Life

Yesterday, Tomorrow and the Power of Now

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

From one of my favorite books “The Power of Now” by Ekhart Tolle: 
A beggar had been sitting by the side of a road for over thirty years. One day a stranger walked by. “Spare some change?” mumbled the beggar, mechanically holding out his old baseball cap. “I have nothing to give you,” said the stranger. Then he asked: “What’s that you are sitting on?” “Nothing,” replied the beggar. “Just an old box. I have been sitting on it for as long as I can remember.” “Ever looked inside?” asked the stranger. “No,” said the beggar. “What’s the point? There’s nothing in there.” “Have a look inside,” insisted the stranger. The beggar managed to pry open the lid. With astonishment, disbelief, and elation, he saw that the box was filled with gold.  

I am that stranger who has nothing to give you and who is telling you to look inside. Not inside any box, as in the parable, but somewhere even closer: inside yourself.  

The “gift inside the box” is my own life and it can not be found in the past for what I recall of it is only partial fact spun with delusional memory of what happened.  My life is not in the future for nothing there has yet happened and that time will materialize far differently than any way I imagine.  My life is here and now in this very instant and no other place.  The more I am able to experience each moment of my life as it happens the sweeter the taste will be and the grander the outcome will seem. 

YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW

There are two days in every week about which we should not worry.
            Two days which should be kept free from fear and apprehension.

One of these days is yesterday with its mistakes and cares,
            Its faults and blunders, Its aches and pains.
            Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control.
            All the money in the world cannot bring back yesterday.
            We cannot undo a single act we performed.
            We cannot erase a single word we said. Yesterday is gone.

The other day we should not worry about is tomorrow.
            With its possible adversities, Its burdens, 
            Its large promise and poor performance.
            Tomorrow is also beyond our immediate control.
            Tomorrow’s Sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, 
            but it will rise.

Until it does, we have no stake in tomorrow, for it is yet unborn.
            This just leaves only one day . . . Today.
            Any person can fight the battles of just one day.
            It is only when you and I add the burdens of those two awful eternity’s –
            yesterday and tomorrow that we break down.
            It is not the experience of today that drives people mad.
            It is the remorse or bitterness for something which happened yesterday 
            and the dread of what tomorrow may bring.

Let us therefore live but one day at a time.
Author Unknown

An abstract way of looking at my life story is thinking of “today” as a comma.  Grammatically a “period” denotes an end, but a “comma” indicates a transition.  So each of my “today’s” is a transition and not an ending.  Today is the only place where my life happens. 

What lies behind you and what lies in front of you pales in comparison to what lies inside of you wrote Ralph Waldo Emerson.  Today has little to do with the yesterday I keep in distorted view over my shoulder nor does today have a lot in common with what I anticipate about the tomorrow on my foggy and distant horizon.  My life is all about today and today is found between my ears and in my heart.  It is happening  “Now” and I am grateful!

Whatever the present moment contains, accept it as if you had chosen it.  Eckhart Tolle

The Pain to Stay the Same

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

(Continuing on the theme from yesterday about personal change)

More than usual this week I have been experiencing a feeling of gratitude for the quality of my life today.  In looking over my shoulder I can see what appears now to be a somewhat straight line path that brought me from where I was to where I am.  However, from where true change began to present day the path I walked was much different.  It actually zigzagged all over with a greatly varied pace containing many stops, starts, successes and failures.     

The beginning:  “When the pain to stay the same exceeds the pain to change, you change.” 

The first time I saw those fourteen words was on a bulletin board.  They have been burned into my psyche ever since.  The initial glimpse was at the time when realizing I could not read or learn myself into life changes through applying my intellect.   I had to do the emotional work and face what I had long avoided.  

Lobsters grow by molting, or shedding their shells.  When its shell has been shed the lobster spends time under a rock or in a crevice while growing a new shell.  During that time the lobster is vulnerable without the protection of its old hard shell.        

The process of “change” caused me to feel a lot like a lobster.  For a while it had been evident to me I was stuck inside a hard shell that resulted from childhood abandonment and abuse.  It was stifling me.  I needed to shed the old casing and grow a new one.  I had to be vulnerable in order to change. Yet, doing what I needed to do felt impossible at the time.  I could not muster the courage to “jump in and do it”, but knew not changing meant I would continue to suffocate in my old shell.  

Did I muster the courage to shed the safety of my old hard outer armor plate and jump into the sea of change?  No!  I wish I could say I became brave enough to do that.  Instead life events came along and left me only with drown or swim options.  My old shell was shattered and stripped away and then “the pain to stay the same exceeded the pain to change”.  

