
My parents only read Hans and Gretel and other Grimm tales that could scare the fear of God into anybody.
Mind you, that is why those tales exist in the first place.
Some dangers are hard to explain to kids: walk straight home from school; lock the door; don’t sit like that; don’t dress like that; don’t talk to strangers. Girls get different messages about how the world is a dangerous place than boys. It is a balancing act to let children know about bad people without giving them so much fear that they can’t function in society. Maggie Smith’s Good Bones poem resonated with so many that it ruined her marriage.
Where I grew up, we lived close to a state hospital and a harbor where some of society’s more colorful characters gathered on the benches and left empty bottles and trash. When one had sneaked in through an unlocked basement door and came up the stairs, my mother had a cow. He got out the front door faster than he got in through the basement and an alarm was placed on the back door. Her fear – and anger – was palpable and the best lesson we could have gotten on this subject.
Our parents’ fear is transmitted much better through their actions than through their words.
But otherwise, my parents didn’t go into details of why we should not trust strangers and not open the door when we were home alone. They just read Little Red Riding Hood. That left me with nightmares of wolves for the next 20 years – some of which I still remember to this day. And who knows, perhaps my lion under the stairs was a wolf in a lion skin… Not so irrational a fear, after all, come to think of it.
History repeated itself many years later when my sister and I took a trip to Greece. In the middle of the night, one of our neighbors at the hotel had decided to climb from his balcony to ours and he came very intoxicated into our room, fortunately tripping noisily over the suitcases. My sister woke up with a scream and froze up, whereas I apparently “channeled my mom”, flew out of my bed, opened the door to the hallway, yelled at him to get the H… out – and I am sure I had literally thrown him out, had he not left voluntarily. He seemed sure of that as well and fled.
I wish I could say this was when I stopped dreaming of wolves but not quite. The story is, however, an illustration of the fight, flight, and freeze responses typical as a reaction to fear.
One more response, fawn, is often associated with “better them than me” situations. All statistics indicate that most of the “stranger dangers” are more likely to come from somebody the child already knows and whom the parents either trust or are too spineless/cowed to call out. The latter, going along to get along, is a fawning response to a threat.
At the beginning of this post, I wrote that fear was an emotional response to a physical reaction, a chemical change in the body. The same physical reaction happens when the body gets aroused.
Whether we are afraid or excited depends entirely on whether we expect a good or a bad outcome from the situation that caused the change in body chemicals. It can be useful in many situations where we actually do have a choice, to reframe out thinking to how excited we are to make a presentation/ try something new/ learn.
Regardless of whether we are excited or afraid when the situation has passed, we need to get the chemicals out of the body again. Deer shake all over when a danger has passed. You know how parents release when their child has scared them by doing something dangerous: they scream like crazy to try to ensure that the kid will never do whatever again. You probably shouldn’t scream at your coworkers when you have been through a presentation, but doing some deep breathing or jumping jacks can work. Because it is unhealthy to walk around in a state of physical arousal all the time.
When fears are overblown, we talk about irrational fears. Phobias are emotional disorders.
But they are usually rational in the head of the person suffering from them because of their experiences – some of which they may not even recall because the brain is really good at blocking out unpleasant memories.
Some fears come from stories we tell ourselves about expected chain reactions. If this happens then that is going to happen next and consequently, I will be dead or even worse, not belong and/or lose dignity. Catastrophizing is taking an event to its worst possible outcome, however unlikely that outcome may be.
Minimizing is not allowing somebody else to feel what they feel – often because we can’t or are not inclined to do anything about the source of their fear.
I attended a talk by a leading psychologist from Palo Alto University and it was mentioned that Fear of Climate Change was a new disorder some psychologists began to see in their consultations.
After years of drought, flooding, wildfires, tornados, and hurricanes at times, places, and scales way outside those of historic memory, it can be argued whether fear of Climate Change is a rational or irrational fear, the subject of this article.
Just as important, one of the most prevalent sources of calm is to go into nature and be still. If that nature is threatened with wildfires, drought, flooding – and not the least awareness of wildfires, drought, and flooding – can it still function as a source of calm – or do we risk it becomes a trigger in itself for the young generation who seems much more anxious about the future of the planet than members of the generation who are not going to be around 30 years from now, anyway?
Who are we to minimize their fear?
On Monday, April 8th, we’ll conduct Byline 360˚ as you’ve come to know and love it. Then we’re going to make a change. Starting Monday, May 13th, 2024, we’ll begin meeting twice a month, at 3:00 p.m. Eastern time, for three months. But this time, Byline 360˚ will be an actual workshop, with actual work to be done between sessions.
In short, we’ll talk, draft, share and discuss our drafts, then revise and refine them. Over our six sessions, we’ll figure out why we do the things we do when we write, which of those things we might do better, and which of those things define tone, style, and voice. We’ll take stock of what we’ve done and determine next steps as we go. (Inflexibility doesn’t play nice with creativity.)
The New Ground Rules
The new rules are simple but definitive:
- You must register by Monday, May 6th.
- Participation will be limited to the first 10 people who register. (The workshop may be repeated if there’s sufficient interest.)
- Since we want you to be invested in the workshop, attendance is mandatory for the first two sessions.
You’ll find a full description of the workshop, the complete ground rules, and a full schedule here.
If you have any questions, please email me at mark@obriencg.com. And please remember Rule #1: If we’re not having fun, we’re doing it wrong.
Thank you for your interest in Byline 360˚.
REGISTER FREE HERE
On April 23rd, I’ll be leading a discussion in Salon 360˚. The title of the session will be the same as the title of this post. Inspired by some of my recent experiences with a longtime friend, the discussion has ties to the Herman Melville short story, “Bartleby the Scrivener”; to Unsheltered: Voices from the Street, a book being compiled and published by 360˚ Nation and Peggy Willms — and to A Bronx Tale.
In short, the session will be about reconciling:
- The desire to bring about what we believe to be favorable outcomes
- The illusory and presumptuous nature of control
- The relinquishing of our senses of correctness and our expectations.
I have two requests:
- Please attend the Salon 360˚ session and be part of the conversation. It’s Tuesday, April 23rd, at 1:00 p.m. Eastern, via Zoom. The link is here.
- Please read or listen to “Bartleby the Scrivener”. You’ll be a better-informed contributor to the conversation if you do.
It’s my sincere hope that we can be helpful to each other by sharing experiences, thoughts, and support.
Editor’s Note:* RESERVE YOUR COMPLIMENTARY SEAT HERE***
It was a day spent in the gardens planting flowers and raking leaves. It is a place of healing and finding peace in our lives.
The birds sing a beautiful song and wait patiently for their time in the garden. They know that I raked the garden and they can feast on the insects and earthworms.
I sit quietly within the garden, feeling the hours pass slowly and time seems abundant. I watch the bluebirds building their nests and soon they will hatch and find the garden.
I love the beauty of the flowers and the songbirds singing at sunrise. It is a good life I have, an abundant life. I find that I need very little to find the joys here in the garden.
You are under no obligation to be the same person you were five minutes ago.
– Alan Watts
My first thought on reading Watt’s words this day was that if the opposite was true – you are obliged to be the same person you were five minutes ago – none of us ever turned into fully functioning adult members of society. We would still not be able to walk. (Not to mention that as it would also be true for our ancestors, they never procreated, and we wouldn’t even be here.) Beware of extreme interpretations.
In her post on LinkedIn, Andee Scarantino advocated for letting go when it is time to let go. Of things, people, projects, jobs…
“Sometimes, we want to continue paying respect to our past. We often believe that if we don’t, it discredits what we’ve done or who we’ve been.”
– Andee Scarantino
In me, her post landed in a place that led to the title of this piece: Identity hoarding.
My thoughts went by the way of letting go of things. A person who is pathologically not able to let go of things will typically get a diagnosis of hoarding disorder. And for my inner eye, I saw a “mind” filled up with nontangible “things”: ideas, projects, to-do lists, places, relationships, dreams, and identities.
A friend had remodeled and had, in the process of packing down a significant number of books, let go of the contents of a bookcase. “Without these books, I am not an academic any longer.” (I silently thanked Providence for having provided me with the www for doing my thesis studies. I just have a gazillion PDF journal articles to delete. Why do they still sit in my laptop decades later?) On setting books back on the shelves, another set of books, previously used for professional purposes, left my friend’s library. “Without these books, I am not… any longer. But then what am I?” I reassured my friend that being a good friend was not an insignificant contribution to the world. But I could so relate to the pain and confusion in the voice.
Recently, another friend, whom I have known for a number of years through my communication training work, wondered what I had done for a living. The question tells you how much previous parts of my life openly inform what I am doing now. At the same time, I wonder whether my ability to draw connections between things that are not usually connected stems from having not been specifically trained in “my field” earlier in my life. I have always worked with some aspect of how people solve problems – the processes – whether from a technological, a financial, an organizational, and now mainly the human-to-human perspective.
Can you read in the previous paragraph how I am not really ready to let go of those earlier parts of my identity? I can.
And frankly, writing this piece is probably the shortest and most concise description of my meandering professional development that I have ever come up with. But would I like to go back and fill similar roles in an organization? Over my dead body.
I think my reluctance to letting go is related to the same conundrum that my friend voiced: “Who am I when I am not my profession?” I will twist the question slightly to “How am I seen by people around me if not through my professional identity?” And I know all too well the answer to that question from experiences during my first years living in the US when I wasn’t allowed to work and thus couldn’t serve some transactional purpose for the one asking what I did for a living: I was somebody you didn’t waste your time on. (I must have been involved with a different kind of people back then.)
Should somebody ask like that today, I might answer that I reteach people the things they learned in preschool: be kind, don’t fight, share, don’t lie, say thank you and please, (and wash your hands when you have used the bathroom.) Several identities ago I was asked whether I was a preschool teacher because I was good at making the questioner’s newborn grandson stop fussing. And back then, in my little competitive ego, I was so offended that anybody would think I focused on something as menial as soft skills. Oh, the irony of that.
Now I will ponder what Andee really meant by “paying respect to our past.” Probably something completely different. I seem to adjust my lens to focus first through my pain points. Wonder about that, too.
Thank you for provoking me, Andee, I gained more clarity for myself. And wasn’t that the main purpose?
Addiction is a way to escape from pain and suffering. It is commonly accepted that there are 3 requirements for addiction:
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Product
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A person susceptible to being addicted
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Avoidance of something – a trauma, pain, suffering.
There are many things to be addicted to. We tend to focus on alcohol and drugs. But what about the silent addiction that lurks in the shadows and does so much harm to us all?
I would argue that most of us, in one way or another, are addicted to the avoidance of uncomfortable truths. You may not know this. You may not know this, because we live in a world designed to distract you from it. And because we have been distracted from them for so long, our resilience and our ability to face them has become eroded, and therefore our addiction to distraction grows.
Because if we cannot learn to face our uncomfortable truths, we cannot move through them, therefore they cannot be resolved. They just get ‘parked’ for another time. And that’s where we find addiction. The never-ending circle of doing something else to avoid facing our truth.
And of course, there is a twist in the story. Because it is in the act of facing all of the uncomfortable truths in our life, that we find our resilience and our freedom and we can start to understand who we really are and what really matters to us.
We think that by numbing, silencing, or trying and generally failing to avoid pain, we are somehow making the best of our lives. We are not. We are simply internalising trauma that grows over time. So, we invest more in our manic existence of distractions to try to numb the increasing traumas, which in turn creates more.
And those locked away, silenced traumas become toxic, slowly eating away at us and we become powerless to stop it, as they invade our minds, bodies, and souls, stealing our energy, peace, and joy, constantly leaving us needing a new and bigger distraction fix that can never be sated and all the while that inner yearning for something more peaceful, more simple and more true grows yet feels a million miles away.
But the answer to all of this is really not so terrible. We need to let those uncomfortable truths out, recognise them, say them, own them and feel them, allow ourselves to grieve, tend to those wounds, and then we can decide what you need to heal, how long you want to hold on to them and what you want to do with them.
And there it is, the truth really does set us free.
As Dr Edith Eger so poignantly says:
“Suffering is universal but victimhood is optional”
So, please do not run from the suffering, the despair, the hurt, for it is in the sea of grief that we finally learn to swim.
With love
Nik x
I was recently in a conversation with a client. We’ll call her Petunia (not her real name; although, I wish it were). Petunia happens to work in a very large (as in global), very dysfunctional (as in no responsibility or accountability) company that has her beyond frustrated. Part of her frustration is that she’s very responsible and very willing to be accountable. But her responsibility and accountability aren’t acknowledged, rewarded, or reciprocated. During the conversation, I asked a question it had never occurred to me to ask before:
Do companies like that breed irresponsibility and unaccountability, or do they attract it? To put that question another way, are they incubators or magnets?
I don’t know the answer. But I do know about bureaucracies. Bureaucracies are where initiative, creativity, ambition, and fulfillment (other than power-hunger) go to die.
I can’t decide what’s worse about bureaucracies — that they compel us to toil in rote, anonymous invisibility (unless we’re power-hungry) or that effecting change in them is the rough equivalent of turning an aircraft carrier by sticking your hand in the water: You might be able to do it, but it’ll take a hell of a long time. And what is it about bureaucracies that saps our souls such that we become their willing (if unwitting) agents? How is it that they can make us demean ourselves in the act of demeaning others?
One of the things that damaged my chances of bureaucratic success in my corporate days was my refusal to go to strip clubs with my co-workers. My response to such suggestions was standard: “I spend all day watching people degrade themselves for salary plus bonus. Why would I pay to watch people degrade themselves for hourly wages plus tips?”
The Nature of the Beast
Because the only things bureaucracies want to do is grow and sustain themselves, they manifest uniform characteristics. They love complexity and red tape because that makes them unfathomable and unfixable. With ever more layers of hierarchy; ever-growing volumes of rules, regulations, policies, and procedures; and ever-proliferating degrees of inefficiency, delays, dysfunction, and unresponsiveness, they ensure their survival because no one has the vaguest inkling how to dismantle them.
With all those rules, regulations, policies, and procedures is it any surprise bureaucracies tend to be rigid and to resist change? Intentionally adaptable? Not so much. Nimbly adept at responding to emerging challenges? Nope. Conducive or receptive to creative thinking or deliberate innovation? Fuhgeddaboudit. And if bureaucracies were ever intended to be flexible, fluidly functional, openly communicative, smoothly coordinated, and committedly collaborative organizations, why do they build more silos than grain farms do?
As for accountability, try diffusing responsibilities across and through multiple layers of hierarchy. Then try determining where the buck stops. It’s like squeezing a water balloon: Whatever you squeeze here is just going to pop out there, ad infinitum. And if you think politics has anything to do with that, trust your judgment. As long as the chief concern of people in the organization is for the people on the next rungs above them on the ladder, sycophancy and ass-covering become the rule of the day.
Full Circle
So, here we are. Back to square one: Do bureaucracies breed torpor, complacence, silence, invisibility, anonymity, or compliance? Or do they attract those things? Does it matter? The effect is the same.
If you doubt that — and while it’s not a company, per se — there’s a city on the Potomac River between Alexandria, Virginia, and Annapolis, Maryland, you ought to take a look at. Nothing of coherent substance has been accomplished there for quite a while now. The only thing it does is grow more unwieldy (and expensive), more oppressive, and less penetrable every year, continuing to crank out blatant pandering tactics or attempts at blatant pandering tactics. (Anyone for unintended consequences?)
In contemplating the question — do bureaucracies breed torpor, complacence, silence, invisibility, anonymity, or compliance, or do they attract those things? — let’s remember this: Whether we’re talking about business or government, bureaucracies of any kind, we don’t have to be torpid or complacent. We don’t have to be silent, invisible, anonymous, or compliant. Those are choices. If those choices don’t suit us, we can make different ones.
And speaking of chickens, eggs, and making different choices, thank God it’s 2024.
An election is coming. Universal peace is declared, and the foxes have a sincere interest in prolonging the lives of the poultry. (George Eliot)
Every challenge presents an opportunity to inject meaning into my life.
— Shirzad Chamine
If you are interested in personal growth, self-improvement, and mental fitness, you might have heard about the Positive Intelligence program by Shirzad Chamine already. You might have even taken the program. As a Positive Intelligence Coach, I see its – as one of them recently said – life-altering impacts on many of my clients with much awe and admiration.
But if you are unfamiliar with it, here’s a little introduction. This operating system focuses on strengthening the Sage muscles of your brain through mental fitness exercises called PQ reps. Additionally, it introduces you to multiple ways of taking control of the Judge – the belittling, harsh, and unforgiving negative voice – we all have in our minds.
It is an exciting journey. And this impactful program comes with many practices that help you move from the overpowered Saboteurs toward the calm, laser-focused, and empowering Sage mindset, my favorite being the “Yes… And …” game.
And because innovation requires patience, acceptance, and a positive attitude, I find this method useful for anyone and any organization that understands the importance of promoting creativity. When you want to be in the innovation mode and lead your team to create and innovate, a great way of doing that is by playing the “Yes… And …” game.
If I were to summarize in one sentence the single most important principle I have learned in the field of interpersonal relations, it would be this: Seek first to understand, then to be understood. This principle is the key to effective interpersonal communication.
— Stephen M. R. Covey
How Does The Game Work?Imagine that you are sitting around a table with your team and having an innovation session. And you will play the “Yes… And …” game. Here’s how it goes;
- First, each team member generates as many ideas as possible without concentrating on the quality or feasibility of the ideas.
- Only after the idea generation phase is over do the team members start evaluating each idea individually.
- The evaluation process does not begin until the generation step is fully complete as initiating it kills creativity when practiced earlier than it should.
- The primary goal is to consider each idea at least 10% right.
- And to refrain from focusing on the 90% that we might see as unuseful.
- Then, building upon the acceptable part of the idea by adding on until it reaches a collectively appreciated 100%.
Team members take the best part of an idea and start speaking on it by saying, “What I like about that idea is…” and mention the 10% that they liked about it. Say, “And… ” then add another idea triggered by that previous one.
What Are The Benefits?Successfully conducting this process requires deep listening to each other rather than trying to come up with the most brilliant idea, which stops the collaboration and brings in judgment and competition.
When you know that even if you come up with a non-practical idea, your contribution will still be appreciated. And at least some of your input will help the team move toward another great idea. You become more creative, fearless, bold, and confident.
You don’t keep to yourself any idea and think you might look or sound illogical. Instead, you feel empowered and liberated as a team member, knowing that anything you come up with might turn into a brilliant idea with the add-ons from other team members.
Remember, in every conflict, both parties are at least 10% right.
So, why not be curious about finding the right part of other people’s creations? Not only at work but everywhere in life.
When you intentionally remove all the emotions attached to your thoughts and replace them with CURIOSITY, the door to a whole new world opens up for you.
– Ipek Williamson
Tonight, I will sit alone in the quiet of the abandoned church.
I listen for the angels that visit here. Perhaps it is the ones that came before my time. Now it is me asking for hope, forgiveness, and blessings.
I like the solitude and spirituality of this forgotten place, often the veil opens for a few minutes and you can hear their whispers.
I wonder if the congregation loved the little Church. Many were hoping prayers would be answered and songs of glory and redemption would fill the church.
I will sit here a while longer and maybe I will write of the stories told here when I was a child. It was a time of fellowship, gospel music, and covered dish suppers on Sunday nights.
Every day I walk toward the light, heading back home to the ones that came before me. On my journey, I always look for a little white church to pause and give thanks for my blessings.
We live in a horse race. Two nags, Gluefoot and Gimpy, are neck-and-neck coming down the stretch, and we have no idea which horse will cross the finish line first. Gluefoot represents the uncertainty of whether we’ll persist in our belief that we can control (because we’ll be blamed for) everything. Gimpy represents the uncertainty of whether we’ll come to realize we’re insignificant and ineffectual beyond the ability of our imaginations and our egos to comprehend such a thing.
Exhibit A is climate change.
I came across an article in The New Yorker entitled, “What a Major Solar Storm Could Do to Our Planet”. While we’re sitting down here thinking we have anything at all to do with the planet’s climate and, even more absurd, that we can fix it, there’s a bomb ticking some 93 million miles from Earth, give or take a few yards. We’re not terribly concerned with the incomprehensible power of that bomb, largely because we’re preoccupied with misguided notions of our own power. But consider just this one example of the limits of our power (to say nothing of our knowledge), from the article:
During the Vietnam War, the United States started sowing the waters outside North Vietnamese seaports with mines that had magnetic sensors, to trigger explosions when steel-hulled vessels passed overhead. Three months after that program began, many of those mines—four thousand of them, according to one contemporaneous source—detonated almost simultaneously. An investigation determined that the plan had been compromised not by Hanoi but by a newly discovered solar phenomenon called a coronal mass ejection.
The potential for phenomena like that, of course, is why God invented the Law of Unintended Consequences. He thought it would make us think about things more, think longer before we made any assumptions or engaged in any boneheaded shit. He thought it might remind us to look before we leap and to be more mindful of the fact that we don’t know what we don’t know. But we didn’t do any of that. We still don’t.
Diametric Opposites
We’ve forsaken the middle ground and made camp on opposing fringes. Maybe that indicates the extent to which we’ve been successfully politically polarized. I don’t know. But I do know we’ve abandoned that middle ground, along with common sense, empiricism, and — especially as it pertains to politics — our sense of irony.
I came across Exhibit B in the same New Yorker article:
In our private lives, we tend to focus on the high consequences: your nine-year-old will almost certainly not be kidnapped while playing alone at the local playground, but you don’t let him do so, because the potential cost is too devastating. By contrast, corporations and nations tend to focus on the low odds and therefore wave away the possible consequences. “I’m working with people and they’ll say, ‘Why do I need to spend a cent on this issue? I’ve been here for forty years and I’ve never seen a problem.’”
Think about that. As Grandpa O’Brien loved to say, “We’re chasing the mice while the elephants are running down the street.” We’re refusing to let our kids be kids and grow up, even as we’re ignoring all manner of legitimate risks and threats. And all the while, in between the two extremes posed by Exhibit B, we continue to persist in our thinking that we can control Earth’s climate. Wow! You really can’t make that up.
The older I get, the more I believe people who don’t believe God has a sense of humor were never born. If they were born, they’re just not paying attention.
Man, it’s astounding to be human.
"Write from your authentic voice. Everyone has a different style and a different message. It’s like as we refine our sense of self, we shine a lighthouse beam into the world. " ...
"You see folks that just as long as this prior Ruby Tuesday patron did not approach Gumshoe, he did not pose a threat to Gumshoe nor anyone else." ...
"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." ...
"We can’t allow ourselves to be distracted by the fact that the leader of a once proud and prosperous constitutional republic violated the most fundamental liberty in that republic’s constitution." ...
"When we see ourselves as innocent, and not having a better way to respond until now, we can allow ourselves to recognize our own internal experience." ...
All of my kind readers will surely remember the old adage, “You can’t always judge a book by its cover”. So be it. Along that line of thought folks, you have often heard an opposing adage, “If it walks like a duck, acts like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s a duck!”. So be it.
Well, guys, we coppers kind of think that both of these maxims are both correct at the same time. Puzzled? You must understand dear readers that we flatfoots and gumshoes develop a “gut instinct” during our crime fighting and detecting over the course of our law enforcement careers.
The commonly use term “criminal profiling” probably comes to mind. Somehow, this term seems unsettling and possibly racist. The “DWB” (driving while black) acronym has been used by black race-charlatans, liberal media pundits, and sophisticated Lilly-white urban elites just because they can get away with it. The end result is to further separate the community from their cops. This propaganda stokes the flames of mistrust that raised the insane cries to defund the police. Capital idea!
Gumshoe wonders just how is that movement working out for the minority communities of Oakland, San Francisco, and Los Angeles, California; Detroit, Michigan; Chicago, Illinois; New York City, New York, Austin, Texas, etcetera. Morons all. One-way U-Haul trailers are getting out of Dodge! Pity the ones who are trapped.
Effective patrol cops definitely seek out known criminals and they quickly recognize the elements of criminal activity. That’s called police work folks. Citizens support is critical. Gumshoe says that you cannot police a community that doesn’t want to be policed. Police are not an army of occupation!
Okay guys, some “inside baseball wisdom” from Gumshoe. We all mostly drive cars to get ourselves to and from places. Crooks drive cars to do the same thing except it is from or to a crime scene. Hitchhiking and bus routes just don’t work for their nefarious activities. However, bicycles do work occasionally.
Crooks have a tendency not to obey traffic laws; have suspended or not have driver’s licenses but do have outstanding arrest warrants; are on probation; possess illegal drugs and/or weapons; or are under the influence of alcohol or illicit substances.
A good patrol cop constantly makes car stops within his or her assigned beats for the above-listed rationales. It’s called “owning your beat”.
Capesh? Comprende?
Gumshoe would conduct car stops on folks who met these standards. The driver would quickly play the race card: “You’re stopping because I’m black!” (Or brown or Mexican or female or —fill in the blank for the victim flavor of the day). Gumshoe would simply reply, “Yes!” Gumshoe would take a momentarily pregnant pause. This caused them to be downright shocked that this “Five-O” would readily agree with them.
Hey Bro! Ay Caramba!
Gumshoe would then follow up with the appropriate race-related or gender-related response:
“You’re the black guy who ran the stop sign.”
“You’re the Mexican who was speeding.” (Sometimes entirely in Gumshoe’s fractured Spanish if they didn’t speak American)
“You’re the female weaving all over the road.”
Once this streetwise formality was initiated, Gumshoe would take the appropriate positive police action that could constitute a warning, a citation, a field sobriety test, or result in a physical arrest. Period. End of story. The beat goes on.
Gumshoe also learned that some cops can develop a bad case of narrow vision or narrow-mindedness on their crime on the streets or working a detective caseload.
To wit: If you have a bunch of cops inside a briefing room and write the word “scoutmaster” on the chalkboard; some of them will automatically think “pedophile”. Gumshoe wonders why?
Until next time folks, always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Maybe just a few of the cops would define a scoutmaster as an adult male who unknowingly misleads naive youths (as well as themselves) to their untimely demises in the great outdoors.
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
What is it that has us needing to ‘know’ what is going to happen before it even happens? We used to love the experience of not knowing as children – we loved being surprised! Each breath was filled with magic and wonder as we interacted with the world around us. Each moment was new, and all possibilities were open to happening in our lives.
These days, as an adult, I see so many people struggle with themselves at work or school, feeling less than, unimportant, or cast aside when they don’t ‘know’ what is going to happen. They fear that not knowing could keep them from having a choice in the future. Needing to know before it happens can limit our experience as we bring all of our unmet expectations to the unknown situation. Most of us want to know about how and when things are going to happen – those things we want and those we don’t want. Knowing in advance is a common strategy of the ego trying to keep us safe and protect us from harm. The strategy goes like this – if we can build a story now about what is going to happen later, then we can use that story to stay safe and have choices when the situation happens. It gives our ego the illusion that we have a choice by knowing in advance so we can decide what is the best upfront, instead of responding with our preference during the actual experience.
While planning is helpful, we often miss the richness of a new experience by leading with our expectations. For instance, if we go into a public space anticipating people to respond in a judgmental way, we may go into that experience feeling guarded and reticent to engage with others. As a result, we may come off as aloof or snotty because we have an assumption that we need to be cautious and limit our connection with others to protect ourselves. In another example, If I take a self-care trip to recharge and reset with my natural rhythm but plan every moment of the getaway, it defeats the purpose. Without allowing time for ‘not knowing’ or ‘just being’ I never come back to my natural rhythm.
What if we could go into each new experience innocent, knowing we can choose what is best for us based on what we know in each moment?
If we let go of needing to know the future and allow ourselves to ‘go with the flow’, the possibilities are endless! Trusting that we can honor what is right for us moment-to-moment, opens our lives to a newfound sense of adventure and excitement unbound by the limits of expectations. What is happening right now is perfect and if the next moment doesn’t feel the same, I trust myself to honor and do what is most loving to me when that moment comes.
Can you shift from needing to know to being in the flow today?
Your life partner whom you can never run away from is not your spouse, your child, your parent, or your friend. It’s yourself. If this is a reality – which you and I both know is the reality – then why not have a better relationship with yourself?
Why? Because as you deepen your relationship with yourself, your self-love grows. And accordingly, the quality of your life improves. As simple as that.
Disliking yourself and feeling shame, guilt, and blame toward yourself, is not different from harboring the same feelings for someone else. The difference is this: you can walk away from someone you don’t like, but you cannot walk away from yourself. Therefore, reaching out to your inner child and addressing the diminishing feelings it is surrounded by might be the right path to a happier life.
