Just As It Comes

Posted on February 24, 2012 by

If I don’t hurry, I am going to be late!  Scurrying around when feeling like I might be causes a disheveled feeling as I project myself into the minutes ahead without thought to the moment.  Such was a time yesterday.

I loaned my primary vehicle for the day to my visiting son and was thrown off a bit by driving an old car of mine that is rarely used. Heading backwards down my driveway, I put my seatbelt on and changed stations on the radio.  Three blocks away a thought came to text the business visitor I was heading to pick up at his hotel to say my arrival would be in ten minutes.

Reaching to my pocket for my iPhone I realized it is not there.  “Crap!  Gotta go back and get it”.  After making a u-turn while still in my subdivision within a minute I was setting the emergency brake in front of my house.

In in my bedroom my phone is still on the charger.  I grab it and think “now I’m late”.  Instead of starting to fret about a little lost time there is gratefulness I was not a lot further away from home  turning around to get my phone. 

The car hauling me yesterday is a sixteen year old Volvo that saved my life during a car accident seven years ago.  More than anything I still have it out of respect for the “old girl” for saving my life.  Yesterday morning ‘she’ was dusty with accumulated dirt from sitting unused for a month or so.  Even losing a few minutes going back to get my phone, there was still ample time for a quick drive through car wash so my visitor would not have to ride in a dirty car.

Sitting at the traffic light where the two lanes from my housing development pour onto a six lane major street, a hundred yards away I see the fire station with a ladder truck with its light running out front.  “What’s that about?” I thought.  “Are they pulling out?  Do I need to pull over?”

The light changes and as I complete a turn into the right lane of three going east, I drive right by the fire truck.  It’s easy to see some sort of maintenance is being done.  Glancing sideways at the fire truck I completely miss the flashing light marking a school zone.  Since it is very rare for me to be on this street at this time of day, no memory pops up of the school even being there.

A little editorial before continuing my story.  This school zone is marked on a six lane major highway about three hundred years from what statistics say is the busiest intersection in the city.  People drive on this street like it is a freeway.  There are no pedestrian crossings within a hundred yards and the school is a special “academy” for a small number of over-achieving high schoolers who drive.  Rarely have I seen a student in front of the school, much less walking on the sidewalk by the road. 

If the photo at the top did not tell you what happened by now you have likely guessed. A motorcycle cop was hidden away and gave me a ticket for going 34 in a 25 mph zone, a citation that requires me to go to court because it was a school zone. 

Leaving home the first time I had my seatbelt on before turning around to get my iPhone.  However, driving the quarter of a mile to be in front of the school I had not put it on again.  Citation number 2!

Having moved last year the postcard sent by the state was not forwarded and my license plates were not current on a car I drive maybe one every two months.  It just had not come to mind.  You got it… ticket #3!

If you think I am headed into a tirade about how yesterday morning started off, you are going to be disappointed.  Rather, what happened did very little to affect my day.  Of course, I have something to deal with I’d rather not have on my to-do list and it will cost me some money.  That’s just life unfolding normally though.  We get good.  We get not so good.  The bad and sad are a normal part of human existence.  Today I accept living just as it comes in all forms.  To damn getting the tickets would be to damn my life.  Whether my thinking is the tickets are petty or not, the well dressed and polished policeman was just doing his work.  I accept that also. 

My gratitude this morning is to realize how little being stopped by the motorcycle cop affected me.  Some years back my day would have been filled with wafts of anger floating to the top of thoughts numerous times.  Back then even a day later I would still have been negatively effected some by getting the tickets.  My gratitude is very large to see how much I have grown and how much better my ability today is to live my life just as it comes!

Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it.
Charles R. Swindoll

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When Did I Become an Adult?

Posted on February 23, 2012 by

 I certainly have the responsibilities of an adult BUT “when did I become one”?

There was no one hanging around graduation who came up and handed me a small box saying “here’s all the secret knowledge about living that will need now that you have become an adult”.  There were no classes offered to teach me how to be a grown-up.  No invitations to join the institution of adulthood ever came.  No opportunity to have the covert rules and rituals revealed was offered.  There was never a form to fill out so I could enlist to be an adult.