Pain and discontent was stage one of my growth and change.  Suddenly I saw myself more clearly and could view my past at least with some accurately.  As if being slugged, the force of it crushed my shell and  figuratively “knocked the wind out of me emotionally”.  Getting knocked down and broken open was step #1.   

Admitting I had problems was stage two of my growth and change.  There had to be an end to my running away.  I had no choice but to let the issues take me over.    Opening up and allowing myself to feel the full force of what I had so long avoided was what I needed.  Accepting my issues was step #2.  

Realizing I needed help was stage three of my growth and change.  One of the effects of childhood trauma can be to become an overly self-reliant and a seemingly needless adult.  I became quite good at denying my own needs.  Seeking outside aid was rarely an allowed possibility.    Accepting that I needed help was step #3. 

Doing the work was stage four of my growth and change.  Being one who wants to begin today and have everything accomplished tomorrow, this step was difficult.  Coming to grips with my dysfunction took lots of time.  Gaining the upper hand on it took much longer and now spans years.  Putting in the time and making a long-term effort was step #4. 

Realization I was getting better was stage five of my growth and change.  At first it seemed as if nothing was changing, but over time I began to feel a little different.  Life began to taste better.  The better I got, the more I wanted.  Working past setback and disappointment without completely losing my momentum became a key for me.  Realizing I could heal was step #5. 

Real change takes a long time.  Clinical perspective says real personal change takes at least three years to be fully implemented.  That is why small changes I made and continued to repeat over a long period of time have yielded a positive impact.  On my path there has been an abundance of stubbornness and hanging on to the past combined with emotional dread and frightful depression at times.  What began with “baby steps” and became one step at a time, one day at a time has now several years later brought me to much better mental and spiritual health.  There is joy for living I have not known before. 

I am not fixed and will never be completely.  The scars will always remain, but I am better and continuing to improve.  To even try to express the quantity of thankfulness I have for my life today would be completely futile.  I am grateful to a power greater than me for the inspiration and to every person who has helped me along the way.  

Change is not made without inconvenience, even from worse to better.
Richard Hooker

100 Last Words

/ James Browning / 5 Comments

Yesterday in conversation with a friend about writing this blog, I was asked how long I had been doing it.  My response was “one hundred and twenty two days… a third of a year”.  The person then questioned “you’ve done it every single day?” to which my response was “yes” spoken with a sense of accomplishment. 

I appreciated my friend’s interest and our discussion ended with a sort of challenge.  Having only seen a few of the daily postings, she asked how long most were and I said usually around 750-1000 words.  Then her challenge came:  What would you leave behind if you had only 100 words and you knew it would be the last you’d write for your son to find.  In general my comment was I’d try to leave great advice for living, but had no specifics except “live well, love deeply and be grateful”.    

Throughout yesterday, on and off, I thought about my friend’s question.  Notes were made and I searched for inspiration, sayings and things of the sort.  The list got longer and longer and longer with the difficult part coming last night when I edited down to the essence of what I would want to leave behind for my son.  Here is what I ended up with:

You come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly. (17 words)

Gratitude is riches. Complaint is poverty.  (6 words)

There are two ways to live your life – one is as though nothing is a miracle, the other is as though everything is a miracle.  (25 words) 

Laugh your heart out.
Dance in the rain.
Cherish the moment.
Ignore the pain.
Live, laugh, love,
Forgive and forget
Life’s too short to be
Living with regrets.
(28 words) 

The richest man is not he who has the most, but he who needs the least. (16 words) 

I love you. I am proud of you. (8 words) 

Total words = 100

(In order, thoughts above are by Sam Keen, Doris Day, Albert Einstein, Unknown, Unknown, me) 

Yesterday in our little talk that originated the 100 word challenge, my friend was interested to know why I began goodmorninggratitude.com and where the inspiration came from.  My answer was I had no specific idea, but know the motivation came in large part from beyond my ability to explain.  Call it divine inspiration or what ever, but one day I woke up on a Saturday morning and knew for certain I had to do it.  Having never done a blog before, I did the homework to learn how, signed up at wordpress.com and on Monday morning, April 25, I began.   Now four months later… here I am.

Today writing blog #122 I am struck with a feeling of intense gratitude to all who find meaning in what I write here.  Hundreds now coming by daily to check out my ramblings is a humbling motivator to continue to share my thoughts every day.   I am appreciative of every reader whether this is your only visit or you frequently stop by.  Thank you for your support!