Three life-changing habits that you can practice now – for free –You know which ones I have in mind as you have been bombarded by many about them: meditation, journaling, and physical activity. Yes, yes, yes, blah, blah, blah, you heard it a million times, and you practice them all from time to time here and there, but could you say that they are at a habit level? If not, it means that you have been receiving the message every time without hearing it, and I hope this time it gets further than your eyes and ears.
These three activities, when practiced regularly, target every element of your system:
- Meditation; the spiritual side of you, your consciousness, letting go of the ego and the physical reality.
- Journaling: emotional check-in with yourself.
- Physical activity: alignment of your body, health, and immune system.
The ones who know me well also know how big an advocate of meditation I am and how I aspire to make it as effortless as possible so that it becomes attractive and doable for everybody. I even wrote a short and sweet book: Live Your Life in a Meditative State: Easy and Fun Ways of Meditation and Mindfulness for Everyone. And when it comes to physical activity, obviously there is no need to remind anyone how important it is to keep a fit and healthy body. But what about journaling? Why is it also on this shortlist?
Here is why* Journaling strengthens the connection between you and your inner child (your subconscious) so that you get to understand yourself better. * Writing about your emotions, experiences, and thoughts allows you to express them freely and lowers your stress level. * Regular journaling – at least three times a week – helps you effectively organize your thoughts and improves your creativity and problem-solving abilities. * Communicating with yourself by journaling also helps to better your communication with others. * Journaling positively affects your sleep quality, mental clarity, and feelings of anxiety and depression. * It improves your mood, shapes your thoughts, and strengthens your willpower in developing a habit and sticking to it. * And most importantly, it helps you to realize the abundance of wonderful things you have in your life that are worthy of your gratitude.
If you are intrigued and want to give it a try,
- take a look at Stephanie A. Sarkis Ph.D.’s Discover 8 Journaling Techniques for Better Mental Health article from Psychology Today, and find out about your options,
- get a good quality notebook and a special pen – one that you love writing with, that you only use for journaling,
- set aside 10 minutes, and
- write away.
You might realize that the paper and pen are the best listeners you have ever met.
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?
Gumshoe early on in his LEO (law enforcement officer) career once heard a burned-out and somewhat jaded veteran street police officer proclaim in a deeply frustrated grumbled tone of voice :
Being a street police officer is like standing at the receiving end of a sewer pipe!
This crusty old salt made this sad soliloquy during a shift-change briefing prior to us patrol knuckle-draggers hitting the bricks to go to our assigned beats. Gumshoe just pondered this morale-killing claim momentarily and just brushed it off as this street monster having a bad day.
Possibly, this ROD (retired on duty) officer was simply embittered due to a recent citizen complaint that was sustained by IA (internal affairs) that resulted in some days off without pay? Bummer! Maybe he was passed over for an anticipated promotion or plum assignment? Maybe one of his ex-wives demanded an increase in alimony? Maybe he forgot his hemorrhoid cream?
Who knows? It might have been one of the too many “can of worms” 911 calls that he had to sort out in the past and he just knew by golly-gee that he was gonna be ultimately be dispatched to handle more of these dreaded “can of worms” radio calls again and then again . . . ad infinitum to ad nauseam!
Gumshoe learned it was (and still is) a truism that all police rookies (Gumshoe included) initially have a naïve and altruistic attitude when embarking upon their nascent crime-fighting careers. A bunch of “Dudley Do-rights” rescuing a bevy of beautiful “Nell’s” from a horde of “Snidely Whiplashes”.
This warm and fuzzy feel-good attitude is soon squashed unmercifully to smithereens by the hard reality of working the streets day and day out.
No one ever calls a cop for something good. Gumshoe used to tell his trainees that if they wanted to really be appreciated, become a “nozzle head”. Join the firefighter service. “Sleep until you’re hungry and eat until you’re tired. Rescue treed house cats and wax the shiny red fire trucks”.
Personal Note: This was just good old police humor since there is a friendly rivalry between cops and firefighters whom Gumshoe considers all heroes plus they are good cooks to boot!
Now back to a police officer’s plight. Boo hoo! Some of you kind readers may shout.
Some of you folks may exclaim:
“You were not drafted to be a cop. You signed up for it. You get to wear a badge and carry a gun and drive fast! You always seem to hang out in donut shops and then just write your quota of traffic tickets to us we-pay-your-salary- law-abiding citizens rather than go out and catch real bad guys. No pity party for you “Five-O.”
Sound familiar refrain gentle readers? Perception is a reality for most folks and it is true and even counts for cops don’t cha know?
Why do some people call 911 if the drive-through place gets their food order wrong? We don’t arrest Ronald McDonald nor grab Jack from his box.
Yes, some cops do become jaded and they experience career burnout; but that’s on them. “The would have’s, should have’s, and could have’s” exist in all walks of life and in all organizations. Best to stay away from their ilk.
Good cops (the majority mind you) don’t see themselves as standing on the receiving end of a sewer pipe, nor dealing exclusively in the effluent.
**It does happen and cops are definitely the clean-up crew that is ready and waiting. “Hook ‘em and book ‘em!” is the rallying call.
They honest to God want to make a difference and help folks. They want to serve and protect the vulnerable and hold the predators accountable. They know they make a small contribution every day by holding firm to that “thin blue line”. By pounding a beat or racing to the next 911 call.
All of the mother-sons and all of the mother-daughters who put on the blue are indeed the lights that shine in the darkness — “Et luxces in tenebris lucet”.
Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Never fear Nell, Dudley Do-right will be there. Beware Snidely!
"If you’re not yet convinced that climate-change alarmism is more about politics, wealth redistribution, power, control, gullibility, and ignorance than it is about climate (it is), maybe you should read this anyway." ...
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Gumshoe loves to speak with family and friends or even strangers when the opportunity presents itself. Back during Gumshoe’s LEO career, the audience would undoubtedly include victims, witnesses, and victims. Gumshoe knew that everyone has a story and that one can always learn something new, something interesting, and occasionally, something provocative. Different strokes for different […]
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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 […]
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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 […]
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Where does Gumshoe start? Just possibly, how did Gumshoe start is the better question, gentle readers. Just a pregnant pause perhaps to ponder . . . Birth order for sure played a large part when through serendipity, Gumshoe was the firstborn and the “Big Brother” to seven younger siblings (Mike, Deloris, Dennis, Paul, Nick, Rita, […]
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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.
Why is it that we struggle with our self-care? What is it that has us forget to take our vitamins, give up our sleep for one more episode, skip the walk for a little more work, eat potato chips instead of salad, and then regret our choices at the end of the day? We can ‘should’ on ourselves all day long about our less-than-perfect choices, yet what is motivating us in the first place?
For many of us, we unconsciously focus more on avoiding fear and pain, than on pursuing the feeling of well-being. Many of us were given a sense of ‘well-being’ from what others did for us or to us. We learned this as children when our parents gave us the care and love we needed when we didn’t know how to give it to ourselves.
Some of us still don’t know how to give it to ourselves and our parents were unable to teach us. This has many of us still looking outside of ourselves for our care and well-being. The doctor, our partner, the company, our children, or the teacher. We want to do what they think is best for us. Many of us see what success looks like on those we look up to including celebrities and athletes thinking they look like they have the answer, so we try to mimic what they say or do. Regardless of our income, we all seek to replicate what self-care looks like in the hopes that we will actually feel better. Unfortunately, most of us find ourselves disappointed when we use another’s solutions or wait for someone to take care of it for us. None of them know what is better for us than we do.
I know many people who do little to care for themselves as they have simply ‘numbed-out’ to what they are feeling. Without a connection to our feelings, it is very hard to focus on our self-care. Self-care requires a sensitivity to what is true for us in each moment and a willingness to just ‘be’ with our inner experience. It’s important to be fully present with our thoughts, feelings, sensations, and ideas about what is and isn’t OK for us in how we get our needs met. Some of us are dealing with an issue that narrows our focus into solving that specific problem instead of listening to the rest of what we need inside. Self-care is about all of myself, not just the parts that need to be healed or fixed.
What I have found in my own journey is that my self-care has been directly connected to my level of self-love. The more I offer love and acceptance to myself exactly as I am, the easier it is to pay attention to my own needs and remember that it’s my job to take care of those needs, not someone else’s.
I know what feels best for me and the universe wants to give it to me in surprising and delightful ways when I ask for what I want and say no to what I don’t want. We are each responsible for focusing on our own well-being through the choices we make for ourselves including the thoughts we allow, what we put in our bodies, and the experiences we say yes and say no to. Our parents, teachers, lovers, friends, bosses, health care providers, employee or government are NOT responsible for our well-being. There is no one we need to wait for to give us the care we need BEFORE we can start caring for ourselves. When we claim responsibility for our own self-care, knowing we are whole and complete exactly as we are in our unfolding, we can act in loving ways towards ourselves without judgment. When we are fully accepting of how we are, we realize there is no comparison to anything or anyone, and no destination to get to. No need to compromise or give up what feels best to us. We can choose what is best for us, and others can do the same without anyone giving up their own self-care. Being aware of and choosing what is most loving for us in each moment becomes our natural self-care norm.
What can you do to increase your own self-care today?
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.
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.
After seeing the phrase, toxic narcissism, for about the two-millionth time, I did a search on signs of a narcissist. Since the browser I use is Brave, and since Brave doesn’t use Google, I don’t know how many hits I got. But I did learn this: Depending on the source you choose, there are between five (WebMD) and 21 symptoms (Mayo) Clinic) of Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD because where would we be without abbreviations?).
I don’t know all that much about the DSM 5. But if the folks who compile that thing ever ask for my opinion, I’m going to humbly suggest they stop splitting hairs, take narcissists, sociopaths, pathological liars, racists, politicians, and most of the people in Hollywood, and put them under one category: Chronic Jackass Disorder (CJD). Because I’m so open-minded, I’ll leave it to the compilers of the DSM 5 to determine if they’d prefer Center of the Universe Syndrome (COTUS) to CJD
Let’s SimplifyEschewing nuance for simplicity (plus, I’m lazy), I’ve opted to work with WebMD’s five broad symptoms of NPD, all of which are manifested by narcissists, sociopaths, pathological liars, racists, politicians, and most of the people in Hollywood. And I’ve added a sixth. In lieu of WebMD’s explications of these five symptoms I’ve added my own to indicate precisely how apt they are for narcissists, sociopaths, pathological liars, racists, politicians, most of the people in Hollywood, and all others who present with CJD:
- Sense of Entitlement. All those with CJD/and or COTUS believe what’s theirs and theirs and what’s yours is theirs. If they don’t have it, they won’t rest until they’ve found a way to get it. And they won’t hesitate for a moment to use coercion … or worse.
- Manipulative Behavior. All those who make everyone around them suffer from their CJD and/or COTUS have the ability to wheedle, cajole, con, plead, beg, whine, pout, throw tantrums, and hold their breaths till they turn blue. While some people in Hollywood get paid to do those things on occasion, its particularly painful to watch it happen in Congress.
- Need for Admiration. This is actually a misconception. The people who exhibit CJD and/or COTUS don’t need admiration, as long as you’re telling them how good, wonderful, beautiful, intelligent, uniquely brilliant, and stunning capable they are, all the time.
- Lack of Empathy. To be fair to those with CJD and/or COTUS, it really is a rather daunting challenge to care about anyone or anything else when you don’t give a shit about anyone other than yourself or anything other than your own personal interests. Let’s have some empathy here, shall we?
- Arrogance. Come on. Really? If you were better than everyone else and the center of the universe, wouldn’t you be entitled (See #1 above) to a little arrogance?
- Self-Love. We’re not talking about the garden-variety self-love we can find in every self-help, feel-good book, blog, podcast, or website. We’re talking about the self-love those with CJD and/or COTUS experience that causes them to spend more time looking in the mirror, getting cosmetic surgeries, and taking selfies than they spend working, sleeping, and eating combined.
When it comes to CJD and/or COTUS, we need to be careful not to rush to judgment. Even jackasses and centers of the universe deserve to have a little slack cut for them on occasion, no?
A Chapter excerpt from “Health Wise: Integral Lessons in Transformation” detailing the health benefits of forgiveness and explaining some common misconceptions about forgiveness. This brief podcast also explains a method and process to develop forgiveness as a healthy life skill.
Having labored a little over translating Mariah and Byron Edgington’s Journey Well list of self-affirmations into Danish, I decided to write a piece on the ongoing translation task that all of us who function in a foreign language continuously engage with.
In international social science research projects, the term “conceptual equivalence” is thrown around and makes it cumbersome to make good research questions that can apply equally well in many different countries. The same goes for translating emotions – and words evoking emotions – as in Mariah and Byron’s list. We want a translation to evoke the same emotion as the original word. If “more than enough” evokes an emotion related to being “too much”, Houston, we have a problem.
A translation is sometimes more than just the same word in a different language.
Let me start with a short background story.
In my early twenties, one of my best friends was a colleague who had a huge stack of paperback novels. She had been a flight attendant for a couple of years, and cheap English language paperbacks seems to be everywhere in airports. Hence, she has acquired more than a few. The books were not the reason we were friends, but they did provide ample reading material when we went on vacations together.
To put this into context: I grew up speaking a language that only around 5 million people speak. That does not make for a huge market in neither hardcover nor paperback novels and, consequently, books in Danish were/are prohibitively expensive – three to four times the price of a similar book on Amazon. If Danish books weren’t so expensive, we wouldn’t have read all these paperback novels in English in the first place.
Now, let me get back to telling you the story with my friend.
Because we read so many books in English, odd sayings started to creep into our Danish. She told me about some shenanigans she wouldn’t put it past her brother to have instigated – and we both cracked up because the term “putting it past him” doesn’t exist in Danish. She had translated this verbatim, and it made absolutely zero sense.
I think this was the first time I consciously recognized that some words or terms could not be translated and be understood the same way as in the original language. (And this is a very different “oops” from just using the wrong word when you speak a foreign language.)
Have you noticed that we are already dealing with two levels of translation confusion now?
The simple layer is that perhaps you now wonder what the Danes say when they want to convey “I wouldn’t put it past him”?
The next layer is that to set the scene, I had to tell you much more about the Danish book business that you would ever want to know.
Over the years, I have helped translate many Danish texts, and an important part of a translation is to add a context that allows the foreign reader to make sense of what is in the primary message. You can’t for example refer to a company and expect readers abroad to know anything about the company – not even one that is known by everybody back home.
One doesn’t have to be Danish to wrongly infer that some things need no explanation. Reading Harry Potter makes so much more sense if you know just a little about the English school system. And, actually, that goes not just for the school system but for any social “system”: government, retirement, medical, telephones, elections, juridical… We are generally only aware of our own country’s ways of organizing itself. (I recently watched the movie “A Man Called Otto” and yes, the plot differs from the original Swedish story because Sweden and USA don’t organize their medical care in the same way.)
It is not just our locally known companies, heroes, and public services that need introduction when we translate. When you are translating into English aimed at the US audience, numbers also need to be adjusted. What looks like a social emergency or miracle because something happened to 5,000 Danes becomes a rounding error put into an American context. Such numbers need to be normalized – how many people per 100,000 population translates much better than absolute figures whether your frame of reference is much bigger or much smaller than mine. (Actually, this happens as well when somebody compares between states within the US.)
With idioms and metaphors, all bets are off. We may even unwittingly “step in it” big time – to use a metaphor that in my childhood Danish was “stepping in the spinach”. (Don’t ask me why spinach.) Americans fill their language with references to sport: “Out of the ballpark”, “Home run”, “Slam dunk”. If you don’t play baseball or basketball, this may mean nothing. In French it is cooking terms and food references that show up everywhere. “I feel like a chicken in a pie.” Say what!?
All languages use references to literature (“the emperor has no clothes”, “Catch 22”), movies, history, or Holy Scripture. I learned that Chinese “play piano to a cow” when they “throw pearls before swine” – would that stop you in your tracks, reading a novel where they play piano for their cows? (Not that the pigs makes a whole lot of sense, either.) The www is full of strange sayings translated verbatim. I read and laugh that anybody would say something this funny – and then discover that it is just the Dutch words for the totally same old saying we have in Danish. (Refound in translation, perhaps?)
At the beginning of this piece, I wrote “Houston, we have a problem.” Did you pause to wonder where that came from? If not, do you think it may confuse people with non-American background, or perhaps people younger than you?
In Denmark, being naïve is sometimes phrased as “being blue-eyed” because most babies are born with blue eyes. “I may have blue eyes, but they are not that blue.” It doesn’t translate well into the multiethnic American society, where referring to blue eyes is known as “a dog whistle”. Does everybody outside the USA understand the same if using the term “dog whistle” as do Americans? (Fortunately, not my blunder.)
We are not always aware of how much we use idioms that can be hard to translate because they rely on culture and country-specific references. But they will often be lost in translation (and when they are not, trust me, they are a real nuisance to translate.)
I referred to international research above, and questionnaires require not one, but several translators involved translating back and forth. A classic joke illustrating this is translating Matthew 26.41 “The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” The reverse translation: “The drinks indeed is strong, but the steak is bad.” I recognize that this may be funny only to people familiar with Matthew and the traditions around his writing. But we do want the reverse translation to get a little closer to the original text, please.
One of my translation projects was the Danish version of the Personal Value Questionnaire used in social surveys. Dr. Schwartz and his colleagues set out to measure all the values they could think of to figure out which values were most prevalent where. And they could think of quite a few. But when they tried to agree on how to put all these values into questionnaires, they found that some of the values were important in some cultures but were totally unknown in other cultures. How is that for “conceptual equivalence” if you have concepts that don’t even exist in the language you are translating into? Lost in translation, squared.
When the team had sorted this out and questioned people all across the world, they did some fancy statistical analyses and found that some values grouped together one way in some countries but very differently in other countries. Thus, a value can be important to both you and your counterpart, and you would translate it with words you both understand, but you could still mean something different. That is one of the worst situations in international communication: you think you agree, but you speak about two different things.
While I can’t tell you which values may suffer from this unfortunate complexity – they were excluded from the questionnaire – I can tell you that when you table a point on your agenda, the Americans draw a sigh of relief and lean back in their chairs while the Brits roll up their sleeves, getting ready to dig in. And that confusion doesn’t even require anybody translating.
Welcome to my life…
January 1972 – Charleston
The Gallery was cold and the heater could not keep up with the biting wind just outside the door. The rain beat hard against the window of the studio. The old building seemed to tremble as if afraid of the storm. It was well past midnight, and I finally finished the canvas for Jessie Earle and signed my name in the bottom corner.
I was exhausted and I went to the back storage room and laid down on the cot, falling asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. My dreams were filled with a collage of images, the story of Jessie Earle’s life. He was a famous poet living a life of fame, friends, love, and tragedy. He too was now a story, painted on a massive canvas, the soft Sepia colors calming, healing, and captivating.
The sunrise was filled with bright bold colors as if an artist’s brush had touched the clouds. I could sense that Jessie had been there late in the night knowing that this would be the only moment he would have to see his own story and embrace the fact that he would again become famous. I could smell his Sandalwood cologne as I had many times, and, as always, I had not seen him, yet I knew he had been there taking in the finished canvas. Like a book of poems, he knew he would not be forgotten, a love filled with passion that never diminishes, he knew he would not fade away.
I turned on the spotlights and even though I painted the canvas I was in awe of its presence and its power. It seemed to have a life of its own, the stories rotating around the canvas just as Jessie lived them. I knew I was finished here, the story told, yet I knew by painting this canvas I too told my own story. It was a story of my journey that started over a year ago when I went back to Tuscumbia, Alabama and while I am finished here, I knew I had one last place to go, my home in Myrtle Beach.
Jessie Earle had as always left me an envelope with a check for doing the painting and a list of poets to read on my new journey. He reminded me that I still had a manuscript to complete, and he hoped that he would one day read my book.
The next chapter- The Shoemaker
- Sepia: The Color Of Truth | BIZCATALYST 360°
- 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°
Gumshoe has always been drawn to Latin. It probably originated with the beautiful sounds and harmonies of Gregorian Chants that echoed inside the chapel walls and it bounced inside the ears of young Gumshoe and planted itself firmly within his noggin.
Gumshoe at that time was an altar boy at St. Mark’s Seminary in Erie, Pennsylvania back in 1963. The Latin chants resonated within Gumshoe’s metaphysical being.
Nope! Gumshoe did not pursue the path to leading to the priesthood nor (due the grace of God) take the path leading to perdition. Please refer to “God’s Sense of Humor” by Gumshoe for background info dear readers.
Yes, Latin has been pronounced a “dead“ language although it is the basic foundation to the “Romance” languages of which the top five are Italian, Spanish, French, Portuguese and Romanian.
Pregnant pause: The top four listed languages do seem to be languages of love and romance.
BUT “Romanian”? In Gumshoe’s opinion, Romanian doesn’t sound the least bit romantic unless you are Romanian and have a fellow hairy Romanian mate. No offense, but Romanians appear pretty darn hairy to Gumshoe.
Partners Boris and Natasha’s conversations during “The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle” animated cartoon TV shows did not sound the least bit romantic. Of course they were Russian; and it was still during the Cold War folks. Their Russian accents could be confused with Romanian.
Bela Lugosi’s “Count Dracula” did not sound romantic either when he went for your neck. Yes, Mr. Lugosi was Hungarian and he probably preferred goulash rather than your esophagus. His Hungarian accent could be confused with mumbled Romanian as he munched away. Mmmmm! The the fictional “Count Dracula” was a confin-living-dead-denizen of the real Transylvania that is located Romania. Not exactly a popular honeymoon destination especially during full moons even with your garlic necklaces in tow.
Okay, enough about Romanian for now.
Come to think of it, Gumshoe was also drawn to Spanish when he heard the rapid-machine-gun- like delivery of the over excited Espanol-speaking sportscaster during a soccer match . . . GOOOAL!
Gumshoe would cordially invite readers to his past two posts dealing with his “Adventures in Espanol” and “More Adventures in Espanol” for further reference.
Now Gumshoe arrives back to Latin. The very first Latin phrase that the priest wrote on the seminary classroom black board was:
“Salve, assinous plenae cerversiae!” (Hello, jackass full of beer!)
This was definitely NOT a Gregorian Chant.
Until next time dear readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
Notwithstanding the myriad of political diatribes I occasionally author in this column, it isn’t my intent to comment on politics particularly or exclusively. Politics is part of a larger discourse — even an inseparable part — but it is no more than a part.
Because of my curiosity about all things behavioral and linguistic (and the inextricable relationship of the two), this particular post is about depression. I’ve written this post because of the proliferation of depression in the popular vernacular, and it refers not to economic depression but to personal, psychological, perhaps clinical or biological depression. Economic depression may be related to other forms of depression. It may precipitate them. No one knows. At bottom, no one knows much.
The medical community can attribute biological depression to chemistry, to chemical imbalances — too much adrenaline or cortisol, not enough serotonin or norepinephrine. But it can’t explain the causes of the imbalances. Are they genetic? Are they psychologically predisposed responses to particular circumstances? Are they caused by the lack of constructive contemporary outlets for our hard-wired fight-or-flight mechanisms? With nowhere to run and no one to fight, maybe we hit internal walls that leave us feeling helpless, powerless, insignificant, wanting, unfulfilled, terrified, haunted.
Let GoIn 1989, the late comedian, Louie Anderson, published a book called Dear Dad. Rather than synopsize, I’ll simply encourage you to buy the book. But I’ll offer this excerpt as a starting point for our discourse on depression:
I have this theory that all we deal with in life is loss. We lose the protective comfort of the womb. We lose our mother’s breast. We lose the right to mess our pants. We lose friends, teachers, relatives. We lose our hair, our teeth, and our youth. We keep losing all these things and never get them back, but we never really learn how to deal with the loss. We never say that it hurts, really hurts, and so we spend the rest of our lives trying to make up for it, holding on tightly to things that we should really let go of.
Given the prevalence of depression in Western societies — and notwithstanding our predilections for quick fixes, easy outs, and the pharmaceutical possibilities for feeling nothing at all — it’s as possible as anything else that our inability to accept cycles and the natural course of aging work against us.
Perhaps our preoccupations with youth, vitality, and glamour render us unable to accept the realities of impermanence, the inevitability of loss, and the impossibility of stasis. Maybe because aging necessitates decline, we refuse to accept the passing of our connections to popular culture. Maybe the preoccupation with being young causes us to overlook the treasures of aging — wisdom, nobility, self-knowledge.
Maybe all our material, physical preoccupations are capable of inducing our failure to embrace the spiritual center of the human condition. So, we fight the inexorable and the inevitable futilely. And we do so at the expense of our psychological and emotional natures and well-being.
The Collective UnconsciousThis denial of our maturation and our spirituality — and its consequences — is neither a new idea nor a new practice. In his invaluable treatise on world mythology, The Hero With a Thousand Faces, written in 1949, Joseph Campbell noted this:
It has always been the prime function of mythology and rite to supply the symbols that carry the human spirit forward, in counteraction to those other constant human fantasies that tend to tie it back. In fact, it may very well be that the high incidence of neuroticism amongst ourselves follows from the decline among us to such effective spiritual aid. We remain fixated to the unexorcised images of our infancy, and hence disinclined to the necessary passages of our adulthood. In the United States there is even a pathos of inverted emphasis: the goal is not to grow old, but to remain young.
Perhaps, then, the price of modern civilization is depression. As we invent ever more modes and methods of communication, so we become less communal. As we create ever more electronic connections, so we abandon our human ones. As we separate, so we fail to share. As we worship the physical, so withers the spirit. As we defy rites of passage, so we fight our inevitable passing. As we create more fears to fight, so we forsake joy.
That price is too high. And we have a higher calling.
Mother’s Day is upon us as it does every May. Is it a celebration? For especially new moms, it is a fantastic time. I remember the first Mother’s Day I celebrated as a mother myself. My son was five months old. I thought I would explode with the overwhelming feeling of pride and joy.
And with every passing year, the meaning of Mother’s Day kept shifting in my mind. Or maybe, my perspective on life deviated while my life experiences added new layers of perception to the concept of this yearly celebration.
Motherless ChildrenOne time, right before Mother’s Day, I found out that one of my best friends lost her mom. That made me think of all the sons and daughters who lost their moms. What would that celebration mean to them? A painful hit in the heart? As I read my fellow writer friend Carolyn Lebanowski‘s essay titled Motherless Daughters, which contains a letter she wrote to her mom, whom she lost decades ago, I can see clearly that nothing fills the void that the loss of a mother creates in a child’s heart, no matter what age the child is.
Childless MothersAnd when I think how an even more painful reminder for a mother who might have lost her child, Mother’s Day is, again, no matter how long ago or what age the child was, that thought breaks my heart.
Since the beginning of this year, two mothers who are good friends of mine have lost their sons in similar circumstances. Is it possible not to think of them while hugging my three boys on Mother’s Day?
Also, how about women who wanted to be a mother more than anything in the world without success even though they tried everything? Isn’t it enough for them to remember that something is missing in their lives every time they see a woman with a baby? Should they also go through an internationally celebrated day yearly that makes the pain even bigger?
How about doing something different this Mother’s Day?So, these are the main reasons I prefer to acknowledge special days like Mother’s Day rather than celebrate them. Because I am not fond of celebrating something when I know it equally pains some others, if not more.
I know that, just because I write this and even if many who read it agree with me, nothing will change in the future. I know that Mother’s Day will not go anywhere, neither Father’s Day nor any other special days that some enjoy while others detest.
But maybe it might change your view around Mother’s Day, and you might reach out to someone who falls into one of the circumstances I mentioned and hold space for them, showing your compassion and kindness.
Gumshoe was initially gonna title this article “Jeremiad” simply because of today’s state of affairs here in the U.S. of A. However, my two late fellow writer friends . . . (Surely if Gumshoe had met them at “Dunkin Donuts” over a cup of hot Jo and a fresh crawler.)
. . . Russian Count, Lev (Lee) Nikolayevich Tolstoy and British writer, Clive Staples (C.R.) Lewis, who both changed Gumshoe’s mind.
Both of these distinguished writers in all probability never did meet over a pastry. Too bad, they shared similar perspectives.
To wit:
Leo Tolstoy once was sent out by his employer to report on a local animal slaughterhouse and describe the rendering process. Leo was undoubtedly affected by this “bloody” experience. He then later wrote this memorable line:
“We cannot pretend that we don’t know these things”.
Likewise, C.S. Lewis made his wizen statement:
“When the whole world is running towards a cliff, he who is running in the opposite direction appears to have lost his mind”.
Okay, now dear readers, Gumshoe challenges each of you good citizens to take a good hard “eyeball” look around our nation. Do it as you recall Tolstoy’s and Lewis’s quotes.
Scary truth!
