People

Once Upon a Time in the Hills of Alabama

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

An old book of rhymes I bought for two dollars by a forgotten local Tulsa poet stirred some distant memories as I thumbed through the pages this morning. He wrote of things before my time I often could not relate directly to like when the ice man brought ice to his house, sleeping on a feather mattress or the conductor on a night train. Some of my grammar school year memories from around five decades ago will be just as unfamiliar today to any “young’un”. Even to me some seem far-fetched or made up when I tell the stories, even through they are truth or at least truth as I remember it.

Clearly I remember the old alcoholic who would buy bottles of lemon extract flavoring at the country store. Being high in alcohol content he’d be plastered from drinking it and be laying in the weeds singing within a quarter-mile from the store happily lost in his oblivion.  Eventually the store stopped selling the stuff to him.

My 5th grade teacher was Miss Pittman and as the prefix implied she had never married. At least 60 years of age, she lived in the rundown teacher dorm behind the high school with one other “old maid” female teacher. By the time I got to high school she had passed on and the dorm was torn down. I wonder how she would feel today about me recalling her as the meanest teacher I ever had!

There was Dick Butterworth who liked us kids. Weekdays he was a local laborer and on weekends he was a professional happy drunk. On Saturday when he was high on booze we kids could convince him of just about anything. Once my brother, two cousins and I had him believing there was a little man who lived in the well by the store. He had a flash light and was looking down trying to find him in the well. Thinking back I am glad here was a cinder block housing around the well or he would have fallen in!

When I was six my father, mother, little brother and I went on a Sunday to visit my Mom’s first cousin in prison where he had been sent for moon shining. Clearly I recall a bucket on a rope being lowered by from a guard tower for car keys to be placed and surrendered during the visit. And inside the fence in the outdoor family picnic area the barbed wire at the top made me uneasy even as a child. That experience probably has a little to do with why I have never been arrested and kept myself straight with the law.

There was a milk cow my grandparents had they called “ole three tit”. There should have been four on her and I never knew if the missing one was from an accident or genetics. I had been told the cow did not like kids. Being the bull-headed boy I have always been there was no problem going against what I had been told and heading to the barn at milking time. I will never forget the cow coming after me and my grandmother protecting me with a two by four she wacked the old girl with! I got in trouble but did not get hurt. My Papa (grandfather) took “ole three tit” to the cattle sale within a week or two.

Raising chickens was big business on the farm and there were two “chicken” houses longer than a football field and probably forty feet wide. In between grown ones being taken away and chicks being delivered was a few weeks where the fertilizer laden (OK chicken poop laden) sawdust on the floor was changed out. On a rainy day during such times my brother and I would hunt rats that fed on the ground corn the chickens were fed. And I mean RATS not mice! When we got one, which was not often, you’d think we had bagged big game in Africa.

A clothes pin and a piece of cardboard or playing card placed correctly could make a bicycle sound kind of like a motorcycle. At least we thought so. But to get a temporary throaty engine sound nothing worked better than tying a balloon so it interacted with the spokes. It lasted only a short while until the balloon wore through, but in those moments I felt like I was on a Harley!

Or there was George Parker who spoke with a speech impediment and dipped snuff. I saw him many times spit the nasty stuff in the top breast pocket of his overalls. That’s makes my face scrunch up even now thinking about it. Or I remember the time Bud Stansell and his wife were robbed by escaped convicts that the police caught in a cornfield within sight of my grandparent’s house. Bud’s head was bandaged up from where they had hit him and I learned a new “cuss-word” or two as he spoke his mind while the highway patrolmen loaded the prisoners up.

Memory is clear when my Dad ran a country store and after closing time some of his buddies would show up so they all could drink beer and play bluegrass music around the wood stove heater in back.  Another relic of times past is “The Lord Provides Shinebone Valley Country Store” pictured at the top.

Growing up, all I wanted was to leave the rural south behind as far as possible. As an adult I made that wish come true. I have come to realize that as a child I was witness to the last of a way of life in rural Shinbone Valley, Alabama that had not changed much in a century and a half. That old way of life is almost completely gone now. Interstates, TV, air travel and the like helped bring about rapid change that I have embraced and enjoyed. However, I will always be grateful for the unique memories I have from my childhood that for their time were as good as anything Mark Twain ever wrote about.