Gratitude is the fairest blossom which springs from the soul.
Henry Ward Beecher

“Superb Disputer”

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

Late last week a friend made a negative comment about how I was handling something at work.  Initially the feeling was he was right and I was not managing properly.  What I heard irritated me and I cut short the phone conversation.   From the spark of a though I got from him my mind began adding more non-flattering commenting of its own.  This continued until I was feeling pretty rotten.  I doubted myself and my ability. 

After having my friend’s thought kick around in my head for several days, I concluded he had an incorrect view of things.  Yet, for at least two days I was beating myself up and coming around to his way of thinking although I really did not agree.  To make it worse, I was piling on a bunch of my own negative thinking to what was said.  Combined, it all left me feeling lousy.  

While not always well-practiced, I learned a while ago that my world without is but a reflection of my world within.    My thoughts create the conditions my mind imagines.  Had I continued to accept what was said to me, I would have been misleading myself down a false path.  Realizing I had started doing just that walk was a wakeup call to remember to use something I know about call “superb disputing”.     

“Superb disputing” is a skill that everyone has, but is more apt to use when OTHERS accuse us wrongly.  Like any other skill, it is keenest when used regularly.  When not well-practiced, the skill can take a while to kick in as it just recently did with me.  

“Supurb Disputing “is an effective tool for inwardly sorting out my own thinking.  All I need to do is remind myself that I have a lot of control over what I think.  From experience I know I can sort my thoughts into ones worthy of further attention and the ones that are garbage and proceed accordingly. I just have to not forget I know how to do this. 

For example, I know if a friend tells me I am a lousy employee or bad father I can marshal evidence against the accusation and fire it back at him or her if I choose.  What is most important is that I know, even if I never speak a word of that knowledge to anyone else.  

How well I remember the days when I was almost completely lost in my thinking.  I believed my thoughts were “me”.  It was not that long ago when I made all sorts of negative accusations to myself, about myself many times a day.  Things were common like being headed into a party thinking “I have nothing to say.  Now one is going to like me.  Or I look terrible”…and so on.   

When negative accusations came from inside me, once upon a time I treated them mostly as if they were absolute truth.  It took a long time and consist work to realize the automatic pessimistic thoughts I had about myself were just as irrational as the ravings of a jealous rival or a well intended, but mistaken friend. 

I had to learn that unconstructive thoughts about my self do not necessarily originate in hard fact and often come from criticisms from my past.  Sometime from ones made by a parent in anger, abuse from others, a mean teacher, mocking from other kids and all sorts of life experiences, all absorbed passively.  My thoughts are frequently only my conditioned responses learned previously, mostly while growing up.   

With just a little discipline I can be a “superb disputer” of these untrue thoughts about myself.  When I look closely I often realize much of what I think about myself is utter BS and nonsense.  The process of “disputing”  helps me to stop paying attention to that type of thought.  I know I can not completely stop my mind from thinking what it will, but whether I pay lots of attention or little attention to those mental ramblings is my choice.  

Frequently I do get good and accurate input from friends and appreciate their caring very much.  However, they are not always right.  Right or wrong, today I am thankful for what my friend said.  It was a catalyst for a reawakening of a life skill .  This morning there is much gratitude for the wake-up call and being reminded to dust off my ability as a “superb disputer”.  

Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt.  William Shakespeare

Talent, Compassion, and Honor

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

There is an old fable about a young man who inherits three locked treasure chests from his father.  

One was a heavy chest marked “Talents” and was filled with ability, gold and jewels.  With it could be bought all in the world. 

The second treasure chest was even heavier and marked “Compassion”.  It was filled with magic rings that when worn, would let him feel the emotions of another. 

The third treasure chest was marked “Honor”.  It was the largest and heaviest of the three treasure chests but the contents were a mystery.   

There were two keys given to the young man.  One key was to open the chest marked “Talents” and the other was for the chest marked “Compassion”.  The instructions that came with the keys said that “Talents” and “Compassion” were meant to be used.  There was no key to the third chest and the instructions said “Honor” was a thing too easily squandered.  To have the contents of that chest the young man must find his own key. 

As the story unfolds the young man goes out into the world and uses the chest of “Talents” wisely and carefully.  Each time he did he was given a parcel of land until in time he came to possess the entire world. 

Now owning the world, the young man turned to the chest called “Compassion”.  One at a time he put the magic rings on his fingers so he could understand the hopes and fears of all the people in his world.  He became a great ruler and champion of justice. 