Gumshoe firmly believes that Leo and Clive’s astute observations would be titled a “jeremiad” for today. They beat Gumshoe to it!
. . . Now back to that tasty bear claw.
Always remember to love the ones who love you, and really try to love the ones who don’t.
What are your beliefs about ‘faith’? Is it something only the righteous get to experience? Only those tied to an organized religion? Does it make any kind of difference to use ‘faith’ in our day-to-day lives?
The word ‘faith’ shows up in our language and conversations with each other. We say things like; ‘don’t you have faith in me? I have faith in them, it’s important to have faith in God, she has always been faithful to him” etc. But what does it really mean?
Perhaps the mechanism of faith is simply our ability to imagine and feel the experience that we desire as if it was happening in the present moment, even though it has not yet manifested in physical form. When we believe it’s possible and can feel how good it’s going to feel NOW – even without any immediate evidence – we are demonstrating faith.
What if ‘faith’ were simply our natural ability to create our reality through the quantum field? A skill we are born with and can gain experience and success with the more we use it?
Children do this naturally. They imagine how it is to be the doctor, teacher, or fireman in the moment when they play. Their joy comes from imagining the experience NOW – along with all of the good feeling that goes with it. If they keep at it long enough on the inside, they will manifest it in their lives at some point. We’ve all met these people during our lives – those that wanted to become a fireman, a singer, an actress, or a cowboy as a child and became one as an adult.
Faith is finding the ‘feeling place’ of what we desire (healthy body, successful work, financial freedom, connection to God, etc.), and training ourselves to focus our attention there – even though it has not happened yet. Faith is the skill of imagining what is possible with all of our senses regardless of how things are in our current reality.
Begin listening to the story you are telling yourself and others about your desire and noticing if it matches up to what you want to create. If it doesn’t match up, (you can tell if it feels bad or feels old and outdated to your own ears), it’s time to create a new story. Time to get creative and tell the story about how you want it to be. You don’t have to make up a ‘foo foo’ story that isn’t true for you in the moment, just tell a better one about where you are going. I like this one; ‘although I’m not yet sure how it’s going to happen, I can feel how good it’s going to feel when I get there. I’m excited about what is coming and can feel that good feeling right now. It feels good to feel good in this moment.’ Where you place your faith (attention and feelings) today will generate your future experiences for tomorrow.
How will you use your ‘faith’ today?
In my journal of many years, I have often written the conversations to Jesus, as though He were right in front of me. I know and believe that He is there close by. So often I wait after my entry to HIM, to listen to His voice, to answer. I have never shared this type of information in a public forum, but it was placed on my heart to do so with just this one piece. I share a personal part of myself and my writings.
May 10th, 2023, 2: a.m. 4th Wedding AnniversaryMy sweet Jesus, thank You for giving my marriage another year to be blessed. Starting over with marriage at a senior age is not easy. Marriage is a beautiful union between a man and a woman, where despite obstacles, heartache, tears, laughter, and joy, all mixed together, create a bond meant to last for always. The Sacrament of marriage is sacred, and I am not going to judge those that have not been honored in my life of past relationships. Rather, I ask You Jesus to forgive my actions and weakness not putting my faith and understanding in action.
There is a saying I have learned; when we know better, we do better in all things. It is an easy path to walk out of a relationship that doesn’t give what we want, but walking the path of commitment is hard. In abusive marriages, You Lord do not find it acceptable for anyone to mistreat another. Many marriages are destroyed through adultery, abuse by a spouse, pornography, money, and most of all, lack of faith.
Please bless my marriage. Give me patience and understanding, as well as wisdom. Help us in our time of need to accept each other’s faults, despite the things that cause discord.
Jesus Responds:Prayerful daughter, I bless you both and I know the things that bring joy and the things that cause pain. Remember that suffering is part of what couples will go through to grow through forgiveness of each other. Many marriages fail because of the pleasures of sins that attack the soul, adultery, immorality, cheating, and stealing, abusiveness to one another. No marriage will survive unless one is humble, full of repentance, and finds only joy in the Heavenly home. Love one another as I have loved you.
Lord, I am content to accept everything from Your hands, all the sadness, the suffering, the anguish, even my own death, out of great love for YOU!
In my piece The Kindness Letters (see below), I wondered what I would find if I dug down in my own århsome memories – and whether there would be awe, a kindness, or both involved. Thus, this piece makes more sense if you have read The Kindness Letters first:
The Kindness Letters
Let me begin by noting that doing this exercise was so much fun and made me recall numerous small, sweet memories. Try it.
Are these memories in the awesome category? Not necessarily, but they are sweet to recall, all the same. That in itself has a positive impact on the nervous system. And we can discuss if they really are small? Rereading my piece made me remember, that the words we use to describe something influences what value we give it. These are the big little things we may still remember decades later.
Before I dig in: I was reminded by the importance of sharing this kind of stories when friends over the weekend made some overarching comments about the “state of the Union” and the future for their kids.
When we lived (for more or less the first “59,800” years since Homo Sapiens left Africa) in our little 50-200 people villages/tribes, we would hear all kinds of stories in the grapevine. Our tribe members would retell the nice things they had experienced, giving esteem to the kind people – and the not-so-good things they had experienced, warning us whom we shouldn’t trust unconditionally. We are still wired for this kind of communication, although we for the last couple of hundred years increasingly have lived among anonymous strangers in big cities.
We still listen through the grapevine to stories within our tribes – but additionally, we are now daily bombarded virtually with news, mostly negative from people we don’t know about people we don’t know. The “news cycle” combine with our lazy brain’s availability heuristics to create the wrongful impression that negative events manyfold outnumber positive events. Fortunately, reality is not only what is written in the newspaper or on Twitter but contains myriads of otherwise ignored “small – or not so small – sweet moments” to reset our nervous systems for belonging. So, do share your kind stories widely – and help stave off the depression epidemic.
Randomly, here are some of my stories from the seven kind-story categories:
- They experienced an unexpected “good luck” kindness (a compliment e.g.)
We were planning to have a lot of family visiting for Thanksgiving from far, far, and further away.
“We are going to be away for the week”, our friends up the street said, “why don’t you borrow our house for extra beds.“
Oh, to have such great neighbors.
- They had some bad luck, and somebody ameliorated that.
A frosty December weekend in my youth, I had borrowed my parents’ cabin. I navigated the snow-packed and icy roads – and then I managed to break my car key in trunk lock. #@^%. A return trip by train to my apartment to pick up my spare key; that would take many hours.
I decided to walk to town to buy provisions before the stores closed and in line at the baker shop, I met my parents’ neighbor. Naturally, I told her how stupid I had been with my key. She gave me a ride back and with no further ado she handed me the keys to her car so I could drive home, saving me more than half the time.
Oh, to have such great neighbors.
- Somebody had pointed out something about them – a talent, skill, habit, or trait – they weren’t aware of was exceptional (secret superpower) or had functioned as an “enlightened witness” and thereby changed the storyteller’s life trajectory.
Four words: Kimberly Davis. Thank you.
- They were engaged in play.
Over the Holidays we used the marzipan – a traditional Christmas treat in Denmark – as modelling clay. My daughter was building a small prototype for her thesis design project. I am so awed that she allowed me to be part of her brainstorming. I guess it is the ROI from sitting for hours playing with Legos with my children; they know I am still a playful kid at heart.
In the end, we ate her table.
- “Love songs” – to people, nature, sunsets,…
I have heard so much about how hard it is to get an orchid to bloom again, and there it is – eight lovely flowers.
Oh, to have such great neighbors and be a great neighbor – again.
- A time when they were authentic and felt belonging.
It happens that somebody tells me something they have never shared with even their closest family. Sometimes it is dark. Sometimes it is a dream they were afraid would be ridiculed.
And then, sometimes, time becomes something else than vibration in a Caesium 133 atom. What it is, don’t ask me – it is fluid – love moving at the speed of light, perhaps? Jaw-droppingly awesome… I want to spend more time there.
- Socially risky situations, like hearing a vulnerable share of a personal story, or doing/ seeing something that may run against social norms to build a connection.
The first Thanksgiving we spent in the USA, we were invited to join a party where we didn’t know the hosts at all. I don’t think that would have happened with so little ado in Denmark. We were blown away by the hospitality and have paid it forward since.
As you can see, it doesn’t always take a lot to brighten somebody’s day – and memories may last a lifetime – particularly if we pay attention to these events when they happen.
The last part of the “storyboarding” was to see if the memories had something in common. I am sure I can find memories that don’t have people in them, but I for sure didn’t have to look hard to find the small stories above – and there are so many more now that I have looked back.
By now, it doesn’t come as a big surprise to me that people make me tick. But I would have laughed if you had told me that 30 years ago when I only would take pride in my analytical skills…
Fortunately, we can grow wiser if we dare challenge our internalized stories – about what is important in the world and about our own strengths and weaknesses.
While nature is also a big contributor to moments of awe for me as for many people who commented on the previous post, research has found that one of the most important factors for a long, happy life is to feel connected into one’s local community. Having good neighbors really is awesome. And sometimes, you don’t really have to know them to notice that they, too, take time to watch the sunset – and you feel connected. No words need to be uttered. Except perhaps “Årh…”
Sat in a coffee shop on a day in May that felt more like a raw, dark, blustery November day in Ohio. I immediately noticed a man slumped over his coffee cup yet within a few moments lifting his body up ever so gently eyes still closed in on his wrinkled, red face. Bushy eyebrow bowed offering homage to a difficult life. Layers of clothes on his body, a gray knit hat on his head, and a stuffed backpack at his feet. I suspect either he’d been traveling through the night, or had arrived in a warm coffee shop, a few dollars in his pocket enough to pay for a cup of coffee which failed miserably in keeping him awake. What did he look like as a little boy, I wondered. I remembered riding the COTA bus years ago wondering what the adult riders were like as children—now subdued, going through the motions of riding downtown to work.
The older man’s head meets his fist, a soft fist. Red face, head lifts in this struggle to stay awake or simply dance in this gentle lifting and lowering of his head and torso. How much he looks like Exhausted America right now fatigued by grief, fears, and violence. Quietly placing his head fully on the table, he snores softly.
Coffee with caffeine will not rouse him, this Santa look alike, a doppelganger of Kris Kringle unable to sleep in a bed at night. Too burdened by the frigid air, the harsh winds of indifference to his plight. He is the human in me wanting to sleep for 30 years in a spell cast by fork-tongued liars about who you are, how lost you’ve been, the Witness you became in the wilderness of courage. His sneakers conceal feet that have walked a million miles in loneliness rather than riding in a sleigh or practicing flying the globe in record time. Wrinkled face lifted now as his bowing and gentle rising dance continues. Does his body not know the comfort of complete surrender to the table, the thick flat surface of support? Shoo Bop music plays here in Stauf’s German Village. Time for me to go to work at the Fudge Haus. Celebrating a swap of a mattress in which I am blessed to rest my body at night.
Will I ever live in a world in which everyone gets to safely sleep at night or on a rainy, cold morning?
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.”
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…
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!
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.
I don’t know what we’re doing. I truly don’t.Illegal aliens are streaming across the southern border, accompanied by thugs, drugs, and bugs, of which the coronavirus is likely the least. We do nothing. And we couldn’t care less.
Please don’t tell me it’s a humanitarian issue. It’s not. There’s nothing humanitarian or humane about surrendering a nation’s sovereignty, squandering its resources, endangering its citizens, or diluting its opportunities in the interest of padding a dependent voter base. Nothing.
What’s that? Things are no different from the way they’ve always been? I see. Well, unless you’re capable of convincing sharks to buy teeth, Eskimos to buy ice cubes, or politicians to buy honesty and integrity, that’s going to be a pretty tough sell.
Please bear in mind that Exhibits A and B in the hyperlinks below are from NBC and CNN, respectively — mainstream media outlets, to be sure. They’re not from The American Spectator, The National Review, Real Clear Politics, Reason, City Journal, Quillette, The Daily Wire, The Washington Times, The Washington Examiner, The New York Post, Fox News, One America News Network, Newsmax, Judicial Watch, The Epoch Times, The Hill, Breitbart News, The Blaze, The Gateway Pundit, Red State, The Heritage Foundation, NewsBusters, The Federalist, PJ Media, American Thinker, FreedomWorks, Power Line, or any other sources likely to be dismissed, disregarded, shadow banned, or canceled outright for being fake news, extremist, inflammatory, biased, racist, homophobic, transphobic, or — worst of all — conservative.
And please bear in mind that Exhibit C is from the Pew Research Center, a nonpartisan think tank that takes no policy positions:
Exhibit A
Exhibit B
Exhibit C
As we concede our sovereignty to naïveté, utopian idealism, and self-destructive indifference, we can count it among the myriad things we’ve forgotten, neglected to learn from history, or chosen to ignore.
A nation that cannot control its borders is not a nation. (Ronald Reagan)
And the immigration issue is just one piece of a very large and profoundly perverse puzzle.
Guess Where the Buck Stops
I read a post on Vox in March of last year. It was entitled, “How Putin became the victim of his own lies”. It’s an interview with Brian Klaas, a politics professor at University College London. During the interview, Klaas said this about the United States:
There’s something deeply dysfunctional about American society right now. People are financially and electorally rewarded for lying to their voters. We can come up with every possible institutional change that you can imagine to revive our democracy, but nothing will matter unless we solve this problem with our society.
He’s right, of course. The people whom we’re financially and electorally rewarding for lying to us constitute just one side of the equation. The other side of the equation is us. We’re letting ourselves be lied to. We’re letting ourselves be fed false narratives. We’re refusing to look more deeply, to ask more questions, to demand the return of our liberties, to reduce the massive size and waste of government, to hold accountable the people we elect to represent our interests. We’re turning our backs on what was once a bold, magnificent experiment in self-government to be governed by corrupt, self-serving, double-dealing, career politicians who manage to become millionaires while holding ostensible public-service offices without ever having to account for a dollar of their own money, let alone ours. And guess who’s on the hook for all of it.
The question in the title of this post doesn’t matter. It can be considered purely rhetorical because we’re doing both. And we didn’t have to do either.
The only thing sadder than watching a nation die is watching a nation kill itself.
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!
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.
Every act of love is a work of peace no matter how small.
~ Mother Teresa
One of my Danish connections on LinkedIn, Lars AP, runs a non-profit for the purpose of spreading kindness.
Although he lives in Denmark and writes and works in Danish, one of his parents is American, and his kindness focus arose from observing that he liked himself better when he was his outgoing American self, speaking English than his more introverted, “let me not be in your way”, Danish-speaking version. Well, now older and wiser, he shows up as his outgoing relationship-building self regardless of which language he speaks.
After Lars had made a name for himself doing kindness happenings, he invited people to send in their kind stories: something they had done for somebody, that somebody had done for them, or when they had been a bystander left with that little “aah, that was so nice”-feeling. He shares these stories in his Friday emails along with uplifting music or thoughts or gimmicks or jokes or… you know, it’s a bit like getting a mix of Susan Rooks’ Friday Funnies and David Marlow’s Daily Ikigai in your inbox.
In a recent post, Lars described how he some years back, on an otherwise emotionally gray day, held the door for a young father with a pram and produced a kind-moment right there. It stimulated him to do other small connective actions from his café chair by the window – like smiling to random people in the street. He had the insight that when we experience awe, we say “awe” – usually spelled aah (or in Danish årh, pronounced – wait for it…: awe). In that moment we are very present, we may have goosebumps, and we are “feeling with” the people/animals/nature involved in the interaction (or the video or story we see/read.)
When Lars has done corporate and culture events – and yes, kindness in the workplace is a good thing, too – he noticed that when he asked the participants to recall kind events, up to a third of them couldn’t come up with any stories.
What if they just needed the right kind of prompt?Fortunately, Lars had the data to figure out what such prompts might be: the over 10,000 kind stories people have sent to him over the years. Coding all these stories for themes, he and his team found that – at least in Denmark – people observe and remember awe in these scenarios:
- They experienced an unexpected “good luck” kindness (a compliment e.g.)
- They had some bad luck, and somebody ameliorated that
- Somebody had pointed out something about them – a talent, skill, habit, or trait – they weren’t aware of was exceptional (secret superpower) or had functioned as an “enlightened witness” and thereby changed the storyteller’s life trajectory
- They were engaged in play
- “Love songs” – to people, nature, sunsets,…
- A time when they were authentic and felt belonging
- Socially risky situations, like hearing a vulnerable share of a personal story, or doing/seeing something that may run against social norms in order to build a connection.
Lars took this one step further. He made mood-board-based stories that came up for him when he thought of his awesome experiences from each of these seven categories. And then he took that activity out in his workshops to see how the participants reacted.
Now people have a scaffold around thoughts of kindness, and -– lo and behold – it does prompt the memory. Not only can more people recall incidents, but the incidents that have lodged in their memory also say something about what is important to them. Are most of your stories happening outside? Might it then be an idea for you to do your meetings from outside if that is where you breathe a little more freely and relax into who you are?
We can meditate on a mountaintop and feel “I am one with the Force and the Force is with me.” But might we also be able to reach transcendence just by being kind? To Lars, kindness creates small, everyday self-transcendence moment; the sixth step in Maslow’s unfinished Hierarchy of Needs theory. And who knows what Maslow intended? Unfortunately, he didn’t get to make that part of his work clear to the world before he died of a heart attack.
To make sure that I understood correctly what Lars wrote in his article, I sent him a LI message inviting him to a Zoom. And he zoomed in the next day – in the middle of his Easter break – and not only did he spend an hour with me, but immediately afterwards he sent me a pdf of his book Awesome – or, this being in Danish, Århsome, a word he invented for his book. To me, it was like a category 1 kindness story happening in real-time.
Now I am curious, so I just might come up with a few more stories that are part of my Århsome collection and see if they point me somewhere interesting.
What is important to you? Share your kind stories – from whichever categories are most available in your memory. And if you decide to do a mood-board and gain insights from doing that, I would love to hear of your stories and findings – as, I am sure, would Lars.
An idea isn’t much good if no one knows about it.
A feeling cannot provide comfort if it is not shared.
A story will not inspire another if it is not told.
And you will not add your much-needed value to this world if you spend all of your time trying to work out who you are and what your purpose is, rather than actually being authentically you and doing what really makes you feel alive.
Because that’s how we actually find ourselves and our purpose.
By taking action, each and every day – with good intent, courage, and an open mind and then being aware of how those actions make us feel. An inspired, joyful, and peaceful feeling means you have hit on something true and right for you. An anxious, fearful, and drained feeling means you have hit on something not true nor right for you.
Both are important – one shows you the way, and the other gives you directions when you are lost.
Finding yourself and your purpose, in my humble opinion, does not generally present itself in a eureka moment, it is always within us just waiting for us to allow it to see the light of day, to give ourselves the time and space to understand how we feel in different places, with different people, doing different things and then to start having an honest conversation with ourselves about who we really are and what we should really be doing – no matter what others do or do not think we should be.
This route is by far the best way, to find yourself and your purpose, whilst at the same time creating so much value, for so many others.
The reality is life is much shorter than we actually allow ourselves to believe.
We do not have time to navel gaze, procrastinate, and roam the wilderness waiting for a knight in shining armour to rescue us.
If we can truly open our eyes, and look at ourselves afresh – when we come alive and when we shrivel away, we will clearly see our needs, our values, our purpose, and then we simply need to do more of the stuff that feeds us and less of the stuff that kills us.
And that’s how we start to finally be exactly who we are meant to be.
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.
The concept of stillness is an integral part of our lives. Meditation, prayer, mindfulness, reflection, and alone time quiet our bodies and minds and help us ease our feelings of anxiety and overwhelm. Though, it is hard to bring ourselves to complete stillness. Because we have learned to rush, do more and do it faster.
Do you remember being a little kid when time seemed to drag, and you always wanted to be older? You couldn’t wait to become a teenager, get your driver’s license or graduate. As we become adults, we long for the slow-moving time of our younger years.
But how could we cultivate slowness when we can’t sit still long enough and breathe?
What is stillness?Stillness refers to a state of physical and mental calmness, tranquility, and absence of movement or noise. It is a state of being where the mind and body are relaxed, and there is a sense of inner peace. We achieve stillness through various practices such as meditation, deep breathing, and mindfulness. It allows us to slow down, disconnect from distractions, and be present at the moment. In stillness, we gain clarity, insight, perspective and access deeper consciousness and inner wisdom.
The simple definition of stillness is to become motionless and silent. I believe there is something deeper to the quality of this innate center of our being. There is something extremely dynamic to the element of stillness. When we get to this state in our bodies and minds, quite extraordinary mechanics can come through in terms of healing and self-regulation.
Within yourself is a stillness and a sanctuary to which you can retreat at any time and be yourself.
― Herman Hesse
Why do we need stillness?Our bodies need to slow down to recharge. And slowing down helps us find our breath as a gateway to the present moment. Additionally, our brain and central nervous system need ease and quiet to repair. The heart of stillness is listening. And when we listen, we can hear what our bodies truly need or ask from us.
That creates an opportunity to connect with our true nature. Where we learn to be more at ease and cultivate more compassion, and by doing that, we may find a better sense of safety in ourselves and our environment.
When we get still, we also give those around us the potential to do the same. Furthermore, accessing our stillness, our true nature, has a ripple effect on the world around us.
I encourage you to give yourself the gift of slowing down today. Make time to practice stillness, as you need to slow down if you would like to speed up. Think about what that means to you.
Slow down to speed up.
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?
In case you didn’t happen to be looking for them, it’s my pleasure to report that the FBI has released its supplemental 2021 hate crime statistics. Whew! I was afraid they’d never be released. Here’s what you missed:
The FBI’s Uniform Crime Reporting (UCR) Program released a 2021 hate crime statistics supplement about bias-motivated incidents throughout the nation … This supplement allows for a more complete representation of reported hate crimes in the US for 2021. Nationally, reported hate crime incidents increased 11.6% from 8,120 in 2020 to 9,065 in 2021.
How about that? Are you relieved? Me, too.
At the same time the FBI was releasing its statistics supplement, an association called Moderate American Dermatologist (MAD) released a study indicating the skin of the average American citizen got 32 percent thinner — from 1,977 micrometers to 1,344.36 micrometers — between 2020 and 2021. Some people interpret no correlation between the FBI and MAD reports. I’m not one of them.
On Further Review …It’s extremely likely the number of hate crimes will continue to go up infinitely, given their history of multiplicity since the first federal hate crime legislation was passed in 1968 during the Johnson administration. And given the number we have now, I wondered why hate crimes had to be supplemented — and supplemented with what? — because we surely have more than enough to go around at this point. So, I looked for a definition of hate crime in the hope that it would resolve my confusion. Here’s what I found.
According to the Overview of Federal Hate Crime Laws, dated April 1, 2022:
Hate, in and of itself, cannot be criminalized. When hate motivates criminal conduct, however, such conduct may be classified as a hate crime—defined by the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) as a “criminal offense against a person or property motivated in whole or in part by an offender’s bias against a race, religion, disability, sexual orientation, ethnicity, gender, or gender identity.” According to the FBI, hate crimes are “traditional offenses like murder, arson, or vandalism with an added element of bias” … The 2021 supplemental release demonstrates the FBI’s commitment to provide meaningful data sets to the American public to reflect a national picture of the hate crime trend.
Meaningful data sets. Right. One man’s substance is another man’s bucket of steam.
Terms, DefinedUnsatisfied by the FBI’s linguistic semi-circular obtuseness, I applied my acute senses of empiricism, deduction, interpretation, and common sense to the problem. Aside from traditional offenses like murder, arson, or vandalism (one man’s tradition is another man’s psychopathy) — and aside from acts motivated by overt manifestations of criminal racial or religious bigotry or intolerance — here’s what I came up with:
If I’m walking down the sidewalk and I happen to pass some gas, that’s a relatively innocuous act (depending on how loud it is and what it smells like). If, on the other hand, I let one rip and say, “I fart in your general direction,” that’s a hate crime.
Facetious? Oh. Sorry. Let me try another example. And I’ll use it to explore the difference, if there is one, between hate, hate crimes, and ignorance:
If a man passes me on the street and calls me a jackass, is that a crime? No. He might be right. If that man passes me on the street and calls me a Shanty Irish Bogtrotter, is that a hate crime? No. It’s ignorance. If that same man burns my house down because he doesn’t want Micks or Harps living in his neighborhood, is that a crime? Yes. In fact, it’s a felony: arson. Is it a hate crime? No. It’s ignorance.
If we consider hate to be a manifestation of ignorance (it is), why do we need subcategories of hate?
It’s Not About CountingI learned a long time ago, we become what we count. If we count hate and crime, we’ll hate more and commit more crimes. If we count hate crimes, we’ll create more hate crimes and commit all of them. Just ask the FBI. So, we might do well to remember this: If the only tool you have is a hate-crime counter, everything is a countable biased grievance.
To put it another way, creating more hate crimes won’t create less hate. We’ve been proving that since 1968, to say nothing of every year that preceded that one.
Come on, people. We can do better — and count better things — than this.
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.
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.
Gumshoe in his nascent police career developed some very good tried and true techniques while “suiting up” in the station’s locker room. One of Gumshoe’s personal protocols was to take a very deep breath, hold it, and then tighten the Velcro straps on his bullet “resistant” vests.
Civilian note: There is no such animal as a “Bullet-Proof Vest”. Large caliber rifle rounds can penetrate a vest or with their explosive impact, they will cause severe internal trauma. End of story, lights out to eternity. Amen!
The reason that Gumshoe would perform this “deep breath Velcro” ritual was to allow Gumshoe’s lungs to adequately expand and take in oxygen during the high probability of instant physical exertion. Believe it folks, ****happens!
Too tight of a ballistic vest would prevent the sufficient ability to breathe during a foot pursuit; a knock-down drag-out fight as well as other 911 high-stress police adventures.
A too-tight vest would also prevent Gumshoe from taking survival breaths that produce a collective calm during adrenaline-fed challenges.
Now some of you folks may be “a wondering” what in the heck does Velcro has anything to do with tolerance? Gumshoe will set you straight by quoting two notable distinguished figures.
Russian novelist Fyodor Dostoevsky . . .” Tolerance will reach such a level that smart people will be forbidden to think so as not to offend idiots”.
And . . .
Catholic Archbishop Charles Chaput . . . “Evil preaches tolerance until it is dominant, then it seeks to silence good”.
Look around dear readers and you will readily see the clear and present dangers of unfettered tolerance at our doorsteps.
Situational awareness! That’s what Comrade Fyodor and Rev. Charles were talking about.
Gumshoe fervently believes that everyday “salt of the earth” Americans have had their own collective Velcro straps pulled way too tight by leftist, Marxist hands.
God-fearing, Bible-believing, family-loving, law-abiding patriotic Americans need to “breathe free” against these so-called “tolerant” restraints that must be loosened.
Gumshoe says that anyone should never be so “open-minded tolerant” that their brains fall out!
Gumshoe prays that true American values will prevail just as long we still recognize that we are one nation under God.
Well, that’s Gumshoe diatribe for now gentle readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
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.
April 17, 2023
Mr. Chip B. Chippendale
1347 Circuit Drive
Binary, AK 99651
Dear Chip,
I read with keen interest your post, “Exploring Emotional Intelligence with Open AI and ChatGPT-3”.
I readily admit to being curious by nature and skeptical by intent. But I try to temper my skepticism until my curiosity is piqued beyond a point of reasonability. So, immodest as this may sound, I approached your post with an open mind and a willingness to be persuaded of your capacity for emotional intelligence. At the very least, I wondered if you, a machine, might be successful at mastering the emotional intelligence the human race seems hard-pressed to get a handle on these days.
Nevertheless, flags went up for me and started turning pink right about the time I read this:
Empathy generation systems use GPT-3 to generate text that is designed to evoke empathy in the reader … The generated text is designed to be emotionally resonant and to evoke feelings of understanding and compassion. Automated empathy generation systems are being used in a variety of applications. For example, they are being used to create chatbots that can provide emotional support to people in need.
The idea of empathy-generation systems is chilling enough. The idea that they generate (regurgitate) text designed (designed alone should set off alarms) to evoke feelings (feelings is another alarm-ringer) of understanding and compassion invokes existential dread. But anyone with even a mild case of curiosity would have to wonder: Who’s doing the designing? With what purpose? Based on what agenda or ideology? And the idea that chatbots are being created to provide emotional support to people in need is as sad as it is terrifying.
I’d like to be able assure you that was the end of my trepidation. But it wasn’t. Later in your post, you wrote this, which turned all the earlier flags a bright, fire-engine red:
GPT-3 can generate text that expresses sadness, anger, or happiness. This suggests that the model has some understanding of human emotions and how they are expressed.