I recall being little and wanting to be bigger.  My memory is clear of being in elementary school wanting to be in high school.  Becoming sixteen wishing I was twenty-one has not been forgotten.  All I know is somewhere between then and now apparently I became an adult… well, sort of… mostly.  What I do know is there’s no test, sudden blinding light of wisdom or tangible event that signified my transition.

Here’s some perspective on “when a person becomes an adult” from teenagers on stayteen.org:  link

  • I will know that I am an adult when I can live on my own, when I am fully capable of surviving independently. I will no longer depend on shelter, food, transportation, and money from my parents.
  • I’ll really know that I’m an adult when I find my passion in life. As you get older you start to see what you are really interested on. Once you hit high school and you have a career that really calls your attention, that’s when I think you are mature because you have a future plan ahead of you, you are thinking college, and you know that you are doing the right decision.
  • I have no idea how I’ll know I’m really an adult. I asked my friends around me when they all thought they would feel like a grown up and they all said “I don’t think you can ever stop growing,” “You may get old but you never stop growing spiritually, emotionally, and mentally.”
  • For the most part I believe there are no adults…that everyone is not always responsible or mature.
  • I think someone is truly an adult when they can make a mistake, take credit for it and work to fix the mistake you made.

There’s some truth in what the teens said, but they are expressing a viewpoint about what they have no knowledge of, so I moved on to facts and figures.  Stats from Larry Nelson of Brigham Young University published in USA Today show  parents and students 18 to 25 years old don’t always agree on what it takes to be considered a grown-up.

Driving a car safely and close to the speed limit
• Students: 49%
• Dads: 75%
• Moms: 81%

Avoid becoming drunk
• Students: 43%
• Dads: 60%
• Moms: 70%

Settled into long-term career
• Students: 53%
• Dads: 31%
• Moms: 39%

Becoming financially independent from parents
• Students: 93%
• Dads: 76%
• Moms: 82%

So the mystery remains.  An answer is an enigma.  I really don’t know when I became “mostly” an adult.  Please note the term “mostly”, because moving completely past youth has proved to be impossible.  I know, I tried.  And now I am grateful for not succeeding.

For the spark of a child that resides within and for the fragment of a teenager that remains, I am grateful.  Those remnants help me to see I did not become something else when I moved (mostly) out of childhood and became  an adult.  Rather I just became more of what I already was.

Everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.
Margaret Atwood

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A Music Bath Once or Twice a Week

Posted on February 22, 2012 by

Sold out show.
Ear plugs very necessary.
Lots of twenty-something’s.
Piercing and tats on parade.
Loud, very loud and even louder.
Some probably not more than 15.
More girls and women than boys and men.
Well over a thousand people grooving together.
Bass so deep it made coins in my pocket vibrate.
Twirling lightsticks and bodies moving rhythmically.
The floor bobbing up and down with the steady beat.
Some stripped to bare minimum due to sweat from dancing.
Melodic patterns of cool electronic music and dazzling lights.
DJ Excision in concert at Cain’s Ballroom, 2/21/2012 Tulsa,Oklahoma

Music of any sort can tie people of any age together.  When its good enough to make the listeners’ bodies move without thought how old one is does not exist.  Fifteen and fifty year olds have at such a moment more in common than probably at most any other time.  And there I was last night with my almost thirty year old son listening to a “famous for the moment” electronic Disc Jockey who calls himself “Excision”.  The two of us and a mass of a thousand or so were moving to the beat systematically in mass almost like one giant heart beating;  a cool experience!

I am grateful to work in a profession directly related to music and to have been involved up close with concerts and the artists for over three decades.  Music has kept me young in spirit.  There is no issue with me having a conversation with an eighteen year old about music and finding we likely have a good bit in common about what we like musically.  Likewise, talking to a peer who lived during the classic rock from the 70′s there is no problem finding commonalities in what we liked.  Any anywhere in between is the same and it’s also true across genres of music as well.