For the third box marked “Honor” the young man tried and tried to find a key to open the chest.  He ordered his people to find a key to open it.  None did.  Many offered to break into the chest for him, but he always refused saying violence was not a key to honor.  

After many, many years the now old man said to his people “I have not found the key to “Honor” and I can not rule this world or the hearts of the people without it.  So he began to give away what he had gained through his use the chests of “Talents” and “Compassion”.  He gave every person a piece of land and a magic ring until he had given everything away.  

Then the old man thought to himself  my “Talents” are gone and my “Compassion” is spent.  I have nothing to give to my son except this chest I can not open.  With that thought, to his amazement the lock on the chest called “Honor” suddenly fell off.  

This is when the old man knew, Honor is not something to be spent or used, but to be kept.  The key to honor is to keep it, always, and pass it on.  He was so glad he had not given in and broken into that chest.  

With the lock off the heavy chest marked “Honor”, the aging man lifted the lid and to his amazement inside he saw two more filled and heavy chests, one marked “Talents” and the other “Compassion”.  So he took those two chests out, closed the lid on “Honor” and put the lock back on that chest.  When he did it instantly became the heaviest chest of all once again.  Then the called his son to him and said “Son, I am very old, and I want you to have these three chests…..” 

And so it has been so with me.  I went in search of money, success and fame and was blessed with all three.  I obtained them in abundance but was actually more unhappy than I had been at the start.  As I grew older, experience of living and pain from my own mistakes taught me and broke the seal on my heart.  Then I began to be much more compassionate of others.  When money, success and fame were not of great meaning to me any more and when helping others became one of my primary motivations, I began to find the honor that I had sought my entire life.

So now the tattoo on my left arm of two Chinese characters that mean “Honor” are beginning to match the man whose skin they were inked upon years ago.  It is my sincere hope that my son can see clearly what I have become and through that example encourage him to pay little attention to things I once was.  Within I feel gratitude in great quantity for the insight I have today.  And in doing so I must thank the trials and tribulations that taught me the lessons that brought me to where I am.  

Character is doing the right thing when nobody’s looking.  There are too many people who think that the only thing that’s right is to get by, and the only thing that’s wrong is to get caught.  J.C. Watts

The House with Cardboard Walls

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Once upon a time in the deep South there was an old four-room clapboard house that sat on the side of a paved two-lane country road.  This house had four rooms:  living room, kitchen, bedroom and storeroom.   The toilet was a small building about fifty feet out the back door.   

This was an old house that had never been painted on the outside nor finished off on the inside.  The floors were uneven and sagged in places due to the foundation only being stacks of rocks underneath.  In the three rooms used as living space the walls and ceiling were covered with flattened out cardboard boxes that had been tacked to the rough-hewn wall studs.  In most cases the printed side of the cardboard was on the reverse side of what could be seen.  Here and there a few exceptions existed where printing for the products the boxes once contained was obvious. 

Each of the four rooms had one window with two panels of four panes of glass.  In two of the rooms a bottom panel would still raise for air a fan pulled in during the summer.  Lack of use in the two other rooms had caused the wood of the window frames to swell into the window casings making them immoveable.  

The heat for the house was supplied by a long, squatty cast iron wood stove with stove-pipe for smoke at one end that went up and out through the living room wall.   Doors were always left open into the other rooms so heat could reach there.  

One modern convenience the home did have was electricity.  The “juice” powered a single light bulb in each room that hung naked on a wire from the ceiling.  The light was turned on and off by a string that hung down from a switch on the light socket.  There was one wall outlet per room but there was little to plug into them except a B&W TV in the living room and tree lights at Christmas.   Sometimes in the winter when it got really cold the electric stove oven in the kitchen would be turned on and the door left open to add extra heat to the little old house.

The other modern comfort that had been added was running water that came from a well a few hundred yards away that was shared with two other houses.  Water was available only at the sink in the kitchen and there was very little water pressure.  What came out of the faucet was actually more like a good-sized trickle than a stream.  There was no hot water heater.

One bathed in this house by heating water on the stove then pouring it into an aluminum wash basin with a flat bottom and rounded-up sides with a half-inch lip around the top.  With small dents all over from use over a long period of time, the basin was about eighteen inches across and five inches deep in the middle.  With a bar of soap and a bath clothe one washed up.  In the winter this was usually done by the wood store which also served to heat the water in cold months. 