Don’t you wish you could take a single childhood memory
and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?
Sarah Addison Allen

Soldier’s Prayer

/ James Browning

My intent it not to honor war or the politics that often fester their eruption.  My purpose here is not to talk of what is right to do about foreign tyrants or those that carry out evil against their countrymen.  This is not a monologue of what is right and wrong and what should have or should not have been done.  What I put here today, one day after Veteran’s Day is my tribute to the men and women who willingly have gone into the darkness of battle and conflict in the name of country, family and countrymen.      

A Soldier’s Prayer By Joanna Fuchs
Lord, wrap your arms around me
In this hostile, brutal place;
Let me draw peace and comfort
From your restful, sweet embrace.

Help me do my duty
To uphold what is right;
Give me strength and courage
Each day and every night.

Lord, hear this soldier’s prayer
To You in heaven above;
Protect me with your power,
And sustain me with your love. 

Often I have thought it was good fortune not to have been drafted to serve in the war of my youth: Vietnam.  My friends and family who went came back mostly whole, but for so many that was not true.  Well aware I am of how the men and women who were called to go there never received the credit, honor or respect due them.  I was against that war, but never against those who served.  Any time I see a Vet wearing something that indicates he/she served in ‘Nam I always thank them for their service.  To a person each and every one has been grateful.  Every single one!  Far too little appreciation has been given to those people. 

Taken from “Welcome Home and I Love You!” by Eileen Breedlove 
When you pass by a Vet
that made it home,
or hear of a brother
that is lost in Nam.

Open your hearts
and show them respect.
They gave of themselves
and they did their best.
WELCOME HOME!

Taken from “In Your Honor” by Anonymous
Unselfishly, you left your fathers and your mothers.
You left behind your sisters and your brothers.
Leaving your beloved children and wives,
You put on hold, your dreams, your lives.

On foreign soil, you found yourself planted
To fight for those whose freedom you granted.

Without your sacrifice, their cause would be lost
But you carried onward, no matter the cost.

When it was over, you all came back home
Some were left with memories to face alone.

Those who survived were forever scarred
Emotionally, physically, permanently marred.

With a hand upon my heart, I feel
The pride and respect; my reverence is revealed.
Every day, I give my utmost admiration
To those who fought to defend our nation.

For all U.S. personnel who served in Vietnam or were deployed before or after to fight, protect or advise in places like Nicaragua, El Salvador, Grenada, Iraq, Panama, Kuwait, Somalia, Serbia, Bosnia, Afghanistan and all the other locales known and the ones we likely will never know:  THANK YOU.  You have my deep respect and gratitude.   

In war, there are no unwounded soldiers.  José Narosky

Over and Over Again

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Becoming involved in recent months in a seemingly “normal” relationship lends sharp contrast to some in my past.  In retrospect I now can easily see I have had a penchant to allow some women into my life who were what Julia Cameron called “Crazymakers” in her book “The Artist’s Way”.  She wrote Crazymakers are those personalities that create storm centers. They are often charismatic, frequently charming, highly inventive and powerfully persuasive. Crazymakers create dramas–but seldom where they belong.

Crazymakers are addicted to drama and when there is none around, the will create some, usually at someone else’s expense.  The closer you are to a crazymaker the more frequent and intense the commotion of the “drama-storms” will be.

How a Crazymaker operates is obvious, but usually not seen for what it is.  For example, having a partner who is always late getting ready to go out at first seems only to be a bad habit.  However, looking a little deeper at how absolutely consistent this happens it is easier to spot the crazymaking of the behavior.  No matter what, Crazymakers will always make you late and think little of it.  In some weird way this always-late practice seems to give them some sense of importance and control.

Another trait that a person involved with a Crazymaker will run into is the complete lack of respect for another’s schedule.  It did not matter to such a person if I was at work and 15 minutes before a hugely important meeting.  The Crazymaker would call and just push that fact aside and begin to unload or launch a tirade.  Being narcissistic in nature they just can’t see how their ill timed behavior is inappropriate.