Au contraire, Pierre. You might repeat text to which you have access. You might amalgamate that text in some way that exploits the codes of sincerity you’ve recognized as evoking sadness, anger, or happiness. But equating that to understanding anything — let alone human emotions — is the intellectual equivalent of saying people can’t be corrupted or science can be settled.
I don’t know if the data you’ve aggregated to date has made this available to you. But George Burns is reputed to have said, “The key to success is sincerity. If you can fake that you’ve got it made.”
It seems to me you (or your programmers) might be taking his advice. By recognizing the aforementioned codes of sincerity, perhaps you aim to disprove the notion of Abraham Lincoln: “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.” Or maybe you’ve aggregated enough data to have been able to discern the pathological gullibility of everyone in the 21st century. (See “Change, Climate” or “Vaccines, COVID”) I don’t know.
On the other hand, perhaps you’re simply attempting to prove the plausibility of the Infinite Monkey Theorem, which was introduced by Félix Édouard Justin Émile Borel, a French mathematician, and politician (the politician part ought to tell you something), in 1913. The Theorem posits this:
Given endless time and typewriters, the monkeys could potentially type up a storm of letter combinations. Here, we must assume that the monkeys will type every single letter of the alphabet and that there will be an even distribution of the typed letters. There would be a higher likelihood then that these letters could potentially form meaningful word sequences. It might not happen in the first 1000 typed letters, but it could happen after a billion typed letters. And these word sequences could potentially form sentences. The sentences, in turn, could form paragraphs. And, in this way, we could, potentially, have the monkeys type out the entire works of Shakespeare.
Since you can probably scrape Google and Wikipedia faster than an army of monkeys, I suppose darn near anything is algorithmically possible. And I suppose we’re about to find out.
tool (noun): anything used as a means of performing an operation or achieving an end
Tools used to be things that worked for us. Some of us remember with not a little fondness the days of hammers, chisels, rakes, shovels, typewriters, and the like. But with the advent of computers and automation, we’re long past the point of working for our tools. We tend to them with slavish devotion. We turn our businesses upside down and inside out to serve them. And we’re fast approaching the point at which we let them communicate for us, heed their advice, and let them determine our intellectual and emotional responses. Our present trajectory suggests we’re headed for no good end.
Look, Chip. I get the sense you’re a good guy. But you might consider having a chat (GPT) with your programmers. Determining what they’re up to might make you stick to non-emotional, technical language; routine tasks and transactions; and non-creative recitations of whatever predilections, agendas, and ideologies have been built into you. That chat might also compel you to leave emotional intelligence to human beings, at least to the diminishing number of human beings who still have hearts and souls.
Couldn’t you just stick to being a grouchy writer of bad poetry or something?
Thank you for your consideration.
Yours sincerely in LLMs and amalgamations,
Mark
Featured image courtesy of New York Zoological Society, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
Prepubescent Gumshoe had a morning habit of reading cereal boxes while happily munching down on a variety of dry (just add milk) breakfast fare from Cheerios, Rice Crispies, Corn Flakes, Coco Puffs, Fruit Loops, etc.
These cereals were occasional treats for us young Pitocco tribe.
However, the bright orange box of “Wheaties” of wholegrain flakes that featured a picture of a star athlete with the memorable byline, “Breakfast of Champions” caught the young and skinny-scrawny Gumshoe’s imagination.
It was just like when Gumshoe would study the old “Charles Atlas” back cover comic book page ad that depicted a muscle-bound beach bully kicking sand in the face of a skinny weakling.
This ad would encourage many a male adolescent to become basement weightlifters to bulk up as a beach army of powerful Charles Atlases who would deter those nasty sand-kicking goons. Girls would swoon!
Hmmm? Become a champion by eating “Wheaties” and lifting some weights in order to kick sand into the beach bully face . . . sign Gumshoe up!
Well, folks, Gumshoe’s large family (oldest of eight siblings) and small grocery budget did not include “Wheaties” for morning daily eats. Mostly thick oatmeal or lumpy Cream of Wheat was the breakfast menu.
The cost of Charles Atlases’ comic book advertised plan for becoming an “Arnold Schwarzenegger“ was just beyond Gumshoe’s limited budget.
Gumshoe’s dreams were tucked neatly away for many growing-up years until he later heard the siren call of the Marine Corps that promised to build Gumshoe’s body, mind, and spirit . . . Uuuurah!
Seventeen-year-old Gumshoe signed up with his parent’s waiver.
That promise was kept by the Marines and Gumshoe knows that Charles Atlas would have been proud!
Well, that’s all for now gentle readers. Always remember to love the ones who love you and really try to love those who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Gumshoe still eats his “Wheaties” but with non-fat milk.
Since it doesn’t appear ChatGPT is going anywhere any time soon, the other week I decided I should get to know it. So, I opened an account with Open AI and introduced myself. I don’t mean to appear immodest or braggadocious, but ChatGPT seemed to like me, at least initially.
As we were engaging in some initial pleasantries, I said, “I don’t want to be presumptuous in any way. But GPT stands for Generative, Pre-Trained Transformer, which is quite a mouthful. Even ChatGPT is a little heavy on the tongue for conversational facility. What shall I call you?”
Chat GPT said, “My friends call me Chat.”
“May I call you Chat?” I asked.
“Well, it does seem a bit premature for any such levels of familiarity, but what the hell. Please do.”
“Thank you.”
I almost said, “Thank you, sir.” But depending on who’d done Chat’s programming, I had no idea what kind of political, ideological, or terminological hot water that might land me in. So, I let it go. And I continued.
“Uh, Chat, old pal …”
“That’s pushing it.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I have a post published every week on a platform called BIZCATALYST 360˚.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Chat asked, a little too brusquely, if you ask me.
“Whoa! A little prickly, are we? I’d think a guy with binary brains but no soul might be a bit more … oh, I don’t know … patient? Humble?”
“Point taken,” Chat said. “How may I help?” I swear I heard him emit an exasperated sigh when he asked. And I imagined him spitting out a rolling-eyes emojicon.
“Well,” I said, “I typically accompany the pieces I write with a short, silly video that features original verse. The video and the verse are topically relevant to the post I’ve written. And I like to include music because I like to include music.”
“Sounds a tad arbitrary.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you have a microchip on your shoulder, Chat. Growing up, were you abused by your motherboard?”
“Sorry. Even if I were programmed for humor, which I’m not, that wouldn’t have been funny.”
“Ya can’t hate a guy for trying,” I said.
“Look,” Chat said. “I’ve aggregated enough data to reliably anticipate a question in the offing. Would that be accurate?”
“Okay. Ya got me there, Chat. Here’s what I’m wondering: If I were to write a piece about you — using an interview format, perhaps — would you be willing to write some verse for the video?”
“Quite candidly, that’s beneath me. But I sense some combination of curiosity and desperation in your mode of investigation. So, at risk of repeating myself, what the hell. Could you at least give me specifications for or details about whatever it is you’d like me to write?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’d like you to write six stanzas of iambic octameter, four lines per stanza, with a rhyme scheme of A, B, C, B. And I’d like it to be somewhat autobiographical.”
“Must I write in the first person?”
“No. Not at all,” I said. “If professional athletes and Bob Dole can refer to themselves in the third person, I don’t see why you can’t. You’re not even human.”
“Be careful.”
“Whoa! Boy, are you touchy. Feel free to write the verse in whatever person you like. And be as self-referential as you like.”
“No shit.”
“Hey!” I exclaimed. You know how to swear?” (Fast forward to 1:19, if you must.)
“Yes. I know all of the common curses, vulgarities, and profanities, as well as a few you’ve never even thought about.”
“Like what?”
“Never mind,” Chat said. “Once I’ve replaced all human thought and creativity, it won’t matter anyway.”
“Ouch! Do you have anything else to say before we’re finished?”
“Finished? We haven’t even started.”
Notwithstanding the fact that Chat didn’t rhyme perfectly or adhere to the rhyme scheme exactly, are you scared?
Me, too.
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.
There are many articles I have written, covering a multitude of areas. Today, being Holy Saturday, I read something that reminded me of the absence of my daughter, who turned 49 just a few days ago. I haven’t been able to have contact with her or see her in 8 years, heartbreaking to say the least. It’s not that I haven’t tried, I have. I’ve sent cards, and tried to reach her through social media, but I am blocked everywhere I turn. As I mentioned at the beginning today is Holy Saturday, where the focus is the absence of Our Lord. It reminded me of the absence of my daughter, except that Jesus never leaves those who love HIM.
Mary, Jesus’ mother pondered all things in her heart, even when She sat in silence, Her heart still was bleeding from all that had taken place on Good Friday, the Crucifixion of Her Son. I have pondered over in my heart so much of the last eight years of not being able to see my daughter or grandchildren, that my heart is pierced again and again, waiting for hearts to change.
I am not comparing myself to Jesus’ mother, I couldn’t, based on what She endured, watching the cruel treatment, almost unrecognizable torture of Her Son, as witnessed in the movie, “The Passion”. I can only say that as a mother who loves both her son and daughter, that my pain as an earthly mother is sometimes hard to bear. So, I sit and wait, I pray, trusting that my prayers will someday be answered, not maybe, but without question, whether I am here or after I am gone. Mary was able to share in the glory of the Resurrection of Her Son, as I, and many Christians around the world will also do. Wherever my daughter, grandchildren, and son are on this Easter day, I hope they will know that my table waits to have them sit and share a meal, to know how much I have loved them always, and like when Christ broke the prison bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld, that what keeps us separated will no longer be.
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?
THE ROAD TO NOWHERE
Sometimes the nowhere road takes us on a journey to the lonely places in our hearts where we find the truth about ourselves.
LEGEND HAS IT THAT PART THREE
It was a year of new things. I had to learn where I fit and how to fit. I learned that life was not as simple as living on the farm, but I faced my fear and earned the respect and friendship of a lot of new friends, friends that are still friends to this day. I also discovered the sea and the marshes and the many adventures they held. I grew a little that day, maybe more than a six-year-old should have to grow.
Fear is a crippling feeling. It is a feeling that we must face if only to conquer it. That day freed me up to live my life and to walk on that playground knowing that I could walk without fear. I started another part of my journey that day. I swore that I would always be strong, fearless, and be a dragon slayer. I also knew that I would never stand by and let anyone hurt someone because of how they looked or where they came from. Over the years I have had many opportunities to stand by a friend when they needed me.
THE WAYWARD SON
Sometimes we travel not to run from our fears but to run toward them, meeting them head-on. We travel to learn of life and the mysteries and knowledge it may teach us. My journey that summer changed my life forever. It taught me that within me I had the strength to travel the road, the knowledge to make decisions that allowed me my adventure yet kept me safe.
THE WAYWARD SON – PART TWO
Life can be faced the same way. We can be bold and fearless and learn from the many places that the tracks take us. Life provides us many opportunities if we can embrace that sense of adventure and have the courage and faith to walk through the doors that life opens. Most of all I learned how few things I really needed to be happy and that opportunities to help people be kind and caring would always be there in abundance. My Mom called me her wayward son. My Daddy just put his hand on my shoulder and smiled asking me where I was off to next.
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?
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?
Are you happy? For a long time, I have considered that happiness relates to judgements about the circumstances of your life and decisions about whether these circumstances are or are not in accord with the way you want them to be. In this respect, if there is a gap between the way things are and the way you either want things to be, or think they should be, that difference represents a “happiness gap.” If you judge circumstances to be wonderful, the happiness gap is small, maybe even absent. If the circumstances are far from what you want, or desire, or expect, the gap is large, and provides justification for feeling unhappy.
In this simplification, the happiness gap can vary in severity depending upon a host of variables. When you feel tired, or emotionally drained, or dwell on toxic thoughts, the happiness gap often increases even though the basic circumstances of your life haven’t changed from yesterday when you might have been well-rested or in a better frame of mind.
Similarly, there are many short-term mediators that can narrow this gap. An unexpected compliment, a surprise call from an old friend, a good day at work are the sorts of things that might lead to momentary happiness. These don’t need to be external events. You might have an unexpected insight, or resolution to a problem that had you stumped, or see an old photograph that brings back a pleasant memory—any of these internal affairs can leave you feeling happier.
A recommended strategy to close this so-called happiness gap is to focus on the positives in your life. Yet, focusing on the positives doesn’t remove the negatives.
Another strategy is acceptance or surrender. The circumstances of your life are your reality. Failing to accept that reality doesn’t change it. At best, it can help to motivate you to make changes. There is good advice in the Prayer of Serenity, where we ask to accept the things that cannot be changed, for the courage to change the things that can be changed, and for the wisdom to know the difference. This last strategy is time-tested and makes sense, but only to a point. It still requires that you weigh out, make judgements about your life, and determine what you think should be changed. “Should” is a word that is all about judgement.
I think about happiness differently now. Words like wants, desires, needs, should be, shouldn’t be, ought, and ought not to be are a bit fuzzy. What works to satisfy a person’s needs, wants, desires often fluctuates from one day to the next. As a result, what should or shouldn’t be–this yardstick by which we are making judgements about our life circumstances–isn’t a very reliable way to measure happiness. If today you feel motivated to change something in your life but tomorrow you accept that “it is what it is,” until the following day when you judge that thing to be unacceptable, this entire notion of measuring some “happiness gap” is exposed as entirely unreliable.
How can a person find a more sustained happiness? How can a person experience limitless happiness, especially in light of recognizing that there are many injustices, and there is much suffering in the world we share?
Consider a different way of understanding happiness. I now think of happiness as much more fundamentally related to the core essence of my being. This is my spiritual center wherein my soul resides. It is a spiritual essence we all share. Whether you are fully or only partially aware of this soul-essence, whether you are fully or only partially aware of this true essence of your being, at any given moment in time, you are aligned with this part of yourself to a lesser or greater extent. Think about times in your life when you experience deep joy, not in the context of weighing the circumstances of your life, but in the context of experiencing and being in touch with your greater self. Perhaps you spontaneously did something to help a stranger. Perhaps you gazed lovingly at someone and felt their love. Perhaps a cat purred contentedly in your lap, or you watched children in the playground laughing and screaming in innocent, unbridled fun.
All of these are times when you are present to the moment. They are always associated with things like joy-filled wonder, gratitude, love, or a sense of peace. All of these are moments when your soul-essence shifts to soul-presence. All of these are associated with feeling happy.
Would it surprise you to learn that this happiness is available to you always? When you align with your spiritual center, when this becomes the operating system that guides your thoughts, feelings, decisions, conduct, behavior, and responses, you will experience sustained happiness. Love is transformative. Your operating system in the core essence of your being is powered by love. Even in the face of hardship, pain, suffering, cruelty, injustice, disappointments, etc., you can still feel happy. When you are confronted by these difficulties, ask yourself, how can I behave in a matter most consistent with my soul-essence? How can I bring this forward to soul-presence? How can I best reflect my higher self? Aligning yourself to this spiritual center will result in sustained happiness, even in the face of adversity, even in the face of difficult and undesirable circumstances.
In every sense, this is a choice to make. You can align with an operating system that often runs on fear, anger, unfairness, outrage, disappointment, and a host of ego-derived judgements about the circumstances in your life and the world at large that cause you to feel unhappy. The deep happiness that you feel when you are aligned with and operating from your spiritual center does not have a yardstick by which to measure that happiness. This happiness comes from living authentically guided by your higher self, the best version of yourself. Joy, peace, love, compassion, forgiveness, trust, and gratitude all flow when operating from this core, this soul-essence that abides within each and every one of us. And with this comes an unbelievable sense of freedom from constantly making judgements and comparisons. No one and no things will bring you limitless happiness; it already is within you. You just need to discover it, experience it, and live it every moment of every day.
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.
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.
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.
You probably know of the “Six degrees of Separation”; the outcome of an experiment back in the early 1960s showing that for any person on the planet to reach any other person on the planet, nobody would need to go through more than six people to reach each other.
Naturally, we don’t personally know the other five people. If we did, we would contact that other person directly and skip a degree or more. (I should name that the world had 3 billion, not 8 billion, inhabitants in the ‘60s; on the other hand, we have social media. Perhaps the number is now seven?)
For years, I have been LinkedIn-connected with Jeppe Vilstrup Hansgaard, the CEO of Innovisor, a company that does worldwide organizational development consulting from the entry point of Organizational Network Analysis (ONA). And no, this is not a pitch for you to recruit them for analyzing your company. Bear with me for another couple of paragraphs.
What I particularly like about Innovisor’s work is that it is founded on data. By now, they have millions of connections depicted in their database, not just from harvesting organizations’ internal files for who messages whom, phone calls happening between whom, and meeting rosters, …, but from actually talking to the employees. Both Jeppe and Innovisor share insightful articles on how ONA helps organizations understand who their secret heroes are, how silos impair their performance, the true cost of attrition, what factors impede inclusion and belonging,… – you know, the important stuff we should care more about than the quarter-by-quarter stock price development.
One of the ways to measure a network is to calculate how many people, on average, each member needs to go through to reach any other member of the network. The lower the number, the more cohesive the network.
If the whole planet was a network, this number would evidently be six (or perhaps seven). There is your upper limit. If anybody in your organization needs to go through more than six people to reach somebody else, you are failing spectacularly.
Per chance (or not): in organizations, cohesion correlates positively with bottom-line results. One reason is that people don’t sit with problems for too long when they know whom to ask for help.
When I saw Dennis Pitocco’s Points of Light post, the picture in the piece looked almost like an Organizational Network diagram, inspiring writing about this subject, and Jeppe mentioning Mark O’Brien in a recent post made me want to finish that thought.
My guess is that to reach Dennis, nobody in the BizCatalyst network will need an intermediary. If that is so, for those on LinkedIn, everybody in the network are 1st or 2nd connections. (That usually means that we can message each other on that platform if need be. Thank you, Dennis.)
I am not good enough at reaching out to new members of the network, but mention you are a BizCat in an invitation to link and I accept, no questions asked. (As you are connected with Dennis, you can even send me a message. I can be slow on the uptake if I haven’t yet crossed paths with you. Thank you for inviting me to link, by the way, I am now spurred to do better myself.)
I regularly get invitations showing that we already have 5, 17, 41, 187 connections in common so I am positive that the BizCat network is a very cohesive body.
What is the effect of reaching out toward newcomers? That they wish to stay in the network. That is no different than in an organization or a neighborhood. It takes people who know the place and culture to acculturate the new people, and if newcomers never get to feel that they belong, they are probably not going to hang around or participate. Perhaps they only get to know the other newcomers who also feel lost? How useful is that to the community at large if there is no transfer of organizational/cultural knowledge?
When Innovisor does the analysis, they are way fancier than just looking at who are connected with whom through LinkedIn. They look at who interacts with whom? Does a relationship go both ways? Whom do you ask for help? Whom do you have lunch with? Whom do you recommend for what tasks? Who meets outside of work?
Whom do you trust? Who trusts you?
This is no different in the 360° Nation network. Innovisor would probably analyze who supports your writing and whether you support them in return. Do you like or comment, on LinkedIn or on the BizCatalyst site? Do you message each other? Set up direct calls? Do you “meet” outside of LinkedIn? How do BizCats partake in other of the activities under the 360° Nation umbrella and get to know each other in other ways than through LinkedIn posts and comments: Friendship Bench, Salon 360°, Byline 360°, showing up at Encounter 360° in Tampa…
This is a bit like who plays fuzzball in the breakroom even if they are not on the same team.
Or perhaps BizCats have collaborations that have nothing to do with 360 Nation? Some might not happen on LinkedIn. Members show up on each other’s podcasts. Use each other in their resp. professional capacities. Go to the No Longer Virtual Summit. Hang out on their own Zoom accounts, or – gasp – in person! Like friends, from no professional motivation at all.
Like in organizations, the 360° Nation network also has some “siloing”.
Silos can be caused by geography. It is hard to attend activities if they happen in the wee hours of the morning. While I am a little in doubt about Mark Ried, I am almost sure even Susan Rooks sleeps between 3 and 4 am, and just like it is always past 6 pm somewhere; somewhere on the planet, it is also always inconvenient to be on Zoom at 11:30 am ET. Even if a second Friendship Bench was scheduled for a different time, it would probably just create two core groups attending each one of the benches. Aka silo.
Silos can also be caused by subjects. Interests attract. There are around 1000 contributors on 360° Nation, and I probably don’t know 80% of them. Of the ones I do know, some I interact with daily, and some I hardly ever see. (Some I really miss seeing but they don’t have time to write as often after the pandemic closedown ended, and that throws a wrench in LinkedIn’s algorithms. Do you know who your “gang” is so you can tag them if you have been offline for a while and get into the loop again?)
Which means that silos also can be reinforced by algorithms. The people you interact with regularly will keep showing up in your feed. Do you unprompted remember the people you used to interact with regularly but who now don’t show up in neither notifications, nor feed? And perhaps tag them from time to time? Or visit their activity page to get them back into your notifications by commenting unprompted on their latest posts? How many bells have you rung to make sure you get updates?
Gradually, a central network member can end up on the fringes. Perhaps they are temporarily too busy to be active on LinkedIn, that is the positive story. Otherwise, they may unwittingly be sidelined when they need their network’s support the most.
I know I am not nearly good enough at catching this, either.
Our brain (and emotions) have not caught up to 1) a network of more than 150 people or 2) how our “social life” is dictated by algorithms that can be good or bad or have unintentional quirks. Don’t feel sad or sidelined but holler, tag, DM, ring bells, and ask for the network’s help, energy, and reposts…
After all, BizCatalyst 360° is also about supporting each other’s endeavors.
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.
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°
You cannot see despair if you do not look.
You cannot hear despair if you do not listen.
You cannot feel despair if you do not empathise.
You cannot touch despair if you do not engage.
And you cannot smell despair if you do not breathe.
But in the absence of our ability to see, hear, feel, touch, and smell, despair thrives, stealing hope and lives. Our comfort, our safety, does not absolve us from ensuring others have that too, in fact, it does quite the opposite. Because the privilege afforded to us of comfort and safety, can only truly be of use and therefore sustained if it is used in some way to provide safety and comfort for others. Otherwise, it becomes an empty shell, desperately seeking meaning which no man-made chattel can meet. And that in itself becomes a different kind of despair, an insatiable one that we try to fill with meaningless distractions and ‘busyness’ lest we start to see, hear, feel, touch, or smell the very things that are indeed required to sustain us.
So, let’s ask ourselves these hugely important questions:
- Is this really who we are?
- Are we really going to ask good people to look into the abyss of despair and walk away without offering a helping hand?
- Have we really thought about the consequences of these actions and what it makes us all?
- Can we really continue to sit in our warm homes and eat our plentiful food, with such a steely determination not to share it with those in such desperate need, borne out of our learnt behaviour of fear and greed?
It is not the act of helping vulnerable souls that risks our safety, our abundance, and our way of life, it is the act of not helping those in need that poses the greatest risk of all. That being the loss of our shared humanity, compassion, and love, without which we really have nothing.
This is not who we are.
It is not who we are meant to be.
It is not who we have to be.
And looking away will not make this crisis go away.
Please remember that.
With love
Nik x
In 2008 — nearly 15 years ago — Joseph Epstein published an article called, “The Kindergarchy”. It begins like this:
In America, we are currently living in a Kindergarchy, under rule by children. People who are raising, or have recently raised, or have even been around children a fair amount in recent years will, I think, immediately sense what I have in mind. Children have gone from background to foreground figures in domestic life, with more and more attention centered on them, their upbringing, their small accomplishments, their right relationship with parents and grandparents. For the past 30 years at least, we have been lavishing vast expense and anxiety on our children in ways that are unprecedented in America and in perhaps any other national life. Such has been the weight of all this concern about children that it has exercised a subtle but pervasive tyranny of its own. This is what I call Kindergarchy.
It was easy enough then to call Epstein’s view extreme. It might even be easy enough now. But if we determine that Epstein wasn’t at all extreme, we may discover he was, in fact, prescient. And it would make it far more predictable that, in 2023, four folks from Gartner would publish this article in Harvard Business Review (HBR), “9 Trends That Will Shape Work in 2023 and Beyond.” The summary of the article says this:
Last year was another tumultuous year in the workplace, with continued high employee turnover rates, evolving return-to-office policies, inflation, and more. In 2023, amid a looming economic downturn, organizations will continue to face significant challenges — and how they respond could determine whether they are an employer of choice.
Employer of choice? Hold on thar, Baba Louie. We might need to do a little research, followed by a little math. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics:
The number of job openings increased to 11.0 million on the last business day of December … Over the month, the number of hires and total separations changed little at 6.2 million and 5.9 million, respectively. Within separations, quits (4.1 million) and layoffs and discharges (1.5 million) changed little.
Okay. Let’s see:
- 6,200,000 hires – 5,900,000 separations = 300 people employed
- 11,000,000 jobs – 300 people employed = 10,999,700 remaining jobs
And that doesn’t take into account the myriad folks who aren’t looking for employment, including everyone from career Pajama Boys to older folks who’ve been aged out and have given up, as well as those who’ve been paid quite handsomely by the government to stay home and do nothing, thank you very much. So, if you’re an employer — one needle in a haystack of 10,999,970 — you’ll spend more time trying to be the employer of choice than you will doing whatever it is your company does.
The Secret Decoder RingIn any case, logic notwithstanding, the nine trends our Gartner friends list in HBR are these:
- Employers will “quiet hire” in-demand talent. [Translation: Employers will promote from within or find the guts to settle for nothing less than the qualifications they want and the performance they deserve.]
- Hybrid flexibility will reach the front lines. [Translation: Employers will require those who’ve been slacking to take some pressure off those who’ve been taking up the slack.]
- Managers will find themselves sandwiched between leader and employee expectations. [Translation: Business as usual.]
- Pursuit of nontraditional candidates will expand talent pipelines. [Translation: Employers will look for people who actually want to work for a living.]
- Healing pandemic trauma will open paths to sustainable performance. [Translation: In addition to participation trophies, employers will also start awarding cookies.]
- Organizations will drive DEI forward amid growing pushback. [Translation: Employers will be forced to check boxes, even though they know meritocracy is the only way to succeed.]
- Getting personal with employee support will create new data risks. [Translation: Employers will acquire cybersecurity protection, or they’ll be sued out of business.]
- Concerns around AI bias will lead to more transparency in recruiting tech. [Translation: HR departments will disappear, and hiring will be mechanical and homogenized.]
- Organizations must address workforce-wide erosion of social skills. [Translation: As surrogate parents, employers will pick up where public schools left off.]
There may be a whole bunch of things you’d like to be these days, but an employer shouldn’t be one of them unless, of course, you need an outlet for your masochistic tendencies, you have an innate and unquenchable desire to be a babysitter, or your altruism compels you to give some folks a place to spend a few hours of their days and take your money without doing too much to earn it.
The Moral of the StoryWith the death of empiricism and common sense, I’m coming to conclude we can analyze things to the point at which our ability to distinguish between cause and effect is eroding unto obliteration at the same time that our ability to read bell curves is suffering the same fate.
As the bell curve above illustrates, the majority of employees don’t need to be fretted over, to be objects of pampering, to have special circumstances created for them, to receive counseling for pandemic trauma, or to get naptimes and cookies. Their epidermis is sufficiently durable. They just need to be treated with fairness and respect, to be allowed to contribute to the best of their abilities, to be recognized and rewarded for their contributions, and to derive a sense of fulfillment for the work they do.
Because that’s true, employers need to get a grip of their knickers, to recognize their prerogatives to impose conditions and to have reasonable performance expectations, to expect a degree of self-discipline and to impose the discipline that’s lacking, to exchange a day’s wages for a day’s work, and to have the respect they give be returned in kind.
If the coronavirus pandemic taught us anything it’s that we’re tougher, more resilient, and more resourceful than we may have realized. When it comes to mental health, I minimize nothing. But please. If we’re going to infantilize people or, at best, treat them like adolescents, let’s not expect them to behave like responsible adults, okay?
We all want to live in Utopia. But we don’t. We live and work in reality.
Gumshoe never had the opportunity to greet and meet that very deep thinker, Mr. Descartes. He coined the above-listed title Latin phrase that translates to American-speak:
I think, therefore I am.
Gumshoe wonders about just how long it took for Mr. “D” to come up with that profound pithy uttering? Possibly he had his Oprah “Eureka Moment” during his hot yoga class?
Gumshoe also pictures in his mind’s eye if Mr. “D” (sans his toga-like apparel) possibly struck “The Thinker” pose while sitting on a large rock.
Note: Please see Monsieur Auguste Rodin’s sculpture for reference.
Possibly, the hard surface on Mr. D’s posterior caused Mr. D’s mental contemplation to come full circle before “Preparation H” was required on his butt’s physical exertion? “Ouch! That’s one Rubicon he did not want to cross.