I truly am lucky to be living a life that can put me comfortably with those my age and at the same time with those young enough to be my grandchildren.  Being by far the oldest person at some shows on a regular basis I am amused by the looks I get.  Some make eye contact and gesture in a way that says “It’s awesome that someone your age is here”.   Of course, once in a while at a concert I find myself looking back at a young’un whose expression expresses clearly their surprise seeming to say “what are you doing here?  Are you lost?”  I just smile and think to myself, I hope you stay contemporary enough to do what I doing and enjoy yourself one day like I am tonight.

Without counting, all I can do is guess at the number but I believe there are tickets for seven or eight concerts and shows clipped on my fridge.   Some people watch lots of TV.  Some spend time playing video games.  Others give ample spare time to playing or watching sports.  Hobbies soak up time available for some folks.  Other than being with those I care about for me its music, music, music and books, books, books that the majority of my spare time is given to (movies too).  My parents always had records or the radio going from the time I can remember and there are pickers, players and singers scattered around my family.  My music interest may well come from genetics even more than my formative environment.  Where ever it comes from, I am blessed to be able to “feel” and enjoy music as much as I do.  Some time back while living for close to a year outside the country with few personal belongings other than clothes I found I really missed only two things:  my books and my music.

This morning I am grateful to have a grown son who still likes to visit his Dad frequently.  We have much the same tastes in music and there is no one’s company I enjoy more.  Much thankfulness is within for my love of music and for it to be a common ground with my boy!

Take a music bath once or twice a week for a few seasons.
You will find it is to the soul what a water bath is to the body.
Oliver Wendell Holmes

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Being Aware that Fire Can Burn

Posted on February 21, 2012 by

Driving down the freeway the other day I noticed a big store I planned to visit on the weekend, but then was conscious of nothing else for another five miles.  A short while later slowing down to make my exit I wondered who was driving the car the last five minutes!

Never has such an experience come up in conversation that another does not relate similar experiences.  In something of a self-hypnotized state we humans apparently are able to function normally while mentally being somewhere else.  I have come to realize this practice can easily become a wide-spread habit that obscures a lot more than a few minutes.  When living today becomes routine and life is imagined to only be in the future, the danger of losing one’s self has begun.  Very well this is known to me from experience!

My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know. Everybody you see. Everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake and they live in a state of constant total amazement.  From “Joe Versus the Volcano”.

During my 20′s and early 30′s I was in career building mode and the struggles to get ahead kept me keenly aware of what was going on around me.  Drifting off and living unconsciously happened to a much less degree then.  As success came and the comfort of plenty found me I slipped more and more into unconscious living.  Life to me then was all about what I was going to do when I retired early and indulged in what I was dreaming of doing.  But, as John Lennon wrote “Life is what happens while you are making other plans”.  I became a “Sleepwalker”.

On her blog “Personal Excellence” link Celestine Chua describes Sleepwalkers:  These are people who live through their lives in an unconscious state.  Being conscious isn’t about being physically awake – Many people around us are physically awake, yet living unconsciously. They are not fully aware of who they are, the larger context of life they are a part of and their real purpose in life.   

Sleepwalking as Ms Chua describes it helps to at least partially explain why my 40′s and about half of my 50′s are a blur.  The only direction was being headed toward something, but what I did not know. I dreamed instead of planning and could not envision what was ahead was to crash emotionally under the weight of all I tried so hard to out run.  I fantasized instead doing the work in the present and in time that caught up with me.  All I knew was the life I wanted was not in my possession and felt it was to be found in the future.  Of course, that is delusion.  Life is always happening NOW.  In whatever guise and shape, what is “now” is the ONLY place “life” happens.

One of the symptoms of being a “Sleepwalker” Celestine Chua notes in her article is something I was very guilty of once upon a time:  Find no time to do things you want to do.  She explains Sleepwalkers are often busy all the time – they frequently complain about having a lack of time, not being able to do things they want, etc. But they do not realize they are the ones who put themselves in that position in the first place. When questioned by other people, they cannot exactly put a finger to where all the time and energy went into. Sleepwalkers are always waiting for a proverbial ‘next time’ for their goals, dreams and desires in life, but they do not realize that the ‘next time’ never comes. By the time they do, a long time has already passed, and now they switch to thinking that it’s now ‘too late’ to work on their goals. 