There were no door locks on the front and back door.  What kept each door shut was a rough “old-timey” door  latch made of unfinished bare wood with carving marks still clear on them from their making decades before. From the inside you lifted the latch from its catch to open the door.  On the outside a string was threaded through a hole in the door that one pulled to lift the latch on the inside.  A wooden spool that sewing thread had come on was nailed to the outside as a handle to pull the door shut. 

This old house was roofed with tin which caused the eves of the roof to echo with any sound that hit it. Especially noticeable was when it rained and the drops pelted the tin making a relaxing and gentle rumble.  One accustomed to the sound was eased into sleep by its calming effect. 

The front of the house had a wood porch onto which the front door opened and the living room and bedroom window looked out upon.  I know a story about how two boys, seven and five years old, got into trouble from being out on that porch.  Their mother left very early weekdays for her job in a factory making baby clothes.  The boys were awakened just as she was about to leave for work and were left to get up, get ready for school, make breakfast for themselves and catch the school bus.  The outhouse was way out back and with their Mother gone; the boys got out of bed and avoided the journey out back.  Instead the two boys proceeded out to the front porch and relieved their bladders off the side of it. 

One day a car drove by as the boys were peeing off the porch standing there in their “tidy-whities” and undershirts they slept in.  What they were doing seemed so normal to them they kept doing what they were doing and waved to the passer-by they knew.  Their Mother was NOT happy about what the boys had been doing when she was told later by the neighbor driving by who thought what the boys were doing was cute. 

How do I know all this?  I lived in this house with my Brother and my Mother for close to two years.  Vivid in my memory is how much trouble we got into for using the front porch as our bathroom.  That old house has been my reference point for all places I have lived in since all were an improvement.  However, I do have vivid gratefulness to that ancient house that still stands today although no one has lived there in a long, long while.  For a time, the old house with cardboard walls kept us dry and warm.  As humble as it was, that place sheltered us from the world and kept us safe.  For what once was a great embarrassment I now find sweet memories and much gratitude.  

Home is home, be it ever so humble.
Proverb

Photo:  Taken in 2007 of the backdoor at the actual “house with cardboard walls”

Memories of a Dear Friend

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

This morning I woke up thinking of a dear friend of 30 years who passed away last year about this time.  Ultimately not taking care of himself combined with bad habits and the unmanaged stress of a challenging life did him in.   If he cared about someone he would do just about anything for them.  Like the photo above suggests, he was great fun to be around. 

 His nickname,  “Banger”, began in reference to his first car which was a “beater”  and did not fire on all cyliders consistently.  Hearing the car nearby back firing, his friends would say “here comes the banger” which over time became adapted to be his nick name.

I met Bill at a radio station where he came to work as an Account Executive.  He was good at selling, even selling himself.  A funny story about getting the job was the listing on his resume of spending a year and a half on the road as a wholesale ceramics sales person.  That is a true statement, but lacks the detail to show that job was for a ceramic company that made bongs he peddled wholesale to head shops in the Midwest.  What makes this even more ironic is Bill never used a bong or anything of the sort in his whole life!   

Within less than a year of meeting “Banger” I was at his bachelor party.  He and his future wife had been living together and now that she was expecting he deemed it time to get married.  That was the night he introduced me to something called “purple Jesus”.  I remember clearly him showing me a good-sized new plastic trashcan about a third filled with red liquid with sliced fruit floating in it.  I asked why the name “purple Jesus” and Bill said, “drink enough of this and you’ll go see Jesus”.  After a half a glass of the stuff put me into orbit, I stopped short of going forward to test his prediction.  What was it?  A concoction of red Hawaiian punch and grain alcohol with sliced oranges and limes floating in it.      

Bill would never say exactly, but I have always wondered in what measure was love his motivation to marry as compared to a sense of doing what he thought was right.  I do know he had a high sense of honor and he loved both his children.  By the time he had two sons a few years into elementary school he was divorced.  He never remarried. 

The heart wrenching part of Bill’s life was when his youngest son was diagnosed with Muscular Dystrophy.  The boy was six or seven years old when the doctors made the determination.  Clearly I recall over time watching the disease progress.  One scene vivid in memory was when Bill came to visit one afternoon and both his boys were playing with my son.  All three had gone up stairs which the son with MD negotiated with some difficulty going up, but to get down my friend had to carry him.  Soon the boy was in a wheel chair. 