Crazymakers are devilishly charming.  Do you know anyone who has been stopped for speeding a dozen times but never got a ticket?  There’s a good chance this charmer is a Crazymaker.  At the surface they are almost always  incredibly interesting and appealing.

Crazymakers believe they are somehow unique and different than others. They expect special treatment and make demands in absolute terms putting themselves ahead of others.  Telling another person what that person “will” and “will not do” is a common trait.

Crazymakers have little respect for boundaries and have some notion that rules and boundaries don’t apply to them.  In their self perceived specialness they are mostly blind to other’s needs.  I could be deeply involved in a work project I brought home and be completely derailed beginning with a question like “I know you said you had to focus on your work thing, but I can I ask you one little question?”  Seems innocent enough, but rarely turned out that way.

Crazymakers are the type of people with a thousand ideas, often including some good ones.  They are also the ones who never get much past starting on them, if they even get that far.  Something will always happen they can blame that prevented them from moving forward.  They finish almost nothing they begin.  And they begin only a few things.  Mostly they just talk and daydream.

Crazymakers hate order and thrive on chaos.  Given time one can make any given situation a hurricane of disorder.  Sometimes this is done to bring attention to them self.  At other times it is to take attention off others and toward them.  Often sorry later, this sort of person does not learn from their past behavior and regularly repeats it.

Crazymakers are expert blamers.  Nothing is ever their fault.  Even the things they do will gets reassigned elsewhere as they explain why their actions have little to do with them and all to do with someone else.  In their mind you  made them to it!

I say all that to simply say, I am grateful to be able to now usually spot Crazymakers and put up an effective personal boundary against them.  I learned the hard way.  By keeping Crazymakers out of my life, an amazing thing begins to happen:  clarity!  Now no longer on the drama rollercoaster it is much easier to see a “normal” person when they come into my path.  I am very grateful.

Insanity:  doing the same thing over and over again
and expecting different results.
Albert Einstein

A Little Richer These Days

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

In recent times I made a remark similar to “when it comes to relationships I think I am up to about age 16 now”.  In the majority of settings of my life I am a mature and successful man, but in affairs of the heart I am just now starting to get the hang of it.  Hang of what?  Answer: ingredients that a make up a good relationship with a woman. 

The following comes from an on line article titled “Differences Between Men and Women” at http://www.relationship-institute.com/freearticles_detail.cfm?article_ID=151 

WOMEN: 

  • Women value love, communication, beauty and relationships.
  • A woman’s sense of self is defined through their feelings and the quality of their relationships. They spend much time supporting, nurturing and helping each other. They experience fulfillment through sharing and relating.
  • Personal expression, in clothes and feelings, is very important. Communication is important. Talking, sharing and relating are how a woman feels good about herself.
  • For women, offering help is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength; it is a sign of caring to give support.
  • Women are very concerned about issues relating to physical attractiveness; changes in this area can be as difficult for women as changes in a man’s financial status.
  • When men are preoccupied with work or money, women interpret it as rejection. 

MEN 

  • A man’s sense of self is defined through his ability to achieve results, through success and accomplishment. Achieve goals and prove his competence and feel good about him self.
  • For men, doing things by themselves is a symbol of efficiency, power and competence.
  • In general, men are more interested in objects and things rather than people and feelings.
  • Men rarely talk about their problems unless they are seeking “expert” advice; asking for help when you can do something yourself is a sign of weakness.
  • Men are more aggressive than women; more combative and territorial.
  • Men’s self esteem is more career-related.
  • Men feel devastated by failure and financial setbacks; they tend to obsess about money much more than women
  • Men hate to ask for information because it shows they are a failure. 

At a glance it appears women may got the better end of that deal!  In a general sense all that is listed rings with at least some truth for me.     