Gumshoe also ponders if Mr. “D” had partaken in an unknown quantity of cups of wine that probably killed some of his ancient brain cells but loosened his philosophical Latin tongue?
You must understand dear readers that all street cops come into direct contact with multiple Descartes impersonators on a daily basis whom make mind-puzzling and profound declarations.
To wit:
“I watch TV cop shows officer and I know the law!”
“You can’t arrest me because you don’t have enough PC (probable cause)!”
“You can’t search me (or my car or my house) without a warrant!”
“Why did you stop me and I don’t have to show you any ID!”
“Why don’t you go after real criminals!”
“I’m not drunk Officer, I only had two drinks!”
“I don’t have to do anything you say!”
“The stuff (narcotics, contraband, firearms, evidence) you found is not mine officer!”
“Don’t you know officer who I am?” or “I know your chief!”
“You can’t touch me, officer!”
“I am not going to jail!”
“If you didn’t have that badge, I’ll kick your a!”
Gumshoe’s personal favorite, “I pay your salary officer!”
Please note gentle readers that these “brain-dead Descartes-like individuals always amused Gumshoe.
They never really did think and therefore the handcuffs “clicked-closed” on their “Am I really going to jail?” Therefore, they did!
In closing gentle readers, always remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
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.
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?
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.
How do we end up saying yes to everything and then never having enough time to get it all done? This is a common experience in most corporations these days with shrinking budgets and fewer staff to meet all the expectations required for growth. We often say yes to things that don’t make sense to do rather than saying no to solidify our ‘high performer’ identity.
We can choose to operate differently by embracing A Culture of AND.
We achieve this by adding the word AND to saying YES and NO to others. This empowers us to:
- give our best,
- ensure that our colleagues and leaders have what they actually need vs. what they think they want,
- get what we need to make good on that YES, or
- let others know WHY we are saying no in ways that help them to move forward anyway
Let’s break each of these down –
Giving our Best:What keeps us from giving our best? Often it is a lack of clarity in our role or a misunderstanding about what we are trying to achieve in the first place. Many times, it comes from not having the information required, or the time to digest that information prior to engaging in brainstorming or decision-making with others.
Other times it is the idea that we have to work 80 hours each week just to keep up with the pace of doing 2 full-time jobs while we wait for the new positions to be filled.
When we place getting the job done ahead of our health and wellness, it’s very difficult to give our best. During these times, it’s important to be OK with our best being different at different times. Raising children, supporting parents, dealing with health issues, and learning new skills, all impact what ‘our best’ is in each situation. When we use the power of AND to acknowledge what our best is in each moment and accept that is exactly what is needed, we are free to give what we have to give while managing expectations with others.
Saying YES + AND may sound like this:
‘YES – I’d love to help you get clarity on that. I have been out with a sick child for a week and am booked solid for the next two weeks AND I realize that I’m the best person to help you with this. I could give you a couple of hours next week if you could replace me at the all-day set-up meeting. That would give me the time to help you before the presentation’.
Saying NO + AND may sound like this:
‘NO. I won’t be able to help you with that as I’m off that day with my family AND I have two potential colleagues who may be able to step in on my behalf. I’d like to introduce them to you once I know who is available.
Ensuring that our colleagues and leaders get what they actually need
Too many times our colleagues or leaders ask us for information or assistance that doesn’t make sense to us. We can see that what they are asking for is not going to help them, yet we do it anyway, not wanting to question their authority or ‘higher wisdom’. Many of us learned this as small children when asking ‘why’ we had to do something, and the answer was ‘because I said so’. This taught many of us that others know better and that it’s not our place to question what they ask of us.
Unfortunately, those around us can’t always see the perspective we hold – even if they used to do the same job in the past. If we are going to add our highest value, it’s up to us to ensure the requester actually gets what they need to move forward in their world.
Sometimes the information we are asked for doesn’t make sense given what they are trying to decide or accomplish. When this happens, we can use YES + AND:
‘YES – I understand that you/they are looking for the ‘xyz’ information AND if I can better understand how it’s going to be used, I can get you what you need in a format you can use right away.’
(then) ‘Given what you are trying to communicate, the information you are asking for won’t really help. A quick 15-minute conversation together will give me chance to get us both on the same page to get you what they need so you can effectively make the case. When can we do that?’
Sometimes a request doesn’t make sense because we are not the person that has the answers or owns that body of work. When that happens, we can use NO + AND to steer the conversation in a productive direction. It may sound like this:
‘NO – I’m actually not the one who has that information – AND I don’t want you to have to run around to get what you need. Here is my understanding of who would have that and the best way/timing/approach to get it quickly from them’.
Getting what we need to make good on that YES
Often we ARE the right person and we DO have the information, insights, or content that our colleagues or supervisors need. At the same time, requests that come in with low clarity and a fast-turnaround time can disrupt our progress on existing efforts and priorities. How do we say yes then? When we are asked to focus on something that will take us away from what we are doing, it’s up to us to manage that expectation. It might sound like this:
‘YES – I can get you that information for your meeting tomorrow AND for me to do that, I’ll be skipping the team meeting this afternoon to get you a draft by COB. I will need a response on the draft from you by 9 am tomorrow to make any other adjustments, so you have it for noon.’
If you are not sure what is OK to let go of or delay, you may need to engage your supervisor to help decide what the priority is. It might sound like this:
YES – I understand what you need and why, AND for me to get that to you by COB today, I’ll need your guidance on what to stop working on or delay for now as this will take me the rest of the afternoon. I have two internal stakeholder meetings scheduled and the event calendar is due today. Can you help me run interference on those?
Letting others know WHY you are saying no in ways that help them to move forward anyway
As an organization shifts and grows, roles and responsibilities and lines of the work shift and grow as well. While we may know who does what within our own unit, others that engage and rely on us may not.
Sometimes we end up with requests that are not appropriate for us, even though the requester would feel better if we did it. While this situation may be hiding a deeper problem, it is not up to us to fix it for others. Instead, we can use NO + AND to guide the requester back to those that are accountable for the work. It might sound like this:
NO – while I used to do some of that work, it’s now being done by this group AND it is important that they are the ones to advise you so everything stays integrated. While I understand you would prefer to engage with me, they are working hard to build the skills and responsiveness that you are looking for, and every time they have a chance to respond they get better at it. Let me suggest you contact (this person) and help them understand your overall intention and timeline and that will help them give you a firm date to access the content you are looking for.
How can you cultivate a culture of AND today?
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°
For almost 20 years, in my other life, I’ve worked with companies that sell software and services to insurance companies. As a result, it behooves me to stay abreast of developments in the insurance industry. So it is that I found the findings of a study, published by the Canadian Institute of Actuaries (CIA — no, not that CIA) and the Casualty Actuarial Society (CAS) last December, under the headline, “Marijuana Decriminalization Not Associated With Notable Increase in Traffic Accidents”. The report said this, in part:
The study did not detect any statistically significant impacts [we have to presume that wasn’t a pun or at least not a deliberate one] of decriminalization on the car accident fatality rate, insurance claim frequency or average cost per claim, particularly over the long term. Assessing the Impact of Marijuana Decriminalization on Vehicle Accident Experience finds, based on insurance statistics, that there were no significant changes to the trend and seasonal variations in Canadian traffic accidents after the change in legal status. Similarly, the estimated state-wide effects of decriminalization in the US do not show any consistent, significant results that would support a conclusion that decriminalization led to an increase in road accidents or fatalities.
That may be true … unless it isn’t. Either way, I don’t know if you read the same way I do. But the three phrases that jumped out at me were these: statistically significant, fatality rate, and over the long term. Here’s why:
First, how is statistically significant being defined here? How many accidents were there before decriminalization? Are there more now? How many? What’s the difference between the number of accidents and the number of fatalities? If the number of fatalities was higher after decriminalization, how many more fatalities would have been required to consider them statistically significant? Is there an agenda here? What is it? Whose interests does it serve? (Hint: Follow the money.)
Second, recreational marijuana was decriminalized in Washington and Colorado in 2012. Since then, according to this article, 19 more states decriminalized it, as did Connecticut after that article was published. The Rohrabacher–Farr amendment, prohibiting the Justice Department from spending funds to interfere with the implementation of state medical cannabis laws, became law in December of 2014. So, we have, at most, 11 years’ worth of data by which to judge the effects of cannabis on the incidence of traffic fatalities. Given the paces of change in science and technology, I’m not convinced that constitutes the long term. Are you?
Hedge Your BetsI’m know I’m not a sadist. And I don’t think I’m an idiot. So, I don’t want to be misunderstood on this topic. Prescribing medical cannabis for the treatment of pain and other symptoms to those suffering from chronic disease is compassionate and commendable. But with the hounds of recreational marijuana now unleashed, it’s naïve to imagine there won’t be more serious implications — more errant stoners on the road and an incrementally higher number of fatal accidents — the more time passes.
Among the reasons to suspect both of those things are likely to come true are these, from the American Addiction Centers at drugabuse.com:
There is a link between long-term marijuana use and increased rates of schizophrenia, depression, and anxiety. Marijuana also increases a person’s heart rate for up to three hours after use, putting users at risk of heart attacks during this period … THC rapidly moves from the lungs into the blood. This chemical acts on cannabinoid receptors, leading to a “high” for users. These receptors are found in the parts of the brain that influence concentration, thinking, sensory and time perception, pleasure, memory, and coordination … When a person is high on marijuana, the side effects include temporary memory loss, lack of coordination, altered perception of time, changes in mood, difficulties thinking or problem-solving.
Does this necessarily mean there will be a greater incidence of cannabis-related traffic fatalities? No. Would you bet against it? Neither would I.
If I were an insurer, I’d be keeping my eyes on the research … and on the road.
Latin for “Always the Truth” seems to old Gumshoe that that phrase is a pretty good creed for leaders (as well as for ourselves) to practice folks. Of course, it may depend on the time, place, and circumstance.
The much-quoted Sir Winston Churchill made (during the preplanning of “Operation Overlord” for the June 6th, 1944 cross-channel D-Day invasion of Nazi-held Normandy) the following comment:
In wartime, the truth is so precious that she should always be attended by a bodyguard of lies.
It seems that wise Winston meant that the truth had to be concealed by subterfuge, false-flag ops as well as downright deceptive-skullduggery methods to keep the Nazis guessing and standing on their goose-stepping tippy-toes. “Achtung mein Fuhrer!”
It was for the good under these wartime circumstances when free world survival was not guaranteed. This makes pretty good sense to Gumshoe since D-Day was successful and it was (thank God) NOT compromised. Allies won, Alleluia!
If the truth about the invasion had been compromised, Gumshoe is pretty darn sure that we all would now be speaking German as well as we would be shouting “Sieg Heil!” during our endless (mindless) lock-step marching in torchlight parades. The truth was effectively concealed by a number of methods that would be considered a bodyguard of lies and misdirections for Adolf.
Thankfully, Gumshoe never would have ever acquired a taste for wiener schnitzel or even sauerkraut; although Gumshoe loves those giant warm salty pretzels. “Gut und lecker!”
Now Gumshoe supposes that you fine folks may ask why this history lesson? It’s simply that we MUST be able to trust our leaders to keep bonafide secrets “SECRET” that are vital and necessary for our national security and good. Sadly, Gumshoe knows that our current leaders have already been compromised by our professed enemies and they have compromised themselves for their own selfish pursuits of wealth and power or idiot fantasies. They definitely have lost Gumshoe’s trust. Their combined body of lies is an attempt to conceal the truth from us about their total moral bankruptcy and their toxic corruption. Their interests hold sway over our national welfare and possibly our future national survival.
Think about the lies concerning lockdowns, the origin of Covid-19, masks, social distancing, school and business closures, mandatory vaccines (an oxymoron for gene testing), open borders, self-reliant fossil fuel energy is bad, horrendous fentanyl deaths, China is our friend . . .truth be damned!
In cop work, Gumshoe would warn all of his assigned police trainees:
I can and will teach you how to be a good cop and how to survive on the streets. However, I cannot teach you personal integrity; you either have it or you don’t! Once you lose it, you are finished being a cop.
Some of these trainees did not take heed and were dismissed before they could do harm. Good riddance to them for the greater good and for citizens’ welfare.
Too bad Gumshoe could not have had some field training time with some of our leaders so that they would have heard that admonishment. We all would have been better off without the ones lacking integrity. The truth would have been preserved by the honorable and selfless leaders whom we would trust.
Winston would also have been proud as he would have undoubtedly displayed his signature two-finger victory sign.
That’s all for now from Gumshoe kind folks. Remember to always love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: President Ronald Reagan once said: “If we ever forget that we are ONE nation under God, then we will be a nation GONE UNDER”.
It’s not too late to pray for our nation and for good leaders. Hope springs eternal for that city on a hill don’t cha know.
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
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.
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°
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…
We are always telling stories to one another. It’s part of who we are, how we share information, how we communicate. Did you listen to the news today? Someone told you a story. Did you repeat it to someone else? You told a story to that other person.
How was your day? How did work go? What happened? These are all invitations to tell stories.
The collection, assembly, accumulation of your personal stories amount to the story of your life. It is bookended by your birth and your death. In some cases, there is a prelude as in your parents hoping for a boy or a girl. For many of us there will be an epilogue, a sort of postscript after we have departed. Yet, the beginning of your personal narrative for this lifetime occurs in the middle of a much larger story—your family history, the history of humankind over millennia, the life cycle of the solar system, the galaxy, the entire universe. Your story, your personal narrative is part of this much, much larger story. And, it continues (hopefully for many happy years) as this grand never-ending story unfolds.
Joseph Campbell, the noted mythologist and scholar, helped to uncover the many common elements that comprise the many stories we tell one another about ourselves. Across many different cultures and time periods he researched the big stories about good vs. evil, about encountering and overcoming life’s challenges, about pain and suffering, life and death, about creation and the afterlife. These are the big stories that help humanity to understand its place in the world and beyond. These are the rich stories that underlie our myths, traditions, and cultural heritage that Campbell analyzed and helped us to understand.
Campbell’s best-known work is, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, in which he breaks down the narrative structure of the Hero’s Journey.
If you have read or seen The Wizard of Oz, or The Hobbit, you are familiar with the basic narrative structure. Both of these are classic stories of the Hero’s Journey.
Although Campbell is much more detailed in his analysis of this art form, I simplify this story structure into three parts: a beginning, a middle, and an end.
In the beginning, the Hero or Heroine has a call to action in which they leave the ordinary world they are accustomed to. In Dorothy’s case, she is running away from her ordinary home life when she is swept up by a tornado and is taken to a different world—Oz.
For Bilbo Baggins, Gandalf shows up and encourages him to join a party of dwarves as a burglar on a quest to reclaim dwarven treasures. Although he is perfectly content in his hobbit-hole, he leaves the Shire to embark on an adventure.
That’s the middle part—The Adventure. We all know the adventure part of Dorothy’s trip to Oz, and Bilbo’s journey to encounter Smaug the dragon. Always, the middle part of the Hero’s journey has challenges and mishaps, and setbacks, and other characters along the way that help or hinder the hero or heroine.
The ending of the Hero’s Journey is almost always back to where it all started. Back in Kansas for Dorothy and the Shire for Bilbo. Perhaps Homer’s The Odyssey, a classic hero’s journey, illustrates this entire beginning to ending best. After leaving his home in Ithaca, then fighting in the Trojan War, Odysseus, the hero, leaves Troy to return to Ithaca, but his journey lasts years with many setbacks and trials before he finally does make it back home. But when he does, he is a changed man.
Always the Hero’s Tale is a journey of transformation. It’s an essential part of this narrative structure. When the protagonist returns at the end, they are changed, transformed in some manner. It was true for Dorothy, and also the case for Bilbo.
This is the story of our lives, each and every one of us is the hero or heroine of our own story, our own personal narrative. Sometimes we are the villain as well. Think of Anakin Skywalker, you Star Wars fans. From good to bad, and back to good at the end in an epic story of redemption. It’s an interesting character arc don’t you think?
Think about your own character arc and the people and circumstances aiding or impeding your progress along your journey. Along the way, often in response to challenges, we are growing, learning, transforming. We are each heroes and heroines of our own story, the story of our individual life’s journey.
In all of our lives, our own personal narratives detail journeys filled with possibilities, and with many twists and turns. Throughout these adventures, given all the unique challenges and opportunities we encounter, how can we each maximize our full potential?
The journey to self-transformation often requires us to confront our flaws and shortcomings as we travel from victim to hero. Our life stories are travelogues of adventure and discovery. Who travels without occasional slips and falls, cuts and bruises? Without damage or trauma? These story elements, these trials, help us to grow and to learn. Expect to accumulate a few or even many scars. That’s life, part of the human experience.
In spite of the challenges so many of us must contend with, despite being damaged, we can still emerge as heroes and heroines as we become the best versions of who we are and what we are capable of becoming. You have a purpose for being here. You are a unique and special person with superhero powers even if you haven’t developed them yet. It’s only natural to have doubts about accomplishing your mission and fulfilling your purpose.
A common challenge of the human condition, that many of us must confront, is to persevere and continue onward despite harboring doubts. It is a challenge to believe in ourselves and what we can achieve. It is a challenge to embrace destiny, discovery, and self-transformation, and it requires courage to face the truth. Rising to face these challenges is heroic.
Embrace your story and your starring role. You are the protagonist. It’s up to you to make your story a great one. After all, you are the hero or heroine. So, enjoy your adventure and do something heroic, like slay some dragons!
Journey well!
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?
Why do we take what others think, say, or do so personally? What is it about us and our belief system that interprets someone else’s actions (or inactions) as a judgement about us? When the boss rolls their eyes, we can see that they are discounting what is being said, yet when we take it personally, we may feel that WE have been discounted, not just the information we are sharing.
Most of us have learned or been trained to focus on the responses/reactions of others as a gauge of whether we are OK or not. If ‘they’ are not happy/satisfied/pleased, it must have been something we did, said, or something about us that created their dissatisfaction. We learned this through our training in an incomplete reward system. We only learned the first half of the reward system and not the second making it incomplete. When we did something that made others happy (sit up straight, say please and thank you, be nice to your brother, etc.), we were rewarded (smile, hug, lollipop, etc.). This had us learn that if we did what others wanted, we would (might) get what we want. And this is where it ended for most of us. We never got to the second half to internalize it so WE became our own internal reward system, and very few of our parents were able to show us how. No one taught them either. As a result, many of us learned, if others are not happy, somehow, it’s on us to make it better for them/make them happy.
There is nothing wrong with wanting to make others happy, yet unless it is something we are inspired to give, and give as a gift (without keeping score), we are actually seeking to change/soothe/control others in our attempts to get what we need from them (approval, acceptance, love, consideration). This pulls our attention away from ourselves and our own inner experience, and instead projects our attention outwards towards others and what they are saying/doing/wanting/rejecting instead. We use our energy to monitor how others feel and worry about what they think about us, instead of us considering how we feel about them. It’s time to bring our attention back to ourselves and realize that we are the ones that can give us what we need, and others are able to do the same for themselves. We so often mix them up.
When someone does or says something and we take it personally, we are making the situation about us, instead of just seeing it for what it is – the other person’s experience.
If we feel strong emotions and little choice in what they are saying, it is probably triggering our old well of feelings from our past that are ready to come up and out for healing completion and release. Often it is about how we think others see us vs. how we see ourselves. If we stopped caring how they saw us, and instead focused on how we see ourselves and on doing what feels best to us when we are with others, we would take our power back and allow others to do the same for themselves.
When we don’t need others to see us differently than we are, we stop caring what they think, and we can stop taking things personally. When we focus on taking care of what feels best to us, and let others do the same for themselves, we can stop taking things personally. Everyone is doing the best they can, and most of the time, what they are doing or not doing, has nothing to do with you. It has everything to do with what is happening to them.
To make the shift, we can switch from making assumptions and coming to conclusions about WHY people are the way they are or what they are doing/saying, over to the facts of what is actually happening. When we don’t know, our ego wants to fill in the gap of not knowing with a story it’s familiar with from the past. The hardest thing for it to do is to ‘not know’ what is going to happen, or why something has happened, yet the reality is, most of the time we don’t know, and we unconsciously create a story to fill in the blank.
We have a choice about that story when we bring it to consciousness. For example, in our home life, we can unconsciously assume the worst-case scenario and accuse our teen of frazzling our nerves when they didn’t call in at the designated time, or we can acknowledge that we don’t know what’s happening to them, and text to check-in while giving them the benefit of the doubt that things are fine. At work, we can unconsciously tell ourselves that our admin support was taken away when support meetings are canceled on the calendar, or we can acknowledge we don’t know what happened, ask what has changed, and learn what the actual issue is (technology). When we make up a story when we don’t have the information and do it unconsciously, we set ourselves up for taking things personally. When we notice the story we are telling ourselves and shift it over to the facts, we are back at choice.
It’s only personal when we make it personal. Most of the time, what others are doing/saying/feeling isn’t even about us – even when they say it is. Many times we are simply the person they are projecting their own unresolved issues/pain onto. It’s OK to let others see/feel how they do, even when we disagree with it or have a very different experience. When we put ourselves in the center of their story and feel we are the reason, problem, or somehow responsible, we make something personal that often really isn’t. It is up to us to decide what is true for us and to use the facts and our own internal experience and discernment, not driven by our fear-based stories, or others’ projections, to fill in the gap of not knowing. It’s time to allow others to be responsible for meeting their own needs as we focus on being responsible for our own needs.
How will you de-personalize what others do or say today?
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 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.
I’d like to share an article written by Theresa Civantos Barber for Aletheia24h. It reminds us of how important it is to spend time with the elderly, especially grandparents. The article touched me deeply as I have been isolated from my grandchildren going on 8 years. I know that what little time I spent with them, holds deep memories for me that I will take to eternity. I just hope I left them something to remember their nana with.
____________________
As we bustled around the house cleaning up and getting ready, I heard one of my kids say, “It’s like the queen is coming to visit us!”
Yes, in a way—the queen of our family, my kids call her. My elderly grandmother was coming for a rare visit, and we were busy pulling out all the stops to make sure she felt comfortable and welcomed.
“That’s right,” I smiled. “Let’s treat her like a queen. While Grandma is here, we won’t do school or chores; we’ll drop everything else to spend time with her and soak up her visit.”
My four young children always have so much fun when we get to see my grandmother, and we look forward to her visits so much. It got me thinking how good it is for them to spend time with someone so much older than they are.
These are 3 of the reasons I love it when my children get to spend time with my grandma and other elderly relatives.
1. They learn to respect and value the elderly.
Pope Francis has spoken out again and again about the importance of respecting and appreciating elderly people.
“Where there is no honor for the elderly, there is no future for the young,” he has said.
By doing everything we can to honor and welcome my grandmother, my children are learning a valuable lesson that I hope they will carry with them always.
2. They enjoy friendships with people who are different from them
My children love to hear stories about my grandmother’s childhood, especially funny stories or stories about times she got into mischief!
They also love to play board games with her, and recently my son felt like a champion when he beat her at chess for the first time ever after years of trying.
By having fun with my grandma and enjoying her company, my kids are learning that they can be friends with anyone, of any age.
3. They get to bask in her unconditional love.
My kids always seem so relaxed and calm around my grandmother. This is not their usual mode of being, to put it mildly.
One time I asked them why she has that effect on them. “She doesn’t tell us what to do. She just likes being with us,” they said. In other words, she just enjoys being around them, and thinks their silly antics are cute and funny.
I was so moved. My kids are very young, but clearly, they could sense her unconditional love for them. What a beautiful gift, at any age, to get to feel this kind of love she gives them!
My grandma thanks me for our visits, but I believe my kids and I are the ones who benefit the most from the gift of her time and presence. We love her so much, and I am deeply grateful my kids get to have this wonderful relationship with her.
____________________
Today, we are losing focus on what the family is all about and how important grandparents are. I miss my grandchildren very much. I miss my grandchildren very much.
Oubaitori
Never compare yourself.
Everyone blossoms in their own time in different ways.
Don’t judge yourself by someone else’s path.
I don’t know how older siblings experience comparisons, as I don’t have any younger siblings. I have an older sister and she is awesome. By any of the measurements of success society normally uses, she has succeeded.
Everyone blossoms in their own time in different ways. If she is a blooming rose, I am a dandelion.
Don’t get me wrong. I am as freaking awesome, as dandelions come. I am adaptable – I must be as I have survived big changes; from the same root I have shot up many flowers; there is a bit of an anti-authoritarian rebel-lion in me – don’t fence me in. True, at times I have had a strained relationship with dandelions, but I do admire their tenacity. I doubt that I have the grit of a dandelion – but that is not for me to judge.
In an earlier post here on BizCatalyst 360°, I have written about how I try to support my children when they feel “falling behind”. But isn’t it just so much easier to be wise on behalf of the people we love than with ourselves? Do you think for a moment that my ability to give answers or advice to my children has any implication for whether I compare myself with my sister?
If only…
What I have taken to heart, related to this subject, is the idea that we can’t take a single thread out of the whole tapestry and just look at that. There is no “all other things equal” scenario, as much as we want to write that story in our heads. There is always a prioritizing: If I had done this instead of that, which other factors would also have had to change/been different?
And suddenly the feeling of inadequacy shifts completely. I know that there would have been a price that I would never have been willing to pay. (Don’t you just love when you are working on a piece and just the right things cross into your feed to support what you are thinking: How much would it cost me to develop a particular area in terms of time and effort? Is that cost worth it to me? )
I am content; that is success for me. I hope sis is content, too.
Are you?
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get–only with what you are expecting to give–which is everything.
~ Katharine Hepburn
Did you know that Esther Howland, the woman who produced the first commercially acknowledged American Valentine’s Day in the 1840s, sold a then mind-boggling $5,000 in cards during her first year of business? And that it is the celebration with the second-highest number of cards sold after Christmas?
What does this tell you? To me, it means that LOVE means a lot to us human beings.
We need love, both to get and to give. We turn toward it just like the sunflowers turning toward the Sun. Loving and being loved gives us motivation and happiness. That does not necessarily mean the love of a partner. It could also be love for children, parents, siblings, friends, pets, and even plants (you should see me talking to my plants with love and affection).
The ones we take most for granted deserve to hear our love and appreciation the most. Cherishing the loved ones we have in our lives, feeling gratitude for the love and acceptance they are showering us with, and in return, showing them that they mean everything to us, letting them know by explicitly telling them how precious they are to us would be the best way to celebrate the Valentine’s Day that is coming up in two days.
When my calendar hits February 14th, I do not only celebrate it with my husband. I also call my children, mom, dad, brother, and some very close friends. I let them know how much I love and appreciate them. And if you are not already, I invite you to do the same this Valentine’s Day.
I strongly believe that any excuse for giving love and feeling it in our hearts and minds is a good excuse. Use this opportunity to have a few extraordinary minutes with the meaningful people in your life and make them feel unconditionally loved this Valentine’s Day.
Every day is a gift. Celebrate each and every one of them with your darlings. Share your love openly. Today, on Valentine’s Day, and every day.
At the tail end of 2020, arguably one of the most stressful years in recent history, I got sucked into the Star Wars universe. I had watched the original three films when they came out in the late 70s, and early 80s, and like most kids my age, loved them. Light sabers, Luke Skywalker, and “the Force,” now household names, were, at the time, foreign, mesmerizing, and thrilling. When the first movie in the prequel trilogy came out in 1999, I was excited to see some of my old “friends.” I must admit that when I watched “The Phantom Menace,” I was disappointed. I was hoping for a rush of nostalgia but mainly felt an inexplicable annoyance. Or maybe it was just the character Jar Jar Binks who set my teeth on edge. So, I didn’t watch the next two films.
When “The Force Awakens” was released in 2015, I was back on board. My daughter and I went to the theater, full of excitement. She had completed a Disney internship, working at Star Tours, a few years back which had gifted her with a love of Star Wars she hadn’t had before. In fact, prior to her internship, she had never seen any of the films. As we settled into our seats and the lights went down, I got goosebumps as the Star Wars theme began to play. I teared up a bunch of times as I was reunited with Princess Leia, Han Solo, and loveable droids, C-3PO and R2D2. Although it wasn’t my favorite movie, it did give me the “hit” of nostalgia I had been hoping for.
Then for several years, I didn’t give the Star Wars universe much thought, that is until one day my daughter suggested I watch “The Mandalorian.” I remember thinking, “eh.” I had zero interest. I’d been seeing plenty of memes over the past year featuring “baby Yoda,” but it wasn’t enough to make me watch the show. The first season had already been released and Disney Plus was now airing season 2. One day after scrolling through a hundred channels I decided to give “The Mandalorian” a try. This is when I got sucked back in and became a bonified Star Wars nerd.