 Within a year or so Bill was the parent the boys lived with full-time.  He took good care of them as best he knew how and was especially devoted to the younger one bound to a wheel chair whose disease progressed slowly but steadily.  The young man was smart and always quick to smile.  He had a bunch of friends, of which one or two were there just about always when I dropped by.  He shook hands with two presidents and was a “poster child” for MD twice.  What he told his Father consistently was when things got to where he could not breathe unless hooked to a machine; he wanted Bill to let him go.  That time came when the younger son was around 20 and in the hospital only able to breathe with mechanical aid.  He told his Dad it was time and within two days the young man was gone.  

Bill had always been a drinker and as his boy’s illness grew worse, Bill’s intake grew.  He was not someone who got sloshed in public and got into trouble.  Instead he did it quietly mostly in the evening, often after the boys were asleep.  “Banger” smoked and did not watch his weight and became heavier and heavier as the years passed.  By the time he accepted his health was in trouble it was too late except to buy a little time.  Quitting smoking and drinking did extend his life a while, but living with 10% liver function did not present a lot of hope.  Bill was on a transplant list, but was never healthy enough for the surgery. 

For over a decade my friend and I lived hundreds of miles apart, but stayed in close touch mostly with frequent phone calls and I visited him about once a year.  He drove out to see me twice.  The last year of his life hospital visits were frequent, but he always came through .  Some of us close to him swear it was on pure stubbornness!  

Bill passed away on a Tuesday and late the week before my mobile phone rang and answering I heard a soft and weary voice say “how you doing boy?”  I told him I was doing well and he replied “I just needed to hear your voice Brother”.  I asked how he was doing.  His said he was struggling and that even getting up to get to the bathroom was a major chore.  Bill did not give me a chance to say much more.  He said he was very tired and had to go.  Then again he told me he called to just hear my voice.  Some of his very last words to me were “I love you Brother” to which I replied “I love you too “Banger”.  Then with a couple of “talk to you later’s” the less than 60 second call was over.  I know now what Bill did, but probably didn’t consciously know himself; he called to tell me goodbye.  My gratitude that he did exceeds my ability to express it.  

He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If you wake, he cannot sleep;
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
Richard Barnfield

Who Lingers in Your Heart?

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

I have a very insightful friend who wrote me an email yesterday and in it she said:   I often wonder in your heart, who it is that lingers there, who it is that still has your love but does not know it.  Whoever she is, she is lucky and hope one day if it is God’s will your hearts will connect again and it will be so great for you James.  I know you are not looking, but I feel inside you hope for her.  I do not know this, I just have a feeling you have someone you still love and cannot get out of your heart, probably because she still belongs there…   

When I read what my friend wrote, with hardly any thought I knew the answer to her question.  It was simply “Yes, there is one who lingers in my heart and the name is______.”  Initially my thinking went just to one person but quickly afterwards came the realization of varying sized pieces of love remain in my heart for many others as well.  My thoughts widened from at first thinking only of romantic love to a broader view of the many that have a place in my heart.  

I am first and foremost who I am genetically who has been molded and shaped by my life experience.  After that I am a collection of bits and pieces borrowed from a myriad of different people.  Some things borrowed are buried within me to where my awareness no longer touches them.  Others left a legacy labeled within me clearly with their name. 

From “Love is never a mistake” by Z. Smith
Love is never a mistake, never wasted, nor lost, even if it seems to go nowhere… Love has divine, everlasting qualities, and rewards beyond measure…  Love, and loving feelings are divine expansions of your own true nature, and always good and worthy and right…  

I have been blessed to have loved and borrowed and learned from many people I cherish.  The scope and meaning varies from large to small, but in no particular order here are some people I loved and learned from, each in a specific way. 

From a young teacher I idolized in 6th grade I borrowed his habit of wearing a wrist watch “upside down” with the watch face on the palm side of my arm.  He taught me how much fun learning is.   

From my beloved Grandfather I borrowed a saying: “Putting things in writin’ keeps friendly folks, friendly”.  That has always been especially interesting to me since he could not read or write and my grandmother had to read everything to him.   From him I learned about imperfection and honor. 

From the first girl to find her way into my heart and broke it when I was a teenager, I borrowed the knowledge that relationships end, but some of the love always remains.  She opened the door to learning what love is. 

From my business “father” and mentor in my 20’s I borrowed a saying that he had framed and hung on his office wall (and now hangs on mine): “There is nothing that can’t be accomplished as long as we don’t care who gets the credit”.  From him I learned how to be a leader of people. 