Realizing I was just beginning to slip into some old patterns of thinking, I found the article on the “Personal Excellence” website to be a welcome wake up call.  My dysfunctions of depression and compulsion are thankfully not in control these days.  However, I was starting to  ”sleepwalk” again thinking the life I wanted was somewhere in the future.  There was also a bit of playing the “too late” game with myself.  By simple acknowledgement the renewed delusions are dissolving.

Reminding myself of the discoveries of five years ago is all that is needed.  I am very grateful for the teaching the past gave me and for that awareness now preventing me from slipping into those old ways of being.

Knowledge is being aware that fire can burn;
wisdom is remembering the blister.
Unknown

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Once Upon a Time This Never Happened

Posted on February 20, 2012 by

A story told to myself….

I did not see her coming. There was no way to anticipate how my life was about to change. It’s challenging for a depressed man feeling sorry for himself to see much of anything outside of his self focused indulgence. So there I was on Monday morning, engrossed in trying to read my Amsterdam map and did not even see her get on the tram. Looking up she grabbed my attention and I stared at her just three rows away until she glanced up at me.  I looked away embarrassed. Each time I sneaked another peek, she would glance up at me a moment later. After the fourth time she smiled and red-faced, I smiled back.

Within a few minutes the tram started to slow to its next stop. She got up, took three steps closer to the door and ended up right by me. In American English (which surprised me), she said “What are you looking for on your map?” My response was “Van Gogh Museum”. She smiled and said, “Oh that’s easy. Get off at the third stop after this one, go across the bridge and keep walking to your right. You can’t miss it.” Before even a “thank you” could be formed in my mouth the doors of the tram opened and she stepped off the tram.

As the doors closed I watched as she walked away. Tall and slender but not skinny and she was about five foot seven or eight. Hair below her shoulders pulled back with a knit hat on top of her head. Dark pants were tucked into high boots that came up to a few inches below her knee (young or old, the women in Amsterdam all seem to wear boots in the winter. I had noticed on previous visits that no two pairs to be alike in the whole city!). As she walked away I studied her. With a well-fitting below the waist length leather jacket, a scarf wrapped around and around her neck with an umbrella in hand my mystery woman looked typical for a casually well dressed city woman in Holland during February.

The blue and white tram slowly began to continue south as she finished crossing the street. I was staring straight at her when she looked over her shoulder in my direction and smiled. Was she smiling at me? There was no way to know for sure, but I smiled back just in case. She then turned away and three steps later disappeared into one of the city’s numerous alley ways that tie the town together. I was lost in my thoughts as the little train gained speed headed down toward the museum section of the city.

She was gone leaving me to feel like a junior high schooler who develops a crush at first look. This woman had made a distinct impression on me, but now she was lost in the vast sea of humanity. I chided myself for not saying something to her and especially for not thanking her for her advice about finding the museum. My chance was gone. For now, there was only an image of her in my mind.  Her face most of all seemed burned into my psyche. Hers were not the features of a beauty queen and instead more attractive in an honest and non-assuming way.

For the moment this encounter only made me think even more of Diane (the woman who had broken my heart days before). I missed her or at least missed having someone. The wound left from my surprise visit to her in Paris a week ago was still open and festering. How was I to know that my unannounced arrival to see my fiancée was to be a much bigger surprise to both of us? It had been very early morning when I landed and took a cab to the apartment her company provided for her. I had to knock several times before she came to the door of her apartment in a bathrobe. Her face had pillow wrinkles on it, her hair was rumpled and it was easy to see she had just gotten up. Looking through the living room and past the doorway of her bedroom, it was easy to see a man in his boxer shorts sitting on the end of the bed. In an instant I knew what had gone on.

…to be continued

For over two years I have struggled on and off to complete a fictional love story that has been kicking in my head for years.  Now about half way through completion of the book I felt compelled to throw a few paragraphs out into the world and re-commit myself to finishing the story.  I am grateful for your indulgence and for the hapless romantic soul within that pushes me forward to complete what I have begun.