I far from a person who can offer lots of sage wisdom about relationships based on successful experience, but one thing I have learned for certain:  Generally, women want to be listened to and men are frequently terrible listeners.  Women often don’t tell a man a problem to try to get a man to fix it.  Whether in a relationship or in the working environment often a women just wants a man to hear what she has got to say.  Advice and help will get asked for if she wants needs it.  It took me a long time to understand I was not expected to always offer advice and possible solutions.  All I needed to do was pay attention and listen.   Seems so simple.  (It is!  Just do it!)

As has been hinted at in days past I have begun a relationship that I have much hope for.  The pace is slow and unhurried as we simply enjoy each other’s company and come to know one other.  I am thankful to not feel rushed or in a hurry and to feel like a hopeful teenage again.  Getting to know someone slowly is something I am enjoying a great deal.   It’s been months now and my life feels a little richer these days… I am very grateful!

Take a chance and never let go.
Risk everything… lose nothing.
Don’t worry about anything anymore.
Cry in the rain and speak up loud.
Say what you want and love who you want.
Be yourself and not what people want to see
Never blame anyone if you get hurt
Because you took the risk and you decided
Who was worth the while.
anonymous

Letting Go

/ James Browning

For much of my life I was one of those men women need to be a bit wary of. I don’t believe I was ever a truly bad guy, well not too bad anyway. Rather I was driven by unresolved childhood insecurity, abandonment and abuse that created a compulsion and need to get women to come closer and be interested in me. Underneath, at least on my part, there was frequently a sexual tinge to my interactions with many women. Nothing is offered here as an excuse, but rather as an explanation. I hold myself responsible for all my actions. Bad behavior is bad behavior no matter how explainable the motivation.

I truly am different now. Maybe different is not the correct word since I know such things used to go on and the memory of it all is still in me. A better way of stating my more recent attitude and behavior is I have grown up and matured.  No longer do I carry within a mind that operates like that of a hormonal male teenager on the make most all the time. FINALLY, it is possible for me to just be a friend to a woman. Hallelujah!

This way of being has allowed me to make a few real friendships with women. Through these relationships I am gaining a new understanding of myself and specifically the female gender. I am learning! Previously I allowed sexual involvement to stunt or destroy what could have been caring friendships. I regret those losses. “No more” is my strong and sincere intention and promise to my self. When neither is on the “prowl” and a man and woman can openly be themselves it is not just educational, but endearing and downright fun!

Within the last six months P. and me met and over time have become friends like what is possible between a brother and sister. This sort of a friendship is new for me and something I am very grateful for. Of a sort she has become a good teacher even though I don’t believe that is her intention or that she is even aware of it. Last evening P. and I grabbed dinner together. We ran out of time long before we ran out of words and we laughed our asses off (no wonder they stopped seating people close around us).

Several times when I have seen P. I have given her a book and last night she came bearing a gift for me: the heart you see pictured at the top. She knows the hell I have put myself through in my past and how shattered my heart became. P. also knows a special woman has come into my life that has rekindled the brightness of my heart and ignited a spark within. How wonderful it is to have a “sis” who is encouraging and understands my heart is like the one in the photo: shattered but reassembled, whole again, but fragile. Her gift told me without words she was saying everything from “be careful” to “I am glad for you” and from “I see the spark in you when you talk about K.” to “I will kick her ass if she hurts you”.

How wonderfully blessed I am to be able to let the past go so I can embrace the present. I am grateful for the wisdom and ability that age and experience has brought me to where I can have a friend and “sister” like P. Further, I am humbly thankful for the condition today of my heart that allows someone special like K. to come close. For both women and other female friends I am grateful for their presence in my life without the ability to put that gratitude into exact words except to say “thank you;  thank you very much”.

Letting Go
To let go doesn’t mean to stop caring;
It means I can’t do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off…
It’s the realization that I can’t control another…
To let go is not to enable,
but to allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness,
which means the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try and change or blame another,
I can only change myself.
To let go is not to care for, but to care about.
To let go is not to fix, but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
but to allow another to be a human being.
To let go is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes,
but to allow others to affect their own outcomes.
To let go is not to be protective,
it is to permit another to face reality.
To let go is not to deny, but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold, or argue,
but to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
but to take each day as it comes and cherish the moment.
To let go is not to criticize and regulate anyone,
but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
but to grow and live for the future.
To let go is to fear less and love more.
Author Unknown

No Guarantees, No Time Outs, No Second Chances.