From two old friends, now passed on, I borrowed good feelings for the holiday season.  My friend Bill, who had a very difficult life, always signed his Christmas card with “Happy Hoot and Holler Days”.  Just typing that makes me smile inside and out with delight.  My friend Jan who, always wanted children but was never able to have any, loved Christmas so much that decorations were up year round in her home and during the season there was a tree of some kind in every room, including bathrooms!  From both I learned the power joy has over sadness.  

From my 1st wife I borrowed how to take care of and support someone from the way she did me.  I learned about helping another find some order and sense about life.  I learned from her about giving.  

From my 2nd wife I learned what it is like to love with all of one’s self.  Even through all the pain involved in the ending of the marriage I will be ever grateful for that lesson.  From her I learned loving without reservation. 

Through my son, I learned how to love without any uncertainty.  Since the day he came into the world there as never been a question of my feelings for him and there never will be.  From him I learned how to love fully and wholly.  

From my best friends  M. and C., I borrowed how to be a best friend to someone by the friend they have been to me.  Any time of the day or night I know either would be there for me no matter what.  From them I learned that friendship isn’t a big thing – it’s a million little things.

There are so many I could mention here, but space allows me to go no further.  Yet, I realize this is a good subject to revisit in the future and acknowledge others who left a thread of themself in the fabric of who I am.  For those mentioned here and those not yet written about who helped shape me into the person I am, I say “thank you”.   I am very grateful. 

I almost forgot…. Who is the “one” I thought of when reading what my friend wrote and included at the start of this blog?  I will only say I am very grateful to that person and will write one day here about them.  Just not yet, but I promise I will. 

Love is never a mistake it is either a very good relationship or an even better lesson. Sariah Lynne

Oklahoma Weather: Frozen and Fried Gratitude

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

When I moved to Oklahoma almost 14 years ago from Ohio, one of the things noticed and first enjoyed was the amount of days that were sunny.  Of course, there are tornadoes, but mostly in other parts of the state and not here in Tulsa.  My first summer included discovery of regular temperatures above 100 degrees Fahrenheit.  I learned there is usually less than a dozen days such days each year.  I was consoled though by being able to get rid of my almost new snow blower before moving.  In Tulsa they convinced me I would never need it.  Yea, right!   

A realization within a few years of relocating was letting go of the snow blower was a mistake.  Four to eight inches of snow multiple times a year became common by my third winter on the plains.   Then there was the ice storm in 2007 that paralyzed the city as most people lost electric service.  Schools were closed and many businesses could not open.  Where I lived electricity was out for five days.  For many others it was much longer. 

Early this year so many 2011 winter records were set it is difficult to keep track of them all.  Here’s a sample:
* -12F  in Tulsa (a first time below zero in 15 years)
* -26F  in Bartlesville (45 miles north)
* -31F in Nowata (50 miles northwest) 
* Record snowfall for one day (14 inches)
* Record snowfall for one month (23 inches)
* Record snowfall for winter season (26.6 inches)
* All Oklahoma counties declared a disaster 

OK.  We made it through the winter with a bit of complaining and wishing for summer weather.  For people who live where it snows a lot each winter like Boston or Denver or where it gets really cold such as North Dakota or Minnesota, we probably appear to be wimps.  The difference is such winter weather is expected and normal there.  Here that is not so.  We have very limited snow removal equipment, homes are no insulated for below zero temperatures and in general we don’t know how to deal with serious winter weather.  A foot of snow in Tulsa brings the city to a screaming halt for days! 

Winter passed and spring arrived and set new records for rainfall.  May contained hellish tornadoes for nearby cities a hundred miles away in Joplin and Oklahoma City. 

On June 28th, seven days after summer began,Tulsa set a record temperature of 106F and that was just the beginning:
Summer of 2011 Tulsa has been the 4th hottest city in America (behind Lubbock, Oklahoma City and Raleigh).
* 40 days over 100F degrees, so far (average is 11.4 days)
* Record high temperature of 115F degrees in Tulsa
* Average Tulsa high in July, 2011 = 107F (average is 94F)
* Severe drought
* 74 of 77 counties receive disaster declaration

One of the jokes here about the summer weather is God sent it because we complained so much about the bad winter.  I assure you there were days in the last few months when we wished for a record snow fall or a record low to revisit.  

One may wonder, what do these weather stats have to do with gratitude.  There is something about being shaken out of my comfort zone that causes me more awareness of being alive and what is going on around me.  During those times I become more highly cognizant of what I have to be thankful for.  The extreme weather has been a catalyst for much gratefulness this year. 