Better never to have met you in my dream
than to wake and reach for hands that are not there.
Otomo No Yakamochi

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The Marble and the Sculptor

Posted on February 19, 2012 by

George Bernard Shaw’s quote pictured just above is good food for thought.  Once upon a time I remember firmly believing I could find myself out there somewhere.  My approach was that of an adventurer.  Simply thinking if “I” am to be found at some location other that where I am, let the journey begin!  And so it did.

I tried changing locales often while searching for “me”.  Within the searching I lived in eight states from the Atlantic to Pacific Oceans and even tried close to a year as an expatriate in a foreign country. There were a few hints and sign posts forward, but there was no”me” there to be found.

I went looking for “myself”  with high focus on interests such as piloting airplanes, professional photography, high-powered rocketry, collecting antiques, travel to exotic places and more.  There was no “me” to be found up in the sky.  No image ever captured did more than vaguely hint at who I might be.  Even when the everyday person I am was mostly stripped away by places where little was familiar only a few vague notions of “me” arrived.

I thought maybe some of the un-located “me” might be in another person and a long list of short and long relationships came and went.  Within those loves and heart breaks there was a moving closer to the destination of “myself” that came through revelations of what I was not.  The trying to fit in and the molding of myself to others painfully taught a lot of what was not “me”, but not much of what “I was”.

As many worthy discoveries come from failure of another intention, the many failings of my choices in time brought me unwillingly onto the path of “creating myself”.   The makings of the “me” searched for through many years had been inside all along!  I had been running away from it hoping to replace what was there unsuccessfully with something else.  When there was not other choice, I became the creating artist of my own life.  Some of the best chisels in my sculpting kit are:

Often being around others working on similar self improvement.
Getting up earlier and giving my most rested hours to myself.
Appreciating what I have instead of wanting something else.
Living first and foremost for myself instead of others.
Looking inward and writing here what I see and feel.
Forgiving others for what they have done to me.
Expectations of good instead of the opposite.
Making amends with those I hurt in the past.
Expanding the good, diminishing the bad.
Working to live instead of living to work.
Forgiveness for things I have done.
Learning to be comfortably alone.
Faithfulness to myself and others.
Belief in a power greater than me.
Being a better friend.
Growing gratefulness.
Staying in one place.
Optimism.
and more.

A great deal of time was spent previously expecting to “arrive” and to instantly have the complete life I thought was my destiny to have.  Now it is clear life is not a destination and is instead something created daily or more accurately, moment by moment.  My discovery has been when I live more fully in the ‘now’ I better ‘carve’ out the ”me” I once searched for.  In a relatively short time my future has begun to unfold more as I want and my past has begun to be something I am pleased about.  Being proud of one’s self gives a person amazing strength!

This all sounds simple and it is, but hard to do.  The difficulty is removing the sediment that life puts over us given time.  It’s easy to begin to believe the residue of the years is who and what we are.  I had to dig the mudslide of many years that covered and obscured the “me” with. 

Like a miner I had to remove the layers of mud before the veins of raw gold of “me” could be located.  And only then could the gold began to be processed  and shaped.  Mining of any sort takes strength, determination and consistent digging.  Now instead of a feeling of being lost, I am the daily sculptor and creator of “me”.  The hard work of the task is not a deterrence and I am deeply grateful for the measure of peace and satisfaction the labor now brings each day.

Man cannot remake himself without suffering,
for he is both the marble and the sculptor.
Dr. Alexis Carrel

Posted in Knowledge, Life, Self Awareness | 1 Comment

Between the Idiocy of Infancy & the Folly of Youth

Posted on February 18, 2012 by

“I Resign”
Author Unknown

I am hereby officially tendering
my resignation as an adult.

I have decided I would like to accept the
responsibilities of an 8-year-old again.

I want to go to McDonald’s and think
that it’s a four star restaurant.

I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud
puddle and make ripples with rocks.

I want to think M&Ms are better than
money because you can eat them.

I want to lie under a big oak tree and run a
lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer day.

I want to return to a time when life was simple.