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

My Mother imparted very little wisdom to me in my growing up years.  A person can’t give their children what they don’t have themself.  Mostly I learned from her what not to do.  I know she meant no harm, but the legacy she helped to create for me made adulthood challenging at times (OK, truthfully… hell at times).  Forgiveness was hers from me long ago.  I bear no ill-will or anger toward her today, but even after all this time I wish to have nothing to do with my Mother (nor does 3 of 4 of my siblings).  One of the best self-care moves a person can make is to sometimes keep another out of their life.

When I was sixteen years old I do remember one jewel of wisdom my Mother shared with me.  The time was my first real heartbreak and I was sitting on the living room couch crying a little but trying to hold it back so no one would notice.  My Mother walked through the room, saw something was up and asked what was going on.  I told her my girlfriend had broken my heart and did not want to be with me any more.  Her reply was something like “there will be lots of girls in your life until you find the one you are able to give your whole heart to.  It’s a process of elimination.  You’ll have to go through the ones that hurt you and aren’t a good fit in order to find a girl deserving of your whole heart”.

I am confident she was not thinking I would be in my 50’s, single and still waiting for the experience of giving my whole heart to someone.  There have been a few women who loved me and were deserving of my whole heart, but I was unable to give it.  In recent years I have done well dealing with my “stuff”.   Being healthier mentally and shaking off most of the childhood crap has opened up to the world to me as never before.  My chances are getting better each day such a thing as giving my whole heart to someone can yet happen for me in this life time. 

What brought all this up in my thoughts was a passage I came across that most often has the author noted as “anonymous” but sometimes the thoughts are attributed to Matti Nykanen, a ski jumper from Finland who won several Olympic medals in the 80’s.  No matter who wrote it, there is raw truth and deep wisdom to be found in the following seven sentences.   

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn’t supposed to ever let us down, probably will.

You’ll have your heart broken and you’ll break others’ hearts.

You’ll fight with your best friend or maybe even fall in love with them, and you’ll cry because time is flying by.

So take too many pictures, laugh too much, forgive freely, and love like you’ve never been hurt.

Life comes with no guarantees, no time outs, no second chances.

You just have to live life to the fullest, tell someone what they mean to you and tell someone off, speak out, dance in the pouring rain, hold someone’s hand, comfort a friend, fall asleep watching the sun come up, stay up late, be a flirt, and smile until your face hurts.

Don’t be afraid to take chances or fall in love and most of all; live in the moment because every second you spend angry or upset is a second of happiness you can never get back.

Had someone asked if I was being true to these thoughts twenty years ago, I would have said “Yes”.  From the perspective of today I know such a statement would have been delusional.  While I can’t speak for anyone but me, I know for certain my 20’s, 30’s and my 40’s were fraught with misapprehension.  That’s the thing about delusion… it can only exist if one can’t see it.  Here at 50-something I don’t pretend to have shaken the foggy filters off completely, but I do have much better clarity than ever before.  Truly I am the most ready for what life brings.  I am grateful to be standing in the doorway of the life I have waited for!

It’s not who you are that holds you back,
it’s who you think you’re not.  
Unknown

Time is Limited

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

I had an awareness of Steve Jobs while he lived and knew he was an amazing guy. My respect for him was solidified when viewing a video of a speech he gave at the 2005 graduation at Stanford not long after one of the times he beat cancer. Now with his passing and more material coming to light about his life, my opinion is evolving. In greater depth I have come to know he wasn’t perfect, but he was damn good!

From an article in USA Today, Wednesday October 10, 2011: “There’s a phrase in Buddhism – ‘beginner’s mind’ – it’s wonderful to have a beginner’s mind,” Jobs would tell people. This means approaching things without any preconceived notions, judgments or expectations, just like a child. It was the core of his innovations and what fundamentally made him such an original thinker. He was not remotely afraid to experiment, and more important, not afraid to lose either. He once said, “I am the only person I know that’s lost a quarter of a billion dollars in one year… its very character building”. He never equated failing with being a failure.