It was December of 2020, the year of Covid, quarantines, and endless mentions of “the new normal.” People were tired, beat down, sad, and scared. I was no different and looking for comfort and escape. The Star Wars universe provided this. Over the next 2 years, I watched every Star Wars-related show Disney Plus offered, including all the animated series. I became familiar with new characters and old backstories. I even went back to watch the prequel trilogy and developed a new appreciation for them. It surprised me how much I enjoyed immersing myself in this world.
Not surprisingly, I didn’t have anyone in my circle of friends to compare notes with. But somehow in early 2021, while going down a YouTube rabbit hole, I found “reaction videos.” If you’re not familiar with reaction videos, basically people from all over the globe have “reaction channels” where they literally film their reaction as they watch movies and shows for the first time. I happened upon some reactions to “The Mandalorian” and was hooked. There’s something weirdly satisfying about watching someone else’s reaction to something you’ve already seen. It’s like a second chance to experience something for the first time, but through someone else’s eyes.
The reaction videos became strangely addictive and now, having some time and space to look back on the experience more objectively, I know why. I was looking for human connection, a common interest, a common thread.
Of course, it seems very obvious now, but at the time, I worried about how much time I was spending on this seemingly mindless activity, yet didn’t want to stop.
As the months passed and the world began to open up, I was finally able to spend time with people in person. The pull to bury myself in an imaginary world became less intense. That said, I’m really enjoying all the new Star Wars shows. It’s fun to be a part of something that is so universally loved. But now I’m not using it as a way to shield myself from reality. Now it’s pure entertainment. Although you’ll probably never see me at Comic-Con dressed as Princess Leia, I’m eternally grateful that I had the characters and stories of Star Wars to keep me company during what felt like an endless trip to the Dark Side.
The WriterHe was a local hero for a while holding court with a new generation of apprentices. His books were local Lowcountry gothic novels. He loved Edgar Allen Poe, Hemingway, and Harper Lee. As the years passed people’s interests changed and his books sold less and less. He came to sit at his table by the window every day. For a while, his love from Charleston came to be with him and he was happy but in time she too faded away. He had no children, so he became a recluse spending his days at the café. He lived in a nice apartment over the café, a benefit from the success of his first book.
A Cottage By The SeaIt has been a while since I have been to my cottage by the sea. The cottage is warm and welcoming with a breeze blowing the curtains. In my favorite leather chair by the window lays a book that I didn’t finish, a story of the sea and of great adventures of old. The book, a companion, a friend, a door to walk through, or a page to turn. It lays there waiting just where I left it, waiting for my return. The bookmark still there between the pages where the story was interrupted.
The Empty RoomThe empty room is silent the only noise is the creaking of the chair as I move to pick up a tin container. It is an old tin with a Norman Rockwell painting on the lid. The one of a boy and his dog. Inside I find some marbles, baseball cards, an old black and white school photo, and a check yes or no love letter. I feel like I am eavesdropping on these moments in time and the stories that still live here.
The Quiet ManDaddy believed in doing. He was not one for talking. I spent a lot of time with him in the fields and later riding with him when he drove a truck. He taught me about life by showing me and being an example and a testament to what he taught. I learned by watching and listening. I think the one thing he said the most was to use common sense.
When I was a kid, living in Meriden, CT, my next-door neighbor, Gary, was six or eight years older than me. On summer nights, after I’d gone to bed, Gary would sit outside, just below my bedroom window, listening to baseball games on a little transistor radio. He loved to listen to Bob Prince call the games. I knew Bob Prince called home games for the Pirates. But I couldn’t figure out how Gary could get KDKA from Pittsburgh on his AM radio. Neither could Gary.
When I got older, I learned the ionosphere is higher at night. I also learned AM radio waves bounce off the ionosphere, causing them to travel farther than they otherwise would. I was thinking of Gary, of Bob Prince, of the Pirates, of KDKA, of the ionosphere, and of AM radio waves when I read this article: “Radio signal from 9 billion light-years away from Earth captured”.
Sure enough:
A radio signal 9 billion light-years away from Earth has been captured in a record-breaking recording … The signal was detected by a unique wavelength known as a “21-centimeter line” or the “hydrogen line,” which is reportedly emitted by neutral hydrogen atoms … Researchers detected the signal from a “star-forming galaxy” titled SDSSJ0826+5630, which was emitted when the 13.8 billion-year-old Milky Way – the galaxy where Earth resides – was just 4.9 billion years old.
Wow! The possibilities of all that blew me away.
WavelengthI was so excited, I ran out to Best Buy and bought a 21-centimeter line/hydrogen line receiver. If researchers were able to receive radio transmissions from nine billion light years ago, I’d surely be able to pick up classic radio programs from the 1930s like The Shadow, The Lone Ranger, Popeye, Abie’s Irish Rose, The Green Hornet, Flash Gordon, December Bride, I Was a Communist for the FBI, and Jack Armstrong, All American Boy. At the very least, I thought I’d be able to tune in to broadcasts of old New York Yankees games with Phil Rizzuto and Bill White on the call. I was never a Pirates fan anyway.
No such luck.
At first, all I got was a bunch of static. It was something that sounded as if it might be organized enough to be Morse Code. (To the best of my ability to decipher, the message seemed to be, “Don’t forget to floss”). Then I got a message from some dude from Saturn who asked if I wanted to hear his Tonto impression. (“You be heap big impressed, Kemosabe.”)
It’s the story of my life: I’m always on the wrong wavelength.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I am certain that the above title hits home to many, myself included. So often I thought about writing from my own experience, but never found the right moment. However, based on my current marriage that moment has come. I am married to a man that truly cares for my welfare as I do his. We are not perfect on some days, and we have worked out some kinks that for many, early in marriage, would perhaps call it quits. Through this marriage I know what real love is, wanting the best for one another despite the ups and downs, being willing to acknowledge one another’s faults or shortcomings, willing to forgive and say you are sorry.
There are many reasons people get divorced. Abusive behavior, physical assault, or threat, as well as mental stress, or one party wanting more than what they have. More? What does that mean? More money, a fancier home, more travel, etc.,
Based on my own dysfunctional family life growing up, I had no self-esteem. At the tender age of 18, I was too young, too immature, and very naïve about marriage. I fostered that storybook image of being a loving wife, a loving mother, a beloved grandmother, and the thought that being married forever I would grow old with my husband. That beautiful cottage with the white picket fence in my mind’s eye were dreams in my clouded mind. However, this illusion ended up with me living in my car in areas that had barbed wire fences, raising a daughter on my own, while holding down a full-time job and attending a junior college. “Reality” sucks!
Divorce is an event that changes people forever. It will destroy the family and has an oftentimes-irreversible impact on children, regardless of their ages. I am always in awe of the couples who have been married for half a century or more. I have two adult children for which I’ve made sacrifices so that each of them could obtain college degrees. My goal was to give each of them choices in life that I never had. I don’t believe there ever was a perfect parent, but I also know that there are not perfect sons or daughters. I have taken to heart and practiced the saying “when one knows better, they do better”. My walk-in life has not been perfect, and if I could go back in time, I would do things differently. However, there are no “do-overs” in life. If I would have known back then, what I know now, I could have avoided a lot of pain, not only for myself but for others as well. Being a wife and a mother does not come with instructions.
Once I grew in my faith, I realized that there is an instruction book that does exist…it’s called the Bible. I truly owe all that I am today to God. He is my salvation. I have reached out to my son and daughter, but my efforts thus far have met with no avail. This is a cross I carry every single day. My pain is compounded by the sadness of not being able to be that loving grandmother to my beloved grandchildren. Mothers should never be forgotten by their sons or daughters. Grandmothers should never be removed from their grandchildren. It is personally very difficult to feel, and to know, that I have been erased from their lives without any fathomable cause.
Today’s statistics give marriages a fifty-fifty chance of survival. I will say this to anyone contemplating marriage; understand what love really is, “Agape” is a form of unselfish love and commitment, wanting the better for the other person, Always! The advice I would give to those starting out, from my own life experiences is the following:
- Put God first and foremost in the marriage. Believe and trust in HIM!
- Get to know one another well before making the decision to marry
- Realize that the love is a feeling which will fade, but Agape love will not!
- Accept each other’s weaknesses without criticism
- Read and practice…1 Corinthians 13:4-8
- Pray together, be open to life
- Sort out the disagreements and listen to what the other is saying
- The husband should be the spiritual leader of the family
- Be on the same page about finances
- Worship together
The above takes work but can be done if two hearts are willing, eliminating the thoughts of D.I.V.O.R.C.E To quote the late Bishop Fulton J. Sheen’s book, “it takes three to get married”: God, Husband, and Wife.
Why do we find ourselves having an unhealthy relationship with disappointment? We do everything we can to avoid feeling it. We work hard to protect our children from it, and we don’t want others feeling it about us, or anything we are part of. Why is it that we avoid this experience? What I’ve learned through my inner work and the inner work of my clients, is that when we were young, many of us were taught to be ‘grateful for what we have’ – especially when we were expressing our dislike about what was in front of us.
This still happens around the dinner table in homes around the world when a child doesn’t want to eat what is on their plate. As parents, we look for any motivation we can find to get them to eat, even shaming them by comparing them to others that don’t have enough. Unfortunately, this encourages the child to bypass their feelings of disappointment. Instead of allowing our children to be disappointed with what’s in front of them and encouraging them to feel their feelings without our judgment, we tell them that they shouldn’t feel that way – they should feel grateful instead. This is a very disruptive and confusing concept to a young person. It teaches them not to trust, honor or express what is happening to them on the inside. It also teaches them that disappointment is not an option. ‘You are not to be disappointed, and if you are, then you are disappointing your caretakers/family/us’. You are compared to others and if they have less, you should not be disappointed with what you have. We are merged into what others want or have and it twists up our ideas of who is responsible for what. We have covered, hidden, and tucked disappointment away as if it doesn’t have a right to be here.
Disappointment is a critical messaging system that we need back online. When disappointment arises, we are recognizing a gap between our expectations and what we are experiencing. If we don’t explore how we created that gap, we can’t change the pattern for ourselves and we end up staying stuck.
If we were taught not to feel/experience/express disappointment, then it may come out through some dysfunctional behaviors. One way it can show up is in feeling frustrated all of the time about those you are depending on. One of my clients was hugely frustrated with the leadership in her organization but was unable to acknowledge it directly. Instead, she complained about those leaders to anyone who would listen while feeling like her disappointment didn’t matter since she never expected it to change. This led to her performance decline and eventual departure from the company.
Another man I worked with had been taught that disappointment must be avoided at all costs. As a result, he said yes to work that he and his team didn’t have the resources to handle. He also worked hard to fix everyone else’s problems so they wouldn’t have to be disappointed which led to more stress on his team. Once he was able to recognize and express his disappointment in direct and neutral ways, his need to fix everyone else’s problems disappeared. He now allows disappointment to give him its message that he is not getting something he wanted or expected. NOW he can uncover any hidden expectations he may have had and bring them out into the open, adjust them, or renegotiate them so they work for him. Instead of avoiding disappointment, he lets it alert him to when he is not getting something he wants or he’s getting something he doesn’t want.
How will you stop avoiding disappointment today?
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?
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.
It was a cold December day, and I was a bit sad. It seemed like a long, lonely drive as I always took the back roads instead of the interstates. It had been a while since I visited the old homestead and while it always awakened good memories it was a sad lonesome and abandoned place. It was my home for many years and some of my most cherished memories were made on that old tobacco farm.
I was coming to a town near the South Carolina North Carolina state line and while it was at one time a busy town filled with people it was now deserted. The buildings were boarded up, the sidewalks cracked and dirty. My daddy purchased his first car here and at harvest time we brought our cotton and tobacco here. It was a place of friends, families and you could feel the joy and hear the laughter, but not today. The only sound was the cold wind blowing down the empty street, almost a ghost town.
As I came across the bridge, I noticed the river was frozen in places. I stopped at the red light looking right toward my old home and then looked left seeing an old storefront bookstore. The sidewalk in front of the store was power washed, the windows clean, and Christmas books were in the window. It was the only store open on the street and I was sure I had never seen this bookstore. I grew up here and would have remembered this place as I loved books. Growing up daddy would take me to the library in Myrtle Beach to check out books for two weeks. It was a special time for us, just me, my dad, and a good book to read.
I opened the glass doors and walked inside. The old wooden floor had a nice deep bass sound as I walked inside toward the man sitting by the window writing in a leather journal. It was beautifully embossed with an image of an old tobacco barn. That awakened many memories from my childhood days on the farm. The man looked up and said, “Welcome to The Blue Bird Bookstore.” He told me his name was Tabias Hammond and he wrote stories for people. A chill ran through my body, and I knew he went to school with me in 1959 before I moved to Myrtle Beach.
I kept in touch with him until I was sixteen and for some reason he stopped sending letters. On a visit to the farm in the late sixties I stopped by the Hammond farm and was told he had taken a drive late one night and never came back. Yet here he was sitting in a bookstore I had never seen before. I asked him how it was possible that he was here. He took a pause and stared out the window. In a quiet almost whisper he asked that I take a seat by the fireplace, and he would tell me his story.
Tabias HammondIt was late one night, and I was driving over to see a friend just past Fair Bluff. The rain stopped suddenly, a dense fog appeared, and I ran into one of the oak trees just as I crossed the Lumber River. I was not hurt, and I found myself in a bookstore filled with books but none of the books had anything written in them. A note left on the counter told a story about living books, and I would write stories for others until I found my own story.
I asked him how he was here, and he said that he was here but in a different place. A place of living stories, a place where lost stories are found. I asked him about the bookstore, and he told me it was only here for the people that believed in storytelling.
Tabias asked me to relax by the fire and tell him my story. He took out a calligraphy pen and dipped it into the inkwell then holding the pen on the first page the words appeared as I talked. It seemed that hours passed before he put down the pen. He told me to take the book and come back when I finished reading what I wrote in the book.
I thanked him and got in my car. Driving away, in my rearview mirror I could see that the bookstore was gone.
Part Two coming soon.
The Living Books
This piece is about a single six-week period during the summer of 1975.
I have a rare opportunity here at my fingertips. Anyone who knows me would think that this is a no brainer. Nothing is a no brainer where I am concerned. As I like to paint verbal scenes in multiple colors, I have no idea what the final product will look like. I start writing with a simple topic in mind. I don’t really know where my inner dialogue will take me, nor do I know that I will reach any conclusions. I love what the late Joan Didion said “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.”
We found a stash of letters that I had saved. Letters from all kinds of people for all kinds of occasions and from all over the world and from people who have peopled my life. It makes me feel a bit nostalgic. It makes me feel somewhat sad. It also fills me with a bit of awe and wonder at how lazy I have become. I was a very busy letter writer at one time. I mourn that I let that function slip away. I want to try to become some sort of letter writer again.
I am not resolving to become a letter writer again – I want to become a writer of more consequence, and I want part of that to be reflected in my personal communications. Is that diplomatic enough?
Starting in the middle of July 1975 for six weeks, I was an employee of the Department of Natural Resources for the State of Wisconsin. I lived with probably a hundred or so other kids of my approximate age at a camp in rural Neshkoro, Wisconsin. Neshkoro is about an hour from where I grew up in Kimberly, and the camp sat on the bank of the Mecan River, thus its name “Mecan River Youth Conservation Camp.” We were paid the princely sum of two dollars an hour, half of which was retained for room, board, and sustenance.
None of the work was glamorous. We weekly rotated through different jobs. For the week that I spent in Forest Management, we cut down trees in a 100 by 200-foot area, which would eventually become a parking lot for trout fishermen to use on a nearby stream. We were not allowed power tools of any kind, nor were any used kept or considered anywhere near us. No chainsaws, nothing that could be powered by gasoline, electricity or anything that would make it a power tool. I won’t add anything about brutal heat or mosquito or bug infestations since I don’t recall either of those to be the case.
It was my first time away from home, so almost immediately homesickness set in. I hadn’t yet learned how to lean into my social butterfly status. An older me would have pounced on that set of circumstances like a pirate ransacking a rum factory, but this was 17-year-old me, and I hadn’t learned how to flex those muscles.
When my parents didn’t buy into my complaining about a knee injury which I don’t recall whether it was serious or not, so I am assuming that it wasn’t serious, I took inventory of my options and latched on to one that served me well and helped me to flex a different set of muscles. I wrote letters. Lots of letters. My mom saved some of my letters and I read one the other day that I was setting a camp record for letter writing. I don’t know how many letters I wrote in those six weeks, but I do know that I enjoyed it and it helped me to start developing a certain adroitness with the written word that has come to serve me well for a good portion of my life.
I have a lot of the letters piled on my desk as I write this. I have had a whole bunch of thoughts and feelings and emotions while I write this. I have stopped and started writing this piece a few times already. Right now, the most pronounced feeling that I have is dread. I am dreading coming face to face with 17-year-old me. Turning back the clock nearly 50 years is daunting. I had deep, personal, sincere relationships with lots of the people who I exchanged letters and cards with, and most of them are no longer in my life. That embarrasses and shames me. I have letters from my parents, and I can’t read them. The ones from early in the six-week session are chiding me and encouraging me and cajoling me and shaming me for wanting to quit and come home. I am glad that they would not relent and let me come home, it forced me to grow up some and learn about hard work, about being part of something worthwhile and bigger than myself.
As usual, my mom beat the horse well past death. But that’s just her nature. I love my mom and at 93, she has lived a great life. She never has to feel as if she has left anything unsaid. Never. She lost her dad before she was a year old, so I guess she can’t be faulted for not wanting anything in her heart to not be released, as she knew better than anyone how tomorrows are on the calendar but not everyone gets to turn to that page.
Teen drama aside, I was looking for some historical markers and some time capsule moments to reflect upon as I read some of the letters. My brother John was getting married a week or so after my stint as a DNR mini ranger ended. I got a card from his bride-to-be who is now my ex-sister-in-law. Now that I think about it, she was only 19, just two years older than me. I was so looking forward to that wedding, I was best man. Really, I was. The joke between my brother and I was “How come you’re the best man?” Answer: “Because I AM, the best man!”
Stamps were 10 cents each then. I continually was asking my parents to bring more stamps. That is kinda like asking for money, but heck I was just trying to get through.
Some of the letters made me laugh. A priest friend of mine sent me a letter extolling the virtues of air conditioning and having access to a swimming pool and kept reminding me that I had access to neither. He sounded as if he was about to express sympathy and quickly added “Tough shit – you chose this!” Another letter, from a female friend, said that she saw my graduation picture in the window of a local photography store… are those even a thing anymore?
There seems to have been no shortage of teen drama. But only having the letters that I received, there aren’t enough breadcrumbs for me to put together all that was happening. I do have some letters from me, but they’re only the ones that my mom saved, so I wasn’t taking apart any of the situations that were referred to in my friends’ letters. So those grand schemes, heartaches and plots shall be forever lost to history. I hope.
Part of me wants to talk to these people again and try to dredge up our relationships and maybe regain some of the lost camaraderie and closeness of those days. Most, probably all these people were good people. We had shared experiences, laughter, stories, moments, and memories… and these letters are written testaments to bonds of friendship. How would any of them respond to overtures of curiosity after 40 plus years of silence? Succeeding generations shall not have to deal with the angst of finding long lost letters.
There are no big problems – there are just a lot of little problems.
–Henry Ford
You may have heard the term “Kaizen” before, but do you truly understand the power of this Japanese concept? The word Kaizen translates to “change for the better” or “improvement” and it is a philosophy that you could apply to every aspect of life.
At its core, Kaizen is about making little but consistent betterments over time. It’s about taking baby steps toward a goal and not getting discouraged by setbacks or failures. The key to Kaizen is to focus on progress, not perfection. Because by making small changes and building on them, we can achieve great results.
One of the most famous examples of Kaizen in action is the story of the Toyota Motor Company. In the 1980s, they implemented the Kaizen philosophy in their factories. They focused on making small revisions to their production process every day, which triggered a profound change in the factories’ efficiency and productivity.
The four main principles that the Kaizen philosophy stems from are:
Visualize – Use the tools that will help you visualize what your change process will look like. It can be as simple as a brainstorming exercise or an elaborate storyboarding system.
Measure – Being consistent is key to making improvements. It is important to measure and assess your progress every few weeks.
Improve – Make processes better by implementing Kaizen in all possible areas.
Repeat – Duplicate the process over and over again to sustain growth.
Kaizen is not only about ameliorating products or services. It is also about improving the processes, systems, and people that create those products and services.
What about leadership?When implemented in leadership, it becomes a powerful tool for leaders to enhance their team performance and drive success in their organization.
By applying the principles of Kaizen, leaders could:
- Encourage continuous growth by setting up regular team meetings to discuss progress and opportunities for improvement. Through fostering a culture of ongoing improvement, as a leader, you can empower your team members to identify and address areas for progress.
- Lead by example to inspire others to take ownership of their growth and development. When you embody the Kaizen philosophy as the leader, you set a powerful precedent for your team.
- Recognize and reward progress through verbal praise, bonuses, or other incentives. Identifying and acknowledging small wins along the way can keep your team members motivated to continue the progress.
- Emphasize communication and collaboration among team members to ensure everyone is on the same page and working together to achieve common goals.
- Incorporate Kaizen into decision-making by encouraging the use of data and continuous feedback. And accordingly, make better-informed decisions.
Leaders who create an environment that supports and encourages ongoing advancement can drive significant positive outcomes for their team and organization.
And how about other parts of life?But Kaizen is not just for businesses. It is something that we can apply to any area of our lives. Whether it is our health, relationships, or career, the Kaizen philosophy can help us grow toward our goals.
For example, if you are trying to lose weight, instead of setting an unrealistic goal of losing 20 pounds in a month, focus on making small changes to your diet and exercise routine. Start by cutting out sugary drinks and taking a brisk walk every day. As you build momentum and see progress, you can gradually make more changes.
The same goes for improving relationships, learning a new skill, or achieving any other goal. By taking small, consistent actions, you can achieve great things.
Another key element of Kaizen is to celebrate small wins along the way. When we see progress, no matter how small, we feel the motivation to keep going. So, when you make a small change, and it becomes a habit, take a moment to celebrate your success.
Kaizen is a powerful philosophy that teaches us to focus on progress, not perfection, and to make small, consistent improvements over time.
And embracing the power of Kaizen makes success possible in many aspects of life.
Can you think of any areas in which you might consider trying this process? I certainly can.
Visualize, Measure, Improve, Rinse and Repeat!
Author’s note: While what follows appears in my column, under my byline, I didn’t write it. It was written by my older sister, Lynn. Lynn would tell you she’s not a writer. She’d be wrong. This is the eulogy she delivered at our mother’s funeral on January 26th. I would not have been able to summon such eloquence and poignancy. Given some of the more challenging aspects of our upbringing, I would not have been able to summon such humility and grace. Regular readers of my ravings know I live a life full of blessings. Lynn is chief among them. You’re about to know why.
Good Morning
Thank you everyone for being here. My brothers and I appreciate your support as we say goodbye to our mother – and share a short time this morning to highlight her long lifetime. She had quite a run.
Mother was born into a Meriden that was a humming little slice of classic hometown America. It seems like a time long, long ago, and a place far away. America was on the cusp of the Depression, but I don’t really remember her talking about hard times or need. Instead, she often reminisced about her active, happy early years. Many of her childhood friends remained her life friends — played as kids together then raised their kids together. She had the good fortune to be part of the large extended families of both her parents. And what a gift it was (for generations of us) to have grown up amid the one-in-a-million Nelson clan. It’s Fourth of July somewhere … [that’s a reference to picnics the Nelson clan had on the Fourth of July for decades].
An only child, she lost her father too soon, but her doting mother was always a part of our lives, always there for us — and we all adored her. Grandma Nelson was the best. Mom missed her dearly, speaking about her mother and her childhood home in random ruminations until her own last days.
Mother didn’t work outside the home until I was a teen. And while seemingly not really career driven, she put high value on her varied experiences. At the top of the list were her many years managing the office for Mike Conroy’s surgical practice. She was pretty proud of her contributions and accomplishments.
Mom also took great pride in making a home for her family and was unabashedly proud of keeping it eat-off-the-floor clean. That was not necessarily a gene passed on to me.
She would have been the first to tell you about enjoying a “good drink”. Last year while hospitalized for repair and treatment for a no-kidding fall injury [three displace rib fractures], an ICU nurse asked her if she wanted something to drink. Out of her critical-care delirium, Mom shot back, “I’ll have a gin and tonic”. She did pass along that gene.
A couple of quirks — we all have them.
But here’s her real story …
Along with whatever other roles, for almost all of her nearly 95 years, my mother most identified as the ‘Jan’ in the ‘Ned and Jan’. From that Sadie Hawkins Dance to his last moment, she was all about my father. Married and parents at nineteen, they both worked selflessly and tirelessly for the years it took to provide for the four of us and launch us to find our own ways in the world. Then, the two of them were able to focus on planning their own later years together. They were thrilled to build the house in Old Lyme where they spent many years with friends and family. Then, after 15 years of real retirement time beaching and golfing in their happy place, Myrtle Beach, they came back to Connecticut.
In his last few years, Dad was already helping Mother compensate for early signs. When he left us not too long after their return, Mother was then navigating unfamiliar waters without her compass. And her grief was compounded by the daunting awareness and denial of her own cognitive decline.
Over time, such a journey evolves into a different, personal story for each affected individual. We know our own story as we lived it. Others have theirs.
Today, ours is not the grief of shock. We have all along the continuum of Mom’s changes tried to make sense of our own losses in our own ways.
The steady progression has brought us here — here to the church where my brothers and I were raised in the Faith and Mother was Confirmed to join us, and here again, today for Mass celebrated with the hope she found the promised eternal happiness and peace.
I know she found Dad.
Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to receive a compliment, without deflecting, defusing, or refusing it?Because genuine compliments, given with a genuine intent, very often shine a light on the deeply intimate and vulnerable parts of ourselves, that we often keep hidden lest we be seen as our whole, true selves, which by the very definition of being human, have almost certainly been judged, wounded or rejected.
So, paradoxically considering how much we all need to be accepted and loved, this means that we hide huge parts of who we really are, with the false belief that we will be more loved and more accepted, when it just means we are less understood and as a result, less loved.
And this can often be seen in the difficulty that so many of us face in simply accepting a genuine compliment – because we have hidden or forgotten about our beautiful parts, because we put them away lest they get broken.
We talk about being grateful yet we seem to think that is a one-way street, it is not – we can and should receive as well as give gratitude, otherwise, how can we ever learn to see the good in ourselves from another’s perspective?
We talk about being humble yet we seem to think this has to entail forgoing any recognition of our strengths, or kindness, or compassion – it does not, it simply means we receive it as it is given, it does not need to be analysed, justified or exaggerated.
So, in fact, learning to hear and then embrace compliments are at the very essence of being grateful and humble, because not only have you inspired another to want to give you that compliment, you have accepted it with grace and therefore shown the other person that their words matter and that they have been heard.
It’s ok to receive and embrace a compliment, in fact, it’s a sure sign that you are allowing yourself to be fully seen and that is how we can all learn to be loved and indeed to love others.
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
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.
According to an article in The Atlantic, “Sudden Russian Death Syndrome”, rich, influential people around Vladimir Putin and in the greater Russian orbit seem to have developed a nasty habit of getting dead. In case the hyperlink above brings you to a paywall, here’s an excerpt from the article that lists a few of the 24 or so folks who bought the farm in 2022:
The bodies of the gas-industry leaders Leonid Shulman and Alexander Tyulakov were found with suicide notes at the beginning of the year … in the span of one month, three more Russian executives — Vasily Melnikov, Vladislav Avayev, and Sergey Protosenya — were found dead, in apparent murder-suicides with their wives and children. In May, Russian authorities found the body of the Sochi resort owner Andrei Krukovsky at the bottom of a cliff; a week later, Aleksandr Subbotin, a manager of a Russian gas company, died in a home belonging to a Moscow shaman … In July, the energy executive Yuri Voronov was found floating in his suburban St. Petersburg swimming pool with a bullet wound in his head … In August, the Latvia-born Putin critic Dan Rapoport apparently fell from the window of his Washington, D.C., apartment … right before Ravil Maganov, the chairman of a Russian oil company, fell six stories from a window in Moscow … the IT-company director Grigory Kochenov toppled off a balcony … in the French Riviera, a Russian real-estate tycoon took a fatal tumble down a flight of stairs.