During the winter I am thankful my home was warm and cozy as was my work.   I am grateful to have plenty of clothes that kept me warm when I had to be out in the cold and snow.  Through all the bad weather I remained safe, as did those I care about.  In general the season passed without incident and was only an inconvenience for me.  Now it remains only as some remarkable weather I will talk about for years. 

As for the summer, a close friend lost an aunt in the Joplin tornado which is an abrupt reminder of how fragile life is.  I am grateful to be alive to write here today.  I am thankful where I live and work is well air conditioned, as is my car.  I have a more than ample supply of cool summer clothing. The grass and landscaping at my home will grow back given time.  And so on my gratefulness goes…. 

Over time as I have made self-inquiry of what I am grateful for a daily practice, what I find to be thankful for increases steadily.  As corny as it sounds, I am even learning to be grateful for the difficulty and challenge that comes my way.  If not so at the moment during it, certainly afterward in reflection, gratefulness always comes.  

To educate yourself for the feeling of gratitude means to take nothing for granted, but to always seek out and value the kind that will stand behind the action.  Nothing that is done for you is a matter of course.  Everything originates in a will for the good, which is directed at you.  Train yourself never to put off the word or action for the expression of gratitude.  Albert Schweitzer

Apology to Anna

/ James Browning / 4 Comments

What sort of ass would ask a woman to marry him while engaged to another woman and let an announcement in the paper be how she found out?  I am not exactly sure what kind of man he was, but I know him.  He was me.  

Only two women and their families know this story and until now I have not had the courage to admit it to others.  I began writing this blog in an effort to become more self-aware, especially of what I have to be grateful for.  Quite often I come to know thankfulness through revealing a misstep or mistake and finding a bit of resolution and peace.  In writing here today I am keeping my promise to dig down deep within and come face to face with my behavior in my past.  I don’t blame anyone who reads what I write here today and thinks less of me. However through telling this story I hope I can let go of some heavy regret and think a little better of myself. 

Talk about lost and confused, I was so baffled and bewildered in my early 20’s.  Today I find that to be a flimsy excuse however for hurting any one the way I did.  Wrong is wrong!  There is no changing that.  

Yes, I had a difficult childhood, but so did others who in spite of it grew up to behave better than I have at times.  In my younger years I meant no harm, but did a lot of it others anyway.  Thinking about disappointing someone or hurting another has always been near impossible for me to bear.  The thought of it is paralyzing, but was especially so years ago.  My inability to break up with a girl caused me to hurt her far more than I would have had I ended the relationship as I should have.  It is my hope that by writing here today I can finally get some reprieve for the burden of guilt and shame I have carried for over 30 years.  

I was 19 and living  in Colorado Springs when I met Anna at a concert a few days after I got out of the hospital for reasons that are another story for another time.  Anna was 17 and almost done with her junior year of high school when we met that spring.  After dating for a short while we moved into an exclusive relationship before she started her senior year.  By the time she graduated, we got engaged.  

Anna’s family welcomed me openly and treated me very well.  She was kind, caring and fun to be with.  For over a year I was her faithful and loyal fiancé, but as was so often the case in my past life, given time I strayed.  The person I met and started also seeing was the woman I ended up being married to for 20+ years.  I should have told Anna, but I just couldn’t.  I should have let her go, but was weak and did not.  To this day my actions, or rather lack of them, haunts me to the very core of my being.  

Also I was unfair to Bobbie, the “other” woman who married me.  When she and her family found out about what I had done it was very embarrassing for them.  She almost did not marry me.  She deserved better, but she got the “me I was then” instead.  We’ve been divorced for years now, but once in a while something with our son brings us together again.  One of those times when I can summon the courage, I will apologize to her.  

Recently I came an across a line of thinking that fits well why I am sharing what I am today. The passage goes something like “Good people end up living their life in hell because they can not forgive themselves”.  That type of hell on earth is well-known to me.  I am hopeful by my self admission here I can let go of a piece of self-induced torment I have lived with for so many years. 

Today I come here to publicly apologize to Anna and ask for her forgiveness although I doubt she will ever be aware I have written this (but I hope somehow she finds out).  I was completely and thoroughly wrong in how I conducted myself.   I very much regret the lack of respect and caring I showed her and her family.  Anna, I am deeply sorry I hurt you.    

From the song “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always one reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
I need some distraction
Oh beautiful release
Memory seeps from my veins
Let me be empty
And weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight. 

Three words, eight letters, so difficult to say,
They’re stuck inside of me, they try and stay away.
But this is too important to let them have their way.
I need to do it now, I must do it today.
I am sorry.
Author Unknown