When all you knew were colors,
multiplication tables, and nursery rhymes,
but that didn’t bother you, because you
didn’t know what you didn’t know and you didn’t care.

All you knew was to be happy because you
were blissfully unaware of all the things
that should make you worried or upset.

I want to think the world is fair.

That everyone is honest and good.

I want to believe that anything is possible.

I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life
and be overly excited by the little things again.

I want to live simple again.

I don’t want my day to consist of computer crashes,
mountains of paperwork, depressing news,
how to survive more days in the month than there
is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip,
illness, and loss of loved ones.

I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs,
a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams,
the imagination, mankind, and making angels in the snow.

So… here’s my checkbook and my car keys,
my credit cards and all my responsibility.

I am officially resigning from adulthood.

And if you want to discuss this further,
you’ll have to catch me first,
’cause,

“Tag! You’re it.”

Being a child again in body is not possible, but reconnecting more with the child in my soul is. A little boy remains inside, unseen. He is mostly unconscious and sleeping buried there under layers of “adult stuff” and the weight of years.

When I allow just a small crack to break through those heavy grown-up layers a youngster’s lighter way of being surfaces like a helium balloon rises when freed. I am grateful to know the goodness that comes from waking the child within. By freeing that little boy a little now and then, small perspective adjustments come that make life grander, more interesting and one heck of a lot more fun.

At this very moment thoughts of finger painting pop into my head… hmmm… how long has it been? 50 years????

Childhood: the period of human life intermediate between the idiocy of infancy and the folly of youth – two removes from the sin of manhood and three from the remorse of age. 
Ambrose Bierce

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It’s Harder to Ignore It

Posted on February 17, 2012 by

Dear Dad,

The last time we spoke I was very angry at you and my feelings were not misplaced.  You needed to hear what I had to say.  At the time there is no way to have known we would never speak again.

Here in late middle age I am making peace with the emotional injuries of childhood including you leaving on my seventh birthday.  I don’t hold that against now.  How complicated adult life actually is has been taught to me the hard way.  Having made some weighty mistakes that are now deeply regretted, I comprehend better why you shed tears and spoke ”I’m so sorry’s” during my visits as a grown man.  You never did anything intentionally to hurt me.  I know that.  Rather you were lost in your dysfunctions, delusions and “junk” from childhood.  I’m don’t think you ever even thought there were anything wrong with you nor ever saw those primary causes of the chaos and unhappiness of your life.

In childhood you were hurt and damaged. That is a good bit of what led you to behave as you did as an adult. Your mother abandoned you at seven when you and a younger brother were left with a middle-aged and bitter father who knew nothing about raising children.  From stories told it is easy to see he too was emotionally injured from his own formative years.  My suspicion is his father was an emotional mess too as was his father before him and so on.  There is no way of knowing how far back the dysfunctions have been passed from generation to generation are rooted.

I will never think of you as a bad man, but will always know you were a weak one.  You spent all your life running away from yourself, but like your shadow in daylight that was always present, you were unable to outrun your childhood baggage.  You tried the cure of money and found it fixed little to nothing.  Actually it probably helped you become more deeply enmeshed in your dysfunctional behavior.  All the marriages and the parade of women in your life at best only temporarily relieved your pain.  The pursuit of fame and burning desire to have “famous friends” did nothing but fuel what was already wrong.

Then came alcohol abuse followed by drugs I believe you took up to look cool to the younger women you pursued.  Somehow dating women young enough not just to be your daughter, but in some cases you granddaughter gave you a temporary false sense of being younger.  The twenty-something women were just another of another substance of choice to numb what hurt inside you.

I wish there was more pride in me for the person you were.  Instead there is memory of a man I loved in spite of his mistakes, flaws, dysfunctions and injurious behavior to himself and others.  Never was there ever any real happiness in your life.  How constantly you kicked away chances at contentment was never something you realized.  It makes me sad when I think of how tormented your life was.  You never knew your place which makes me all the more grateful I am down the road a good way in knowing mine.