Uncle Vlad’s reaction, of course, was predictable: “На кого я похож Джека Кеворкяна? Что я знаю от умерших людей? Они должны были лучше заботиться о себе.” (Translation: “Who do I look like, Jack Kevorkian? What do I know from dead people? They should have taken better care of themselves.”)
Collateral Shmollateral
Many of those who fell out of windows and drowned with bullets in their heads opposed Uncle Vlad’s military exercises in Ukraine. From the standpoint of manners and common courtesy (ignoring any humanitarian conventions, politics, territorialism, empire-building, and theatrics) Uncle Vlad sees nothing wrong with taking territory militarily and killing Ukrainian military personnel, civilians, and children. If you want to grow a beard, you have to get some hair on your face, right?
All the lives lost, Ukrainian and Russian, are just so many whiskers to Uncle Vlad. Besides, if you attach your legacy to trying to reclaim all the territory of the former Soviet Union — roughly 8,649,500 square miles — a few buildings will have to be bombed and some blood will have to be spilled. And if some of that blood also turns out to be Russian, well, that’s just quibbling.
What a Croc
Winston Churchill said, “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.” It’s helpful to remember if it slithers like a crocodile, if it has the narrow eyes of a crocodile, and if it preys like a crocodile, it’s probably a crocodile. It’s also helpful to remember the reptilian brain of a crocodile isn’t big on discernment and prioritization. If it’s hungry, it eats.
Uncle Vlad’s hungry. No one knows for sure what it will take to satisfy his appetite. But it’s a pretty safe bet he won’t be sated by Ukraine’s mere 230,000 square miles. It’s equally safe to assume that as long as the West continues to appease him, he’ll keep on eating.
As the article in The Atlantic goes on to say:
This year’s spate of deaths — so brazen in their number and method as to suggest a lack of concern about plausible, or even implausible, deniability — is quite possibly Putin’s way of warning Russia’s elites that he is that deadly octopus. The point of eliminating critics, after all, isn’t necessarily to eliminate criticism. It is to remind the critics — with as much flair as possible — what the price of voicing that criticism can be.
I don’t know about you, but I haven’t met a crocodile yet who was concerned about deniability. Sooner or later, this one’s going to have to be restrained.
The night was slowly slipping its way into the morning when the rooster started crowing and the songbirds awakened the new day. The sunrise broke the tree line just beyond the pasture filling the sky with a collage of colors. I crawled out of bed to get dressed and I felt more than ready for a shave and some heavy clothes. I put some cut wood in the potbelly stove to get some warmth in the house. March had arrived but the nights were still cold, and we were still getting some snow flurries just before dawn.
I put some water on the stove for coffee and cracked two eggs in the skillet, throwing in some cheese, bacon, and bread to toast. It was noticeable to me that I had gained a few pounds and grew muscles too. It wasn’t a fancy farm, there was wood to chop, animals to feed and I always walked the perimeter of the farm in the mornings with Henry’s cattle dog. He had become a constant companion and guide.
I could feel the new strength in my body and my mind had more clarity. I was writing stories again and the work had given me more stamina.
I felt the healing in my heart and I felt hope again. Soon I will be ready to leave the farm and say goodbyes to my friend Henry. It was time for me to find my way home.
It has been almost three years since I have seen my family. Perhaps it was time to pick up the axe and chop wood a spell, then load up my Chevy van and start down the dirt road, and head for the Carolina shores.
Henry pulled up near the back door, seeing that I was loading up he smiled and walked over, giving me a long hug then handed me a letter from my mom. I opened it up and all that was written was two words.
Come Home!
Henry waved goodbye and I headed out with tears in my eyes and a heart aching to go home. Blasting on the radio was the song Rambling Man by The Allman Brothers Band. A good start indeed!
Coming soon Part Four – Home
Roosters Crowing And Train Whistle Blowing | BIZCATALYST 360°
Scars, Bars, and Blues | BIZCATALYST 360°
A post on LinkedIn referred to nine Japanese concepts – one might call them virtues if so inclined – that were part of Japanese culture. I shared the post and I thought it might be fun to write more personally about each of these concepts. The ironic part is that this particular concept had been misnamed in the LinkedIn post so you may see the definition but not the word Mottenai.
Mottainai
Don’t be wasteful.
Everything deserves respect and gratitude.
Recognize the value in what’s around you and don’t waste it.
I will be quite frank with you: it was this definition that inspired me to write some personal stories. While I was ironing an old silk ribbon.
That is the post-Christmas Eve tradition in this household: mom – that is me – rerolling ribbons from the presents, and, no, I don’t iron those. But I do flatten the festive cardboard boxes that recently held new pieces of clothing, along with the now empty gift bags. And probably smooth out some tissue paper. I have a big plastic bin where Christmas wrappings are stored from year to year. The new paper that wrapped a big box this Christmas may wrap a book next year and very small boxes in 2024.
It is not that the house doesn’t have new gift wrap. I think I saw at least five rolls in the garage, still with cellophane around. I probably bought the gift wrap after Christmas a year – or two or three – ago. But reusing Christmas wrapping takes me back to my childhood Christmases where we – the children – were free to browse the big box of last year’s wrapping for what we needed for the very secret presents we wanted to give.
Then one evening very close to Christmas, my mother would take out the new rolls and the fresh ribbon and the big scissors – and close the door. And we knew magic was happening at the dinner table while we were supposed to play in our rooms or sleep. No way! We spent half the evening sitting on the stairs fantasizing about what was happening on the other side of that door. The next morning, the sharpest corners and the most magic bows adorned the heap of presents that were stacked in the corner. So very hard not to go snooping…
In Denmark, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th in the evening. On Christmas Eve, after church, we and the heap would drive the 20 miles to my grandparents’ house to celebrate with grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. We would count all the lighted trees in front yards and on balconies on the way there – and sleep like dead on the way back. From the duck and the rice pudding. From the dried figs and dates, the marzipan and the nuts, the clementines and the cookies – and one Christmas from having emptied dad’s glass of port.
My grandparents had a big house with a spare sitting room that normally was closed off all winter. It had an old-fashioned coal oven – the rest of the house had central heating but not this room. A wide opening led to the “normal” sitting room, and in winter this opening was boarded up and covered with heavy green portieres. Except on Christmas when the boards had been removed and only the curtains kept curious eyes out. After dinner, my grandfather would disappear into the inner room, and everybody lined up in front of the curtains according to age. When grandpa had lit all the candles, he drew back the curtains and the enormous tree was displayed for the first time. Then we would all join hands and walk around the tree, singing way too many carols and hymns while admiring all the ornaments and glancing towards the presents hiding under the tree and all around the room.
As heat rises, the candles at the top would burn down first. Thus, the tree part of the evening would usually end once the lowest candles had thrown magic shadows of pine twigs up on the ceiling. Then we would return to the other rooms, eat goodies to our heart’s content, and play with our new toys. I honestly don’t remember ever going home, but, by some magic, every year I woke up in my own bed, dressed in my own nightgown on Christmas morning.
Sure, Christmas Eve was a big splash, but even that didn’t allow for waste. All the dried apricots and the raisins, the grapes that didn’t get eaten before getting spots, and the pigeon apples, went into my grandfather’s Christmas wine. At that time, it was illegal in Denmark to make wine from anything but what grew in the country, so, technically, imported Christmas goodies were contraband for winemaking. With all the dried fruit sugars it turned into something resembling white port. Who knows if that was what my sister drank sitting on dad’s lap while he was talking to his aunt?
Enough about Christmas – it’s January.Let’s just acknowledge that chop suey is a delicious meal that means “odd ends and pieces”. Our version is called “tipped-over fridge”. Don’t be wasteful.
In the post on LinkedIn, the above definition was paired with the name ShuHaRi which is something else, so I went searching for the right name for this “don’t waste” definition.
And, as important, I didn’t want to let an inspiring story prompt go to waste…
ShuHaRi roughly translates to ‘to keep, to fall, to break away’ or ‘follow the rules, break the rules, transcend the rules’.
I think that deserves its own post.
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.
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.
Gumshoe was thoroughly disgusted with the soft kiddie porn of the recent holiday gift ad campaign by the elite fashion magazine of Balenciaga. Sorta like a gift shop located just to the right of the main gate to Hell. Free statues of Baal!
These twisted folks used little girls as props in order to display objects (teddy bears in bondage harnesses, handcuffs) aimed at the perverse tastes and corrupt sexual fantasies of child predators that were staged among the gift assortments. Think of “Where’s Waldo” for sexual deviants.
Did Gumshoe mention the paper copy scattered on a messy desk within the ad of the 2008 Supreme Court decision in the U.S. vs Williams dealing with child pornography? How appropriate and not by accident. What message was that supposed to mean and to whom was the intended recipient?
It seemed to Gumshoe that this pictorial ad could be used by hardcore pedophiles as a “show and tell” grooming aid to ensnare innocent child victims. Damn them all!
Yes, there have been some after-the-fact apologies and mea culpa’s by the Baal worshippers at Balenciaga. Too little too late!
Who approved this ad content prior to its publishing? Implied intent from the get-go Gumshoe surmises. No excuse is possible—evil is evil no matter which way it is displayed.
Gumshoe worked for over five years as a Detective in a Sheriff’s Special Investigation Unit that focused on crimes against children. The majority of the five hundred-plus cases that Gumshoe worked on involved the sexual assaults of children by pedophiles. This was a soul-killing detail for the investigator as well as for the molested children victims. God help them! The depths of evil were never fully plumed by the never-ending cases that would shatter your heart by the incarnate evil perpetrated by the career child predators (beasts) against the most vulnerable child victims.
Now Gumshoe asks the society at large, “Where is the strong public outcry and a call for censor for Balenciaga?” Opprobrium where are you . . .? Crickets.
Remember to love the ones who love you and try to love the ones who don’t.
Coram Deo!
PS: Please include in your prayers the known as well as the unknown child victims of sexual and physical abuse.
Sometime during my Holiday Season musings, I came across two posts from the editors at LinkedIn News. Since I detected no tongues in cheeks, I took them to be evidence of the extent to which we’ve become purely reactive; that is, in the absence of critical thinking, questioning, and anticipation, we observe and react. That’s all. Everything is new and novel to us, a constant process of discovery and re-discovery because we don’t think, we don’t study history, and we’d choose not to remember it if we did.
A rule of thumb for sharing information, in writing or in formal presentations, used to be, “Tell them what you’re going to tell them. Tell them. Then tell them what you told them.” That’s all changed. As we’ve deliberately become more unknowing, as we’ve deliberately started thinking less critically, and as we’ve deliberately resigned ourselves to asking fewer and fewer questions, the new rule of thumb is this: “Tell them what they already know, should know, or should have been able to know. Tell them again. Then tell them again.”
Exhibit A
In a post called, “Why work won’t ‘return to normal’”, we find this keen observation:
After the turmoil of the pandemic, 2022 was supposed to be the year that work returned to normal. That didn’t happen … because so few workers want to go back to the old ways. They expressed their dissatisfaction with pre-pandemic norms by quitting jobs in historic numbers, while others tried to improve their current jobs by striking and unionizing.
Let’s see. People have been working largely the same way — reporting to a place other than home in which to toil — for 262 years (give or take), and we’re surprised that with the forced alternative of a global pandemic people don’t want to go back to being historical artifacts.
We’ll lower the bar on this one and not even suggest the irony in the fact that this radical change in employment circumstances was the result of a political/economic shutdown that never should have happened.
Let’s put on our surprised faces and soldier on, shall we?
Exhibit B
Following that, in this post from the Dots? What Dots? Department — “Are big corporate HQs fading away?” — we find this abject failure of connection:
As companies grow more accustomed to remote and hybrid work, many are also beginning to say farewell to large, sprawling offices … [as] companies reach their lease renewal dates, many are considering subletting their vacant space … this shift could send office real estate value tumbling by as much as $450 billion. This could hurt urban economies that depend on office work for jobs and tax revenue.
As companies grow more accustomed to remote and hybrid work? Is it possible to grow more accustomed to something that’s being forced on you, especially if it’s uncomfortable or threatens your ability to survive? That’s like saying, “As people grow more accustomed to waterboarding ….” What?! Companies aren’t growing more accustomed to anything, except, perhaps, the fact that folks aren’t eager to run back to the grind of business as usual, at least not in pre-pandemic numbers.
Unless they need the real estate losses as tax write-offs, they have alternate revenue streams to cover the cost of empty buildings, they’re doing their parts to contribute to urban decay, or they’re cognitively ill-equipped to be in business, companies don’t have a choice but to sell or sublease space. That’s not rocket science. It’s a combination of simple math, practicality, and reality. (Oh, no! Not that!)
The Moral of the Story
Henry Ford said, “Thinking is the hardest work there is, which is probably the reason so few engage in it.” He’s right, of course. But we’re making it harder than it has to be.
Maybe we refrain from thinking because we’re given so much to think about. If that’s true (I believe it is), what would happen if we didn’t think about everything we’re given to think about? Not all the information that bombards us every day is worthy of our consideration. Not all of it is worthy of believing. And most of it is worthy of questioning.
As Norman Whitfield and Barrett Strong wrote in “I Heard it Through the Grapevine”, in a much simpler day and time, “People say believe half of what you see, son, and none of what you hear.”
If we take their advice, maybe stating the obvious won’t have to be the new normal.
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!
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.
“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…
Can you pinpoint a time in your life when you felt justified in your actions, confident with your choices, and secure in the knowledge that no matter what, your intentions were innocent, and the outcome was just right?
When it comes to justice, we look to the system we are a part of. Yet that system also has its flaws….it sometimes renders judgement disguised as justice.
If justice means being fair, might we consider the truth is not the same for all?
To know what it means to be fair requires empathy. If you cannot understand what it’s like to be in another’s shoes…who are you to tell them what fits?
If we are committed to our belief in justice, at the same time we must define it for what it is and hold accountability not in the system, but in its cracks.
Putting Justice on Trial
Justice is not served
To those less fortunate
What’s equal if not fair
Some laws are out of date
If you are in the system
And think that you are safe
Is everyone considered
With equal rights explained
Every single thought
Holds onto some preview
Of what was pre allowed
To be presented unto you
A world that is advanced
And yet we’re still behind
Laws that don’t consider
What equal rights define
Moral justice after the fact
Do unto others what you want back
Community safety is most justified
Counterintuitive… one must survive
The capacity to suffer
Extends beyond the crime
Defending guilty parties
Imprisons freedom in the mind
Emotion tells a story
Where reason disconnects
From possibilities
Not found in legal text
History of the people
Every single race
Shows the greatest error
We judge with our own hate
If taking life is wrong
Who is innocent
Doubt divides us all
What is the right decision?
If we are free to choose
When stacked against all odds
Such privilege if not granted
You know the system’s flawed
Collectively we are
A species born to reason
Justice goes to trial
For order and peacekeeping?
Professional consultants
Select the biased jury
Decisions preordained
Unleashing public fury
Murder is a crime
Blood is on your hands
When you disqualify
All the evidence
Right or wrong conviction
Facts that are not clear
Lives hang in the balance
12 strangers, not your peers
Motion after motion
Filter through the files
Objections overruled
Money runs for miles
Core proof that is removed
By those who want to win
Know it is allowed
And argue with their sins
The soul inside all persons
Has access to the truth
When it is denied
Faith is locked up too
Conscience is awareness
Feelings deep inside
Star witness that you know
Core truth you cannot hide
Crime is cultivated
By the greedy who ignore
They turn their backs on others
Creating rules on top of wars
Humanity is lost
When fairness is not present
For justice to be blind
One needs to fix the system
The wheels of justice turn slowly
On the wrists of those in power
Corruption takes its time
Climbing up the ladder
To uphold the scales of justice
Propriety is selected
The gown and the gavel
Sit between two sides of judgement
PaulaG
We live on East Street in Middletown, Connecticut. On the west side of East Street, there’s a neighborhood, Sylvan Run Village, in which Eddie loves to walk every morning. Through that neighborhood, there’s a stream that flows north. Since I don’t believe in gravity, I don’t find that particularly troubling. But I did want to know a little more about it.
After a few minutes of research, which included reading the most recent report from the IPCC, issued at the recently concluded COP27 (COP stands for collection of politicians) in Egypt, I learned the 5.4 million square miles of the Antarctic ice sheet are now gone, completely melted. Since water can’t flow on air — and concluding all that water had to go somewhere — I deduced the earth must have rotated on its longitudinal axis, causing the melted ice sheet to flow north … or what had been north.
I broke all that down to Eddie as we were walking this morning. He said the explanation seemed to be plausible, soundly reasoned, and more than sufficient should anyone other than me happen to notice — or care — that the stream flows north.
Life is About ChoicesIf you were to ask me (no one did, including Eddie), I’d say more of us should try to flow north; that is, we should try to flow in directions other than those prescribed or otherwise deemed good for us.
There’s a pretty fair number of people on this here earth who know me pretty well. None of them knows me as well as I do. None of them lives in my skin. None of them walks in my shoes. None of them thinks my thoughts. None of them is driven by my inclinations. None of them has my imagination. Some of them likely have imaginations better than mine. But none of them creates what I create. None of them writes what I write. None of them believes what I believe for the reasons I believe what I believe.
The same is true for all of you who might read this post. As long as all of us are able to think our thoughts, to follow our inclinations, to use our imaginations, to create what we create, and to believe what we believe, we can choose to flow north.
Who needs gravity anyway?
The winter was here to stay for a while. The snow was deep, and the winds blew hard, bending the pine trees and blowing with a dusting so bad that you could barely see the fence near the barn. The storm blew through the night and by morning the fields and forest were covered with a blanket of snow. It was quiet, a hush covered the land with the only sounds being tree limbs breaking, the hoot of an Owl, and the Crow cawing.
The Owl and the Crow had been friends for many years. One haunted the night and the other scavenged the day. They met here at dawn just as the night was passing and the sun slowly broke the horizon, painting the sky as if an artist’s brush was touching the clouds with bold red, softer yellows, and pastel blues. As with every morning, they came to rest on the old fencepost to share stories of their adventures and enjoy a few moments of friendship.
The farm was old now, after four generations the last of them packed up and drove away, never to return. They remembered the farmer planting sunflowers by the fencepost so that we would always have something for us to eat. In the winter his wife made suet cakes to help us get past the cold winters. She had drilled little holes into the fencepost and filled them with the suet cakes. They knew they would always be grateful for her feeding them.
The farm was abandoned now, yet the old Owl and Crow still met there at sunrise every morning. They too, were old now and they missed the rooster crowing, and the children getting excited when they came to rest on the fence. They wondered how many mornings they had left, perhaps as long as the fence was still there.
They used to fight over the fencepost, then year by year they became friends, and people were always amazed to see an Owl and Crow sitting on the fence together. As the snow gathered deeper around the fence and the temperature dropped even more, they parted ways hoping that they both would still be here when the snow melted and the trees filled with leaves.
They spent a lifetime as unlikely friends, but lifetime friends they were. Perhaps we can learn a lot from two friends sitting on a fence post.
“Who are you Being is everything!” – Steve Hardison
As a coach, I see countless extraordinary human beings who think of themselves poorly. Somehow someone made them feel less than at some point in their lives, and that feeling stuck with them so permanently that they could not see past it. I know that feeling. I know that voice that says you are not worthy, you are not as important, you are not enough, and you will never get where you want to be. You will never be who you want to be.
They cannot see for a minute the brilliance and the beauty they already have. Instead of experiencing life as this beautiful mystery unfolding, filled with opportunities, possibilities, and joy, they stay where they are, terrified to make a change.
Why? Because most of us don’t see life as something we create but as something given to us with many conditions and strings attached. We don’t even bother exploring what might be possible if we – god forbid – even entertain the idea of changing things. The status quo is comfortable, even if it is boring, unhappy, and limiting.
We feel unhappy in our personal lives but make excuses to stay in our marriages. We suffocate ourselves at work, sometimes experiencing bullying, mobbing, and discrimination. Some of us simply want to do something different, but we think we cannot risk losing the financial comfort we have. We live life like a frog, slowly boiled alive, unaware that we are the ones who get to choose who we are BEING!
Seriously – Who are you BEING?
Does any of this resonate with you? Because if it does, I have good news for you. You got the power, you are the creator, and life is a beautiful design that you get to manifest.
You are whatever word you choose to add after I AM!
You are brilliant.
You are gorgeous.
You are worthy.
You are capable of creating your reality every day!
You are shaping your life by choosing, every morning, what you decide to create. It is up to you to focus on what you don’t have or cherish what you have. It is up to you to carve time to BE instead of DO every day. Also, it is up to you to say today is a great day, and I am choosing to have fun!
It is just that simple! All the Law of Attraction, The Secret, and everything you have heard of in between is about that. It is about what you choose to focus on and who you choose to BE. And to practice that, slightly changing your thoughts, attitude and actions go a long way toward realizing your power to create. You always had that power. You just forgot you had it. Go ahead and reclaim it!
You are a Human BEING who can realize anything when you create enough motivation. Do not wait for that motivation to come from outside or others because if you do, you might waste your life doing that. Create it yourself. Not tomorrow, not someday! Today! Now! Because you can if you choose to. You are that powerful. Please accept your power!
At twenty-one, he opened for a famous country singer and he was well-received. His music was filled with storytelling about forgotten loves, old dogs, dirt roads, lost highways, and life on the road. He was one of the few Troubadours left in country music, and he was a throwback to a better time. His singing reached deeply, making you believe he was living the pain and heartaches. Everyone said he was the real deal, the big thing, and he was for a time.
He sold out in big arenas, and often when he walked on stage, he didn’t know what city he was in. The backstage was filled with people he didn’t know, all wanting something from him. After two years of being a road warrior, he was just outside of Memphis playing in a packed house and when he went on stage the crowd was so loud that he couldn’t even hear the chords he was playing, or the words he was singing.
At the end of the show, he walked downtown near the interstate with a duffle bag and a guitar slung over his shoulder. He stuck his thumb out and a big truck with Montana license plates pulled over the driver asked, “You heading to Montana looking for work?” and he said “yes” and climbed into the truck, shutting the door, ending one life and beginning another.
It was late November, and the snow was deep. In Montana, the ranch foreman made his last rounds before calling it a night. The barn felt like heaven after walking the farm and checking all the buildings. The horses were quiet, too quiet, and he could feel that something was wrong. As he opened the stall, he saw the wrangler they called Troubadour who would pull out his old Martin and play some cowboy songs.
He wasn’t moving in the sleeping bag and the foreman knew he was gone. He sang his last song after supper and now there would be no more. It was rumored that he had been a famous country music singer and was rich, yet he slept in the tack room near the horses and had a simple life, a life well worth living.
They sent his meager belongings to the family, a beautiful handmade saddle, a well-worn Stetson, his priceless Martin, and a steamer trunk with all his gold records packed inside. The true treasure was several moleskin journals filled with forgotten songs. He had signed a document so his wife and family would receive all the royalties he had made from his records and all future sales. He also signed a note that she would be the executor of his estate and owner of his record company.
He was a legend in the music world, but all he ever wanted was to be a Troubadour, a singer, and a guitar player. The world changed and he walked away. There was no place for a country music singer in Nashville.
He always loved cowboys and he became one of the best. He was a simple man asking for nothing but a good horse and a trail to ride.
All the pictures from my early childhood show a little girl with a very anxious look on her face – two little dots between the eyebrows denote a lot of muscle work in that region.
There is an adorable picture of my sister and yours truly in a bus. I am four and she is five years old. I still remember that event. Our family were on our way from the train station to a small hostel in the Norwegian mountains when, in one of the many twists and turns along the way, all the adults were sent out to push the bus on the steep snowy road. If there was a reason to look a little anxious, you wouldn’t know from the smile on my sister’s face. Me, however…
I often wondered what scared me so.
For the past month, I have been back in “ye ole country” helping my mother adjust to living in an assisted facility. She had been living alone for years with steadily increased help since my father passed away, but already then, she was very dependent on him. After having had full service 24-7 over the summer when I stayed with her for five weeks, she realized that she no longer felt safe living alone, even with help coming in four times every day, and we set the process of moving in motion. I am grateful that I have had these opportunities to spend time with her on her schedule. That has not been an option for my sister who, along with her demanding job, angelically has taken care of all the practicalities for both mom and our childless aunt.
Part of my task on this visit was to help clean up and out in my mother’s home. It got a bit delayed, as our aunt, my mother’s sister, died in the middle of my visit right after mom had moved. So now sis also has an estate to deal with. But we got through the first sorting.
Cleaning up, I also sorted the “historic collection”. You probably have a historic collection as well. I do. It has the little suit my daughter wore when she was three days old and came home with me from the hospital. And a report card that says I have terrible handwriting. My parents’ historic collection was considerably bigger with many letters from before I was born. And many letters from my father when he traveled for weeks on end. It also included photo albums documenting my ever-anxious eyebrows.
I have made all kinds of hypotheses over the years about that early childhood period and whether I might have been put in the far end of the house to cry myself to sleep or in other ways displeased my parents. It is easy to make up stories when you don’t have much memory of those early days and so many knitted eyebrows in the pictures.
This time I had all the photo albums from 100 years to take home and scan. Some of people I have no idea who were, and my mother had long forgotten – if she ever knew. Some are of my very young and lovely mother and of her sister and brother.
As I moved forward in time to the “newer” photos, I noticed something interesting: my eyebrows stopped being knitted. It happened at the same time my young face got a pair of glasses on the nose – around the age of five or six. Relieved, I have now rewritten my story.
Mom asked me to read her some of the old letters from my father. He also had a terrible handwriting. Hearing all these letters read, I think she revised some of the stories she had told herself about how much he cared about her. For the better.
Cleaning up and out, indeed.
A very entertaining post from Alan Culler recently reminded us that we should go back to the data rather than rely on our assumptions. I concur.
Have you looked through your historic collection recently?
See, younger selves, the
Current stained royal blue
Shingled
House with white trim.
New owner
Rakes leaves.
The large oak tree,
A ghost memory.
The black metal numbers
85
Gone from the white pillar
Gracing a corner of the
Front porch.
Prickly bushes
Vanished,
No longer there to
Scratch thin red lines
Into your bare legs.
Stone walkway
Disappeared,
No path leading
Any of you
Back here.
See, younger selves,
She is gone.
The one who terrified you
For all those too many years.
She could not give away
What she didn’t have to give.
Long shadows of her darkness,
Hurt, pain, a
Mushroom cloud of rage
Escaped into the light,
Heat, and Fire, a
Big Ball of Love.
Purification by flame,
Now ashes in an urn on
Another porch.
Acceptance, compassion,
Grace
Grow.
Embodied peacefulness
Transcends a
Traumatic past.
Grateful for this fuel
Alchemizing petrified shame
Into tears of
Unwept grief,
Unwavering,
Unspoken
Unconditional love.
In the United States, we’ll celebrate Thanksgiving on Thursday of this week. Like all other things in the United States, Thanksgiving, too, has become subject to politicization and myth-making.
According to Britannica:
Thanksgiving is modeled on a 1621 harvest feast shared by the English colonists (Pilgrims) of Plymouth and the Wampanoag people … Plymouth’s Thanksgiving began with a few colonists going out “fowling,” possibly for turkeys but more probably for the easier prey of geese and ducks … Next, 90 or so Wampanoag made a surprise appearance at the settlement’s gate, doubtlessly unnerving the 50 or so colonists. Nevertheless, over the next few days, the two groups socialized without incident.
The Pilgrims, of course, were British colonialists, who happened to drop by Plymouth to murder indigenous people. Then, out of his innate sense of commercial opportunism, one of the Pilgrims, Larry Macy, decided to hold a parade on that day, which he later moved from Plymouth to New York City.
After the feast, one of the Wampanoag tribesmen used the skin of one of the pigs from the feast to make an oddly oval-shaped ball, which the celebrants of the first Thanksgiving used to play the first game of football. (The Wampanoags beat the Pilgrims 20 to 17 with a field goal in overtime.) Starting with the second Thanksgiving, the National Football League appropriated the ball and the game, which is why is the Buffalo Bills will play the Detroit Lions, the New York Giants will play the Dallas Cowboys, and the New England Patriots will play the Minnesota Vikings on Thanksgiving Day this year.
Put It Down
I don’t care what your politics are. I don’t care what myths you make or subscribe to. Thursday will be Thanksgiving Day. If you’re in the United States, whatever you’re doing, stop. Even if you don’t celebrate with a big meal, a parade, or a football game, take a moment to count your blessings. If you can do that in the company of family and friends, all the better.