Although there was no contact between us during the last year and a half of your life, I am glad you ended up in rehab.  While that was not your choice and the legal system put you there, sobriety did find you.  Staying straight and living humbly the last eighteen months of your life is something I am proud you accomplished.  You faced the most difficult person to face:  yourself, and made at least a temporary peace.

This May twenty years ago you died of a heart attack at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting at the end of taking a turn sharing about your journey.  To know you made a difference in other lives, if even small ones, gives me something to be proud of you for.  I doubt long-term you could have stayed sober, but that is irrelevant now.  What does matter is your last days were spent trying to face your demons and walking a path of sobriety.  I will always be grateful for that.

Love always,

Your son

All the times that I cried,
Keeping all the things I knew inside,
It’s hard, but it’s harder to ignore it.
From Cat Steven’s song “Father and Son”

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The Great Weight of Small Joyful Moments

Posted on February 16, 2012 by

It is natural for a person to notice and vividly remember moments of great joy and tremendous happiness.  Such beautiful experiences are for most people thought to be the sum total of the best of their life.  Yet, when I focus for a few minutes and mentally accumulate the big joyful moments experienced the initial list I come up with is shorter than I would have first imagined.  As remembrances of first love, the birth of my son, a miracle that saved my family’s life and other momentous occurrences come to mind, the moments of joy listed get smaller in size.    

In a sort of upside down mental pyramid, the biggest joyful moments of my life are at the top of my list with a great number of smaller joys listed below.  While the width and height of each lesser joy is not nearly as weighty as each entry in the big stuff above, it is in the totaled together small elated moments where I find the majority of my life’s joyousness.

A fresh one from yesterday was sitting in private with a part-time employee and her supervisor discussing how she had risen to the task of filling in, since last September, an open full-time position.  We were telling her that six months before we would not have seriously considered her for the position we were about to promote her to.   She had worked hard and shown what she could do resulting in her getting the position she wanted so badly.  In telling her how proud we were of her, my eyes welled up, her supervisors eyes got watery and so did hers.  It was a small moment of pure joy. 

Last week at the end of a business trip I stopped off in Alabama to see my Brother who I have not seen in over two years (shame on me!).  Once at the airport curbside with my bags I called to let him know.  In less than a minute he pulled up in the lane in front of me.  While just seeing him warmed my heart, it was the hug that lingered that touched me down to the core of my being.  In that moment I was reminded that he is the only true goodness I can trace all the way back to where my memory begins.  That realization was another small moment of joy. 

The warmer than usual winter here has fooled the daffodils of early spring into coming up early.  All over my yard the green little stalks are clustered in flower beds, but only one stalk has had the strength to flower.  The temperature has been down into the teens in the last week, but I noticed that one little yellow flower was still standing tall this morning when I took out the trash.  When color is everywhere, a single flower does not draw much notice, but when one dab of bright daffodil yellow is all there is it becomes very noticeable.  For that split second I noticed the bloom alive and well, I smiled and thought to myself “good for you little fellow”.  Another small moment of joy. 

My work has been extraordinarily busy for the last three weeks and I have spent almost no time with my best friend, Mel.  The couple of visits we have been together I have either been tired, distracted or both.  Outside of my Brother and Son, there is no man closer to me and I have missed his company.  Getting an email inviting me to see a movie tonight caused me to smile momentarily with just the thought of hanging out with my buddy.  Another momentary appearance of a tiny joy.

Sometimes joy is a discovery solely within myself.  Seeing the counter of the days I have written this blog cross 292 earlier this week brought a momentary feeling of joy.  That number represents an 80% accomplishment of my goal of writing here every day for a year, something I honestly would not have believed six months ago possible.  Realizing I had found the kind of discipline I have never been capable of brought a joyous feeling for a short moment.

Always I have considered myself to be a sensitive person with good awareness of my feelings and believed those to be accurate self perceptions.  One unexpected jewel of truth gained from writing about gratitude every day, is my level of gratefulness has increased ten-fold.  My heart, mind and soul have been brought to a level of insightful awareness beyond anything I have known or could have imagined. 

Life is blend of difficulty, challenge and grief combined with joy, happiness and delight.  In what measure I focus my thinking on each is the largest determining factor of the quality of my life. It is with much gratefulness I share publicly that personal truth.