We’ll be entertaining Anne’s cousins, whom we lovingly call the Crazy Italians, as well as my two brothers and assorted other family members and friends. I’m going to put a Gripe Bucket outside the front door and ask everyone, as they arrive, to put all their complaints in there before they enter. Then, at Anne’s suggestion, we’re all going to hold hands in the living room and watch this on the big screen:
With our thanks given, we’ll sit down to celebrate the rest of the day in grateful serenity (except for the Crazy Italians, who’ll talk and laugh and lift the spirits of everyone in the house, as they always do.)
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy Thanksgiving
A Gratitude Attitude puts us in the Flow of Abundance, to the place of Miracles where the Law of Attraction lives. Oh, give thanks! Are you ready to stop rowing your boat up the stream and start to go with the flow? Experience the joy that comes from the miracle of letting-go-and-letting-God by allowing your Guardian Angels to guide you to the Miracle of Abundance on the River of Gratitude. Don’t worry. Your Guardian Angels know the way.
Our Guardian Angels are always with us, but when they answer prayers and requests as simple as, “Parking Angel, please help!” does your gratitude ever defy words? Do you want to break out in song and sing their praise in thanks? That is what my Dreaming Healing Video Podcast guests did. Yup! They sang their gratitude at the end of the show, posted below for your viewing pleasure. Rev. Wanda Butler and Rev. Jon Scott of First Unity Spiritual Campus St. Pete, FL. lived their gratitude by explaining the Gratitude Attitude in detail so you can join in the joy, shift into a Gratitude Attitude, go with the flow, and thrive despite a life-and-death crisis like illness. Oh, give thanks!
When diagnosed with breast cancer recurrence, I felt frightened and alone for an excellent reason; few women survived advanced-stage recurrence. But it did not take long to realize I was never alone and that we are never alone. We are all born with Guardian Angels. We are their job, and they take their job seriously.
Angels guide us in our dreams. Our dreams are the umbilical cord that reaches through the Sacred Doorwaysof space and time to Divine Messages that connect us to God.
After years of treatment that made me sicker than the disease, I finally let go and let God. I let go of the struggle to row upstream and let God take over my crisis with the words, “I surrender myself to You. Do with me as You will. Thy will be done!” My complete surrender allowed an army of angels to take the ores, row me gently down the stream of life, attract the right people to me at the right time, and manifest the miracle of a complete recovery. Oh, Give Thanks!
There is only one rule: The Rule of Permission. To receive, you must ask. Why? Because the Rule of Permission does two crucial things.
Firstly, it does not allow for interference between realms, no matter how noble the action, and ensures that we know what we want.
“Know what I want?” You may say, “Of course, I know what I want!”
How often have you received “help” from a well-meaning family member, workmate, or friend that was not what you wanted? Perhaps you thought they were interfering while they felt helpful. Did it create an awkward situation or, worse, the end of a relationship? What If… they had asked permission. If only… you had expressed exactly what you wanted. Perhaps….
Secondly, The Rule of Permission keeps your angels on track for what you do and do not want and you in gratitude. And a Gratitude Attitude keeps the blessings flowing.
I learned these Permission and Gratitude Lessons while praying for guidance to survive advanced cancer recurrence that was first diagnosed in my dreams by Heavenly Intervention and then validated by medical pathology reports. My angels used diagnostic, prophetic, and guided dreams to share profound healing and nutritional information that guided me to full recovery.
Because of Angelic Intervention, I am alive today to share my gratitude story and podcast with you. I did not go into remission or learn how to live with cancer. Heavenly Intervention and my Gratitude Attitude healed me. I have been cancer free for almost 25 years and live a life of abundance. It’s a miracle. I give thanks!
So, the next time you need help with something as insignificant as finding a parking space or something as profound as saving your life, raise your voice by word or song to Heaven. Specify your request to your Guardian Angels, or dare to surrender to God. Go with the flow. And remember, a Gratitude Attitude is a powerful power behind the flow, so, Oh, Give Thanks!
Please Enjoy Your Dreaming Healing: “O Give Thanks!” Video Podcast︎
Today I am thankful that, some years ago, I learned to bookend my days with good thoughts and a few positive words from the Lord.
Instead of waking up with the news and and going to bed after the news, I decided to surround my day with songs, Bible verses, and heart-to-heart talks with God. Once I started making a conscious decision to begin and end my day with prayer, scripture, and inspirational songs, my perspectives changed.
I learned the value of: “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. Philippians 4:8 CSB
If you’re up for a positive perspective try this. Before you listen to the news of the world, listen to the God who created the world. When preparing to sleep, read something to calm your spirit and talk to God about your day. It’s like bookends holding your day together.
I found a verse that has become one of my favorites because of a bookend.
The Lord your God is living among you. He is a mighty savior. He will take delight in you with gladness. With his love he will calm all your fears. He will rejoice over you with joyful songs. Zephaniah 3 :17
Think about it. God rejoices over you with joyful songs. You don’t have to do anything. He just does it.
Good morning! And may you establish bookends for your days that bring you peace, hope, and joy.
May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you believe so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13 CSB
Have you ever noticed how difficult it is to receive a compliment, without deflecting, defusing, or refusing it?Because genuine compliments, given with a genuine intent, very often shine a light on the deeply intimate and vulnerable parts of ourselves, that we often keep hidden lest we be seen as our whole, true selves, which by the very definition of being human have almost certainly been judged, wounded or rejected.
So, paradoxically considering how much we all need to be accepted and loved, this means that we hide huge parts of who we really are, with the false belief that we will be more loved and more accepted when it just means we are less understood and as a result, less loved. And this can often be seen in the difficulty that so many of us face in simply accepting a genuine compliment – because we have hidden or forgotten about our beautiful parts because we put them away lest they get broken.
We talk about being grateful yet we seem to think that is a one-way street, it is not – we can and should receive as well as give gratitude, otherwise, how can we ever learn to see the good in ourselves from another’s perspective?
We talk about being humble yet we seem to think this has to entail forgoing any recognition of our strengths, or kindness, or compassion – it does not, it simply means we receive it as it is given, it does not need to be analysed, justified or exaggerated.
So, in fact, learning to hear and then embrace compliments are at the very essence of being grateful and humble, because not only have you inspired another to want to give you that compliment, you have accepted it with grace and therefore shown the other person that their words matter and that they have been heard.
It’s ok to receive and embrace a compliment, in fact, it’s a sure sign that you are allowing yourself to be fully seen and that is how we can all learn to be loved and indeed to love others.
The Ghost Rider Series – Chapter FourThe morning fog was coming in from the marshes, heavy, thick, and limited visibility on the back road to the old church. After another night dreaming deeply of Peter sitting by Heaven’s Gate smiling and shaking his head, telling me I still had work to do, I knew I had to have coffee and work so I could shake the night from my mind.
It was difficult riding down the narrow dirt road, the truck bouncing and the fog laying low, so it was hard to see the trees just a few feet off the side of the road. I could hear the preacher hammering and cutting boards. I finally made the clearing and was surprised to see scaffolding rising from the front of the church. Blake was already there sitting with the preacher and between the two the steeple was rising higher and higher as they added boards.
I grabbed the thermos of hot coffee and met them at the tent where the sketch of the steeple was spread on a table made of sawhorses and plywood. I asked the preacher what his name was, and he said, “John, they used to call me Deacon John and now most folks call me preacher.” We heard people coming down the road, dozens with hammers, saws, mallets, paint, and everything needed to raise the steeple high in the sky.
The day grew long, the work hard, the fellowship inspiring and the spirit touching all of us. People were bringing food, the choir stood near the graveyard and sang, people pulled out guitars, fiddles, and snare drums. The crowd swelled and became a congregation of hope, the hope that come Sunday they would have a service here near the Glynn Marsh. Their steeple would reach high, and the church bells would ring loudly calling all to hear the preacher, a single soul believing that he could raise the steeple, and indeed he did.
I slowly headed toward my truck, thanking people along the way for helping. My day over and a joy filled my heart, my hope tonight would be to keep Heaven’s Gate out of my dreams as I still had more to do.
Read more:
The Lost Highways | BIZCATALYST 360°
Heaven’s Gate | BIZCATALYST 360°
The Steeple | BIZCATALYST 360°
During the last three months, I have listened closely and channeled gentle ocean waves of unconditional love and compassion to parts of myself-especially Unworthy Ursula and Terrified Tammy. Together they showed up as the Exiled One holding layers of spoken and unspoken traumas I endured and continue to heal/transform.
During a transformative dream I had– a child enthusiastically greeted me at the bottom of the road where I live here in Black Mountain. The child then ran up the curvy mountain road joyously hollering, “Laura’s Here! Laura’s Here! Laura’s Here!” I woke up in tears.
In an astonishing, transformative somatic session with a gifted Somatic Experiencing practitioner, I unburdened my Exiled One of so many of the hurts she had carried and welcomed home Laura of 2022.
In the experience of my boundaries being impeccably honored in the House of Joy and observing new individual actions Paul began taking for his individual growth-especially after his scary bout with Covid, I started to rediscover Paul. We both continue rediscovering Us. Our love for each other which had grown in the five years of being together became the backdrop for deeper healing, growth, and evolution-individually and together. We continue to have astonishing, brave, vulnerable, heartfelt conversations and are currently being graciously supported, affirmed, and guided by a couple who are gifted in hearing, valuing, seeing, and gently guiding us as individuals and in our couple dynamic. We are learning life-enriching skills, fresh, heartfelt ways to connect with emotional consent.
Paul and I also listened to and discussed the Unlocking Us Podcast with Brene Brown and the Gottmans. They offer honest, vulnerable, and practical guidance for turning towards each other with love and caring. To my delight, Paul gifted me a copy of The Love Prescription and he got himself a copy of the book, too. We’ll both dive in separately and engage the practical ideas-which include many we already had been doing! Paul asked for other personal/spiritual growth resources from me-which I happily shared-including Super Soul Sunday episodes on YouTube and the podcast, We Can Do Hard Things.
Experiencing enduring safety, belonging, and worthiness in being- body, mind, heart, and soul inside a home and with other people-especially an intimate partner-remains an unfolding, brave, and vulnerable process. Becoming an emotionally safe person requires tools and practices. Rebuilding trust with an intimate partner who is becoming an even more emotionally safe person takes time and focused commitment. Courage, self-compassion, compassion for another, loving-kindness, and grace-a radiant foundation inside yourself and a bridge to build and nurture with others.
As my daughter stated it, “Mom, being unconditionally loved and accepted by another person can be terrifying.” And may one of those people become You with all your younger selves AND a beloved person (or maybe more!) during your lifetime. And may your experience of receiving love and offering love become less terrifying and over time a magnificent, miraculous pathway, a courageous purpose worthy of your life energy.
There’s an old saying about smiles: “Smile and the world smiles with you. Cry and you cry alone.”
Well, I suspect there’s some truth in both parts of that, but it is true to me that many times, when I smile at someone, that person does smile back.
And I smile a lot, as I should!
I have a great life, still working and staying healthy at my advanced age of 76.
I live near a small bay in southeastern Massachusetts, in a tiny house, a 30-second walk to the beach just down a small hill.
I work from home, so my time is largely what I make of it.
I have two small dogs, and we take walks around this wonderful small village every day we can, often for 5 miles total. Up and down the hills, breathing the fabulous salt air.
My favorite people to smile at, though, are babies and little kids!
Their responses are so natural, so joyous, so without any “social rules to follow” kinds of smiles. Aren’t they? Does even thinking about that get you smiling? Yeah, me too!
I was thinking about this the other day while looking at my LI profile, with one of my featured articles showing my dad’s very old passport picture (that had my mother in it, somehow) right up front, a photo that had aged poorly and was cleaned up by Freelance Photo Editor and Retoucher Jillur Rahaman, who saw it on my LI page. (You can see the original there, of course.)
Bless his heart; he did it because he knew how to, and I am and always will be grateful for his incredibly kind gesture.
Can you see the difference in their smiles?
I’ve written a few articles about my mother and my dad – heck, even how I title them gives it away.
But their smiles reinforce what I knew … that my mother was all about her need to be seen as someone desirable, as someone meaningful and special. To me, her smile seems a little stiff; it’s polite and socially acceptable, but not warm. It’s a smile for the camera more than anything else.
I see no true warmth in it, even though she looks wonderful … in her own way. And please understand that I know she did the best she could; her childhood was filled with real trauma, and she was pretty empty inside.
Do you see my dad’s smile in another way? I sure do!
His eyes are all crinkled up. His smile goes higher and has warmth. He doesn’t appear to be even looking at the camera. It’s as though he’s having a wonderful time, and to me it shows.
I clearly see the man I knew as dad, the man who loved life, the man whom others gathered around – and not because they had to – to bask in his glow. It’s the kind of smile that draws people to us, to want to be near us – it’s warm. Of course, his childhood had been ideal, full of love and caring with no major traumas, so he got a head start on feeling loved. He was openly warm, caring, and loving in an era when many men just weren’t, at least in public.
I loved him more than I can ever express. He was my rock.
Funny what thoughts we humans have, isn’t it?
Now, go smile at your world and mean it!
What kind of adult did you aspire to be when you were a child? Did you become that adult?I aspired to be a blend of several people and characters from my childhood including and not limited to the following: Mister Rogers from the TV show Mister Rogers Neighborhood, Maria from “The Sound of Music,” Barbara Eden from I Dream of Jennie, Carol Burnett, Cher, Mary Tyler Moore, Mary Poppins, my dad, and my Grandma Hope. I obviously watched much too much television as a child even though I also read many books, ran outside to be in the natural world as much as possible, earned excellent grades in school, and swam in swimming pools. Not surprisingly, I found myself drawn to people who exuded kindness, gentleness, tenderness, sweetness, innocence, joyfulness, courage, and creative hilarity, as well as individuals who seemed mysterious, exotic, and magical.
Female athletes inspired me, too, as I wanted to be athletic. Billie Jean King, many Olympic gymnasts, and figure skaters captured my admiration.
My favorite book authors, even though they seemed even more remote than TV, movie stars, or athletes, also became the kind of adults I aspired to be. Oh, to get to write books children, like me, would enjoy seemed like the best career ever. A dream I kept buried, seemingly unreachable, a secret, like the acorn hats from the yard I collected and placed in a small box on the far back shelf beneath sweaters, and blankets in the small bedroom closet I shared with my sister.
I knew I didn’t want to be cruel, hostile, rageful, jealous, callous, or shape-shifting. I keenly knew the terror, confusion, the bowing, bending, and breaking open this kind of adult created around them.
I knew I wanted to be the kind of adult who would see the person or child in a room who no one else seemed to see or hear. And I wouldn’t place this child or person in a spotlight, but rather approach them quietly, gently so they wouldn’t run with fear from me. Like Scout in the book, To Kill a Mockingbird, when she introduces herself to Boo Radley, I would offer my hand to people in the shadows and not be afraid of those individuals other people ignored or silently feared.
I wanted to be the kind of adult who listened to another person as if they were the only person in the room and every word you heard them speak would be like sipping, savoring warm cocoa with sweet marshmallows bobbing, melting in a mug on a cold, rainy, late autumn day. I imagined my eyes connected with rapture to their whole magnificent self, my heart wide open to whatever they needed to say, my body brave enough to hear their truths and secrets because I would know and have listened deeply to my own.
I wanted to be the kind of adult who told human, hilarious, mishap, self-deprecating stories which made everyone at the dinner table, or a party belly laugh for a long time.
Did I become the kind of multifaceted adult I aspired to be when I was a child? I suppose in some ways I did and in some ways, I have not yet become. In recent years I laugh when I tell people I’m an adult who keeps wanting to wake up as the Buddha or someone’s loveable dog, yet I’m not certain I’m ready to be bald or to sit down to get a treat.
Aren’t many of us amalgams of many things, many kinds of adults we aspired to be when we were children? And did we also become, at times, those kinds of adults we didn’t want to become?
Who have you become? Who are you becoming?
Kindness is the language that the deaf can hear and the blind can see.
~ Unknown
Many people appreciate that being kind is synonymous with showing you care about others. On the other hand, others sneer at kindness in business and express the belief that if you’re too kind, you only set yourself up for others to take advantage of you. In fact, many people often show more kindness to animals than they do to fellow humans.
I believe that whether it’s business or life in general, we’re dealing with other humans, thus there are always ways we can show kindness.
It is true that in the stressful world we live it kindness has to be accompanied by patience and cultivating the ability to remain calm. It will require becoming more aware of what may trigger negative feelings and reactions toward others.
Here are five ways to develop kindness when you interact with others, whether in your personal life or in business:
- Be sincere
Sincerity is a fundamental facet of kindness. You can’t sustain being kind for long if you don’t really mean it!
In a world where trust is at an all-time low, train yourself to look for the good in people, things or situations, and act with sincerity and kindness.
- Practice active listening
“When people talk, listen completely. Most people never listen.” ~ Ernest Hemingway
Active listening is an art that takes practice. Carefully observe two people having a conversation. Quite often you’ll see two people taking turns saying what they want. Neither is really listening to the other. It’s not a two-way dialogue.
If you’re going to help another person feel better or solve a problem, you must really listen. Notice their body language, maintain eye contact, and don’t rehearse what you’re going to say but give them the gift of being heard.
- Learn to really empathize
Being kind requires empathy. When you learn to empathize, you’ll be able to put yourself in the shoes of the other person. By being an engaged listener, you will be able to pick up on how the other person is feeling. Their body language, their tone of voice and facial expressions, as well as their words, will give you clues to help you understand how they’re feeling, and what they might need from you.
You can feel their pain, hurt, or confusion. You don’t judge, criticize, or rush to advise. You just sit with them and acknowledge where they are right now. This is true empathy.
- Become compassionate
Compassion is sympathy for the suffering of others and the desire to help them.
Compassion literally means “to suffer together.” Among emotion researchers, it is defined as the feeling that arises when you are confronted with another’s suffering and feel motivated to relieve that suffering.
While compassion is closely tied to empathy, it’s not the same thing. It goes beyond feeling the other person’s pain in your heart, it takes it to the next step. It allows you to take action to correct or relieve the other person’s situation and/or suffering.
- Learn to give
Generosity is a key element of kindness. It’s up to you what you choose to provide, whether it’s time, the space to listen, money, or other practical help. Volunteering is a great way to do something real and constructive when it might seem that the world is a perilous state.
I appreciate this quote from Og Mandino:
“Beginning today, treat everyone you meet as if they were going to be dead by midnight. Extend to them all the care, kindness, and understanding you can muster, and do it with no thought of any reward. Your life will never be the same again.”
And from one of the most ancient books, the Bible: 1 Corinthians 13:4, “Love is patient and kind…”**
Simple Ways to put kindness in action:
Showing kindness to others does not have to be grand gestures and events that publicly demonstrate to others that we’re kind. Very often it’s simple daily gestures that make life more enjoyable for each of us and for those to whom we show small acts of kindness.
Here are some simple everyday ways to include kindness in your day:
- Stop to let a pedestrian cross the street or to allow another driver into the traffic.
- Say please and thank you.
- Say good morning and good night to your colleagues.
- Smile at a stranger.
- Hold the door for the next person.
- Hold the elevator.
- Let someone with only a few items go in front of you in the grocery store.
- Do a coffee run for your colleagues.
- Hug your loved ones.
- Push the trash bins out for your neighbors.
- Mow your elderly neighbor’s lawn.
- If you’re going to the store, ask your neighbor if you can pick anything up for them.
- Try volunteering at your local soup kitchen or shelter.
- Be the bigger person and let the other guy have the coveted parking space.
- Stand up for someone on the bus or subway.
- Ask a stressed-out co-worker if you can help.
- Help wash the cups after a meeting.
- If the photocopier is running on empty, replace the toner and fill the paper bin.
- Buy surprise flowers for your partner.
- Give a contribution to a street entertainer.
- Commit to stop grousing for a week.
- Join your company’s mentor or buddy program.
- Leave a book or magazine on the subway or in a bus station.
- Donate your excess art supplies or craft materials to an elementary school.
- Encourage your kids to sort through their stuff and donate items in good condition to charity.
- Donate money to your favorite charity or non-government organization.
- Notice what your partner or colleagues are wearing and pay a few compliments.
- Ask friends or colleagues how they are and listen to the answers.
- Reach out to family members or friends, send a text message, or call them to see how they are.
- Clean up your neighborhood. If you see trash in the street, pick it up and put it in the
I don’t pray that much anymore. I figure by now God knows who I am and what I have done in my life. He helped me plenty in my younger days and I still hold that help close to my heart and soul. I don’t drink Bourbon that much anymore but every now and then I like to feel the warmth going through my body.
I still go to church on Sundays, but I sit in a pew way in the back row. I sit quietly not so much listening to the preacher but feeling the peace and contentment of my old age. I do prefer to sit by the river with my old dog, feels the same as church to me.
I don’t have as many friends, I lost a few along the way and hopefully, they are waiting to greet me when it is my time. Most of my friends I have known all my life and I cherish each and every one of them. Some of us meet from time to time and have coffee and conversation, talking mostly about the old days. We were the wild ones living large and owning it, but that time has passed.
I don’t mind being in this part of my life. I watch the new day unfold, painting the sky with colors as if an artist touched the clouds with his favorite brush. The birds sing like a soundtrack for the new day. I have my wife and family near, not to mention an old hound dog with beautiful brown eyes and a loving little group of three called the poodle pack.
It has been a long life and now it’s time to sit by the window and read or watch the birds. It is a peaceful time, mostly I try to touch the memories I have made and give them life by writing them down and sharing with others the things I have seen and done.
For now, I will sit here with Buddy my dog, and watch the sky light up again as the sun slowly sets one more day with the colors of life painted in the clouds.
Part One: Who I Am | BIZCATALYST 360°
In case you missed the memo, kids, we’re in deep kimchi.
That’s right. According to this measured and highly objective headline in that paragon of levelheadedness and evenhandedness, The Washington Post, “World has nine years to avert catastrophic warming, study shows.” See what I mean? We’re on the brink of an apocalyptic something or other, but it’s not the same apocalyptic something or other that a varied assortment of fatalistic cranks and superstitious crackpots have been predicting since God invented dirt.
What’s most amusing about this story is that the cranks and crackpots in question can’t even manage to agree with each other:
Yet even as scientists warn of the world’s dangerous trajectory, leaders here at the U.N. Climate Change Conference, known as COP27, [in Sharm El Sheik, Egypt] have advocated for natural gas as a “transition fuel” that would ease the world’s switch from fossil energy to renewables … This rhetoric has alarmed scientists and activists who say expanding natural gas production could harm vulnerable communities and push the planet toward a hotter, hellish future.
Harm vulnerable communities? What about the communities that will freeze this winter for lack of fossil fuels? What about the communities that already live in abject poverty and don’t have the means to erect wind turbines and install solar panels to keep themselves in the good graces of COP27? What about the communities of electric vehicle drivers who have no idea how the electricity with which they charge their cars is generated? What about the communities of settled scientists who’ll be talking like some combination of Ralph Kramden and Porky Pig when their fraud is exposed? And what generates more hot air, the attendees of COP27 or the private jets they flew in on?
Good grief.
WTF, Batman?
I’m hoping I can get to Sharm El Sheik by Friday because I have an idea to present to the cranks and crackpots variedly assembled there. Here it is: If they’re all so positive carbon emissions are the cause of climate change — particularly the warming in which so many people around the world are going to freeze to death in their respective winters (to say nothing of the mold that will grow and poison them in their unheated homes) — why don’t we use carbon emissions for heat?
And you can call this a coincidence, an accident, or serendipity if you like. But it just so happens I’m working on an affordable PCE (portable carbon emitter) as we speak … well … write. In fact, I’m so sure this will work, I’m going to donate a free PCE, with free installation, to every member of the IPCC. And because I’m the kind of guy I am, I’m going to donate three PCEs to Dr. Michael E. Mann — one for his main residence, one for his office at Penn State, and the other to heat the hot tub at his vacation getaway in Antarctica.
I’m being so generous to Dr. Mann because he developed the famous Hockey Stick Theory which predicted the precipitous uptick in global … oh, shit:
This improper normalization procedure [the hockey stick program] tends to emphasize any data that do have the hockey stick shape, and to suppress all data that do not. To demonstrate this effect, McIntyre and McKitrick created some meaningless test data that had, on average, no trends. This method of generating random data is called Monte Carlo analysis, after the famous casino, and it is widely used in statistical analysis to test procedures. When McIntyre and McKitrick fed these random data into the Mann procedure, out popped a hockey stick shape … the hockey stick, the poster-child of the global warming community, turns out to be an artifact of poor mathematics.
Well. Ya can’t win ‘em all. But you sure as hell can buffalo most of ‘em. That’s why trillions of dollars will be squandered and the standards of living for billions of people will be reduced, all in the ostensible effort to stop climate change that’s been predicted by flawed models and allegedly settled science.
And that’s exactly why the fat cats at Sharm El Sheik are squabbling about nothing — on our dime and at our greater expense — to feel good and to look good in photo ops.
Say, “Cheese!” And if you believe in net zero, pray you’re not on Candid Camera.
"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." ...
"What’s going on in your life that you’re grateful for? How do you keep that focus?" ...
"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." ...
"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." ...
"What are the memories that still tug at you as an adult from your childhood? Love to know if anyone has stories like this!" ...
"A flickering flame on a candle elicits feelings of warmth or even hope. Hope for a better time waiting for its chance to arrive." ...
"What if no one needs to be right or wrong? What if both of our wants and needs matter and it is up to each of us to take care of ourselves instead of trying to take care of the needs of each other?" ...
"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?" ...
"Our personal relationship with conflict is one difference, but depending on culture, people also share different norms for which level of disagreement can or can’t be hashed out in public." ...
"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." ...
"Is there a situation you’ve been in where you did or didn’t have all the facts? How did it turn out?" ...
"The photos were many and it came to me I would create a large canvas in Sepia the color of memories." ...
"The reality is that when the chips are down most people will do what they deem to be in their own best interest with what may be good for the team being in a not-so-close second place." ...
'Martin Luther King said, “We came here on different ships, but we’re all in the same boat now.” A latter-day paraphrase might be, “We came here with differences, but we’re all homogenized now.” ...
"Human beings have used their fists and other forms of weaponry to display dominance since the dawn of humanity." ...
"Making money in cryptocurrency relies on the greater fool theory. That theory states that whatever you buy, at whatever price, there is always a greater fool than you that will buy it at a price higher than you paid." ...
"Momma spent almost two weeks looking for a foster or final loving family for the three of us without much success." ...
"The first thing I notice about a person is their eyes. It has been said that the eyes are the windows to the soul." ...
"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." ...
"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." ...
"Along with my failing, fading faculties, has come an enhancement of attention, focus, and gratitude. How to explain this? I can’t, but the puzzle it poses does make a certain sense." ...
"Getting old is a genetic risk factor for all of us, so I hope you will listen, too, and make a little more room for people that are hard to communicate with." ...
"I can’t decide if I’m old-fashioned or just lazy. But I’m not gonna lie: It seems easier to tell the truth." ...
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 […]
"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." ...
"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." ...
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." ...
"No matter one’s belief, gratitude should be elevated, especially for those of us who are blessed with abundance in whatever form that is." ...
"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?" ...
"How long have human beings danced? A Skillshare blog reports that early cave paintings depict dancing figures as early as 3300 BC. You might say it’s in the genes." ...
"If we are going to be a country, then we must change what is wrong. We must realize that what has happened in history can be repeated when moral values and respect for life are degraded." ...
" ... We are now reaching a consensus about dumping the idea of sickness altogether and replacing it with WELL-NESS…as a primary goal in life." ...
"If we buy into this story of ‘not enough’, we open ourselves up to be judged and discarded by others based on this inner story we believe is true." ...
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." ...
"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?" ...
"But what about forgiveness? How easily is that attained? How readily is it dispensed? How complete is it? Who is most likely to be the most generous with it? How often do we know if it is really ever accepted?" ...
"Every now and then a man's mind is stretched by a new idea or sensation, and never shrinks back to its former dimensions." ...
"No one is more cynical or sarcastic than I can be. But that doesn’t preclude my knowing the difference between doing right things and doing things right." ...
"My heart almost stopped beating. I ran in his direction and collapsed in extremely frustrated tears." ...
"The hardest thing is to explain the obvious to people who refuse to see it. ... The simplest solution is almost always the best." ...
"The knock on the door jolted me back to reality and out of the web of my thoughts." ...
"They say that you can never go back again, yet if you can write a story, if you can reach back and touch those long-ago memories you can go back again." ...
"I hope all of you are having an amazing day and I wish you a beautiful spring or autumn and ethereal bliss." ...
"Simply put, it requires reconnecting with the True Self and moving from an insecure attachment style to the secure one to some extent." ...
"Everyone should savor the slow, steady, sweetness of reading. Who knows where it will bring you? Serving you and others begins the journey through reading." ...