Things don’t go wrong and break your heart
so you can become bitter and give up.
They happen to break you down and build you
up so you can be all that you were intended to be. 
Charles “Tremendous” Jones

Posted in Knowledge, Life, Simple Pleasures | Leave a comment

You Are More Than Who You Think

Posted on February 15, 2012 by

Without cause or catalyst I can name, once in a while I have found myself alone glancing into a mirror being startled by the sudden realization “I AM!”.  These rare moments started in childhood somewhere about ten years old.  The feeling is not bad particularly, but one does send me into an odd loop of thinking and self-questioning for a little while. 
 
When I really SEE myself this way thoughts rattle quickly to temporarily permeate my being.  They range from a startling “I really am here!?!?” and one of surprise like “so that is what I look like” to one of questioning in the realm of “I look very different from what my mind tells me” and “who am I?”.  It is the latter that unnerves me the most.  I think that’s because no answer ever comes that is simple enough to encapsulate in a though and in trying to find one a twinge of fear shows up.  I don’t have a “motto”, “slogan” or “self-description” that sums me up in a comfortable way. Maybe no one does.  
 
Sorting out how “who I am” is something not taught at school and is one of the most bewildering things about life.  As a small child I was seasoned by the “old-fashioned” ways taught in the isolated rural south.  By the third grade my existence was peppered with the pain of a broken family and a general lack of caring from the adults responsible for me.  Children always blame them self for the problems of their parents and as a child my response to such feelings was to build a nature of conformity.  At a time that could have been about self discovery, my self-identity was obscured and largely out of my sight. 
 
Teenage years brought a time of questioning for the majority of what I had been taught intentionally or had learned from watching adults.  My formative quizzical years from thirteen to sixteen found me perplexed about 90% of everything!  And what does a healthy, trouble teenage boy do in regard to what he does not understand?  REBELLION, of course and pretend I knew everything!

Beginning in my teen world of the late 60′s and increasingly since, media hype surrounding celebrities – their image, body shape, fashion and hair style – it has been easy to get sucked in, longing to look like, sound like, act like and be admired just like the famous faces.  The silent pressure from all around created a gnawing tension between being myself and fitting in with the people around me. 

Internally I have forever been overshadowed by a self-consciousness that grew from a concern about what others think of me. With a dread of being put down for simply being who I really was it became easy in many circumstances just to do, say and act as I thought I was expected to.  It was my way of being accepted.  

Only in recent years has my fear subsided enough to where I can consistently talk openly about my problems, what I really believe in and the things that truly matter most to me. Before I was always afraid of not being understood or I’d be thought less of.  The issues of childhood and mistakes of my adult life combined with nausea from pretending gave me the impetus to change and grow beyond the “me” I had been.  Initially with reluctance, and later with growing confidence I have allowed myself to show more and more of the person that truly is me.

Now there is a knowing if others can’t respect me for the “true me” or are going to be judgmental then they are not worth my time, energy, friendship or love.  Today my knowledge is certain that my self-identity is so much more than what I wear or do.  Rather it is made up of what I believe in, what I dream of, what standards I hold myself to and about allowing myself the freedom to live first for no one else but me. 

In many ways my education of who I am has me still in class learning. Even now the questioning of who I am and where I belong linger and swirl, but thankfully not to the point of completely clouding life in front of me.   Though hard work, lots of honest introspection and the help of many I have found confidence and strength to counter my fears. There is much gratefulness to love, rather than fear, who I am.   

“Who You Are” by Wave Carberry

You are a rare wild orchid, magically lit from within,
But warmed outside by flaming sun of passion.
You are strong, and cling tenaciously to love.
No jungle predator can tear you from your home,
For you protect your own.
But when shrieking storms have blown down
All the stable trunks of home,
And you stand swaying in the shifting wind,
Know this, my friend:
You are more than who you think.
No one can define you, or diminish you,
Even at the brink of loss and sorrow.
You fold within yourself
Seeds of growth and power,
The light of understanding.

Posted in Health, Life, Self Awareness | 1 Comment