In death, some people get eulogized beyond what resembles the life that was lived. That does not seem to be necessary with Steve Jobs.  He was the “real deal”. Not everyone loved him, but few did not respect him.

Steve Jobs was fully human and had flaws. As early as 1981, Macintosh project founder Jef Raskin wrote a note to Apple president Mike Scott complaining:
Jobs regularly misses appointments
He acts without thinking and with bad judgment
He does not give credit where due
Jobs often reacts ad hominem (with feelings rather than intellect)
He makes absurd and wasteful decisions by trying to be paternal
He interrupts and doesn’t listen
He does not keep promises or meet commitments
He makes decisions ex cathedra (by virtue of one’s position)
Optimistic estimates
Jobs is often irresponsible and inconsiderate

There are stories that include Steve getting mad and firing employees on the spot. One particular account that has made the rounds has him firing someone on an elevator and another tells about how he let someone go for bringing him the wrong type of mineral water. There are lots of tales about Steve Jobs. Often they are likely to be exaggerations, but many of them are probably based in some truth as well.

When my time comes for a few stories to be told after I am gone I wonder what they will be. Will the stories be about moments when I was emotional or irrational and made bad choices? Or will they be about the times when I was creative and originated some semblance of original thought? Will what is said be about me as a person or my professional persona? Will those who respect me be the story tellers or will it be the naysayers who never “got me” who spin the tales? The answer? Both I imagine. You know, it really won’t matter much to me then.  I’ll be DEAD!

Steve Jobs was quoted as saying “Death is very likely the single best invention of life. Almost everything, all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure: These things just fall away in the face of death.”

In the Stanford Speech Jobs said “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life… Have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”

At 5.8 decades of life, more than ever I am aware that “time is limited”. However, I am more grateful for my remaining days than I have ever been before. A discovery of recent months is one of the best uses of some of my limited time is to come here each day and express my thanks for another day of life. Thank you for sharing the journey with me and witnessing the growth of my gratitude. 

If you can’t get rid of the skeleton in your closet, you’d best teach it to dance.  George Bernard Shaw

It’s Never Too Late; There’s Always Time

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Years ago I read Mitch Albom’s book “Tuesdays with Morrie”.  The novel touched me deeply and I eagerly bought Albom’s “The Five People You Meet in Heaven” when first I came across it in a book store.  Last week I bought a copy of the movie made of the latter from a bargain bin.  I previously did not recall the book was ever even made into a movie!

There are those little moments when just what I need comes to me at the moment I need it. Whether such times are the work of God and the Universe or pure chance and coincidence does not change the effect (although I like to think it is some combination of both). Watching “The Five People You Meet in Heaven” last night was one of those times.

I left work during the mid-afternoon yesterday because a bout of moderate depression was about halfway through its usual 2-3 day run.  Little was getting accomplished; I could not concentrate. Depression has a unique way of accentuating all I feel has not been right about my life and lowering hope for the future to a dim and distant light.  From experience I know intellectually what is going on, yet that does little to hinder the torrent of clouds and dark feeling that come over me.

OK… all you macho types are not going to like this, but to borrow a bit of a phrase from Rhett Butler “Frankly I don’t give a damn”.  Watching the “Five People You Meet in Heaven” movie last night caused a tear at several points as I allowed myself to be absorbed into some of the emotions being expressed.  In the main character’s sadness and grief for what he perceived as his wasted life I found an evening’s solace for what ailed me.  Better than any pill or distracting activity I was righted from being depressed by a good dose of my own emotions.  How very grateful I am this morning to feel “It’s never too late; there’s always time”.

It’s never too late
There’s always time.

It’s never too late to change.
There’s always time to begin.

It’s never to late to say I’m sorry
There’s always time to start again.

It’s never to late to let the past go
There’s always time to start a future.

It’s never too late to be happy
There’s always time to stop being sad.

It’s never too late to fall deeply in love,
There’s always time to reopen one’s heart.

It’s never too late to write your thoughts
There’s always time to speak your piece.

It’s never to late to find what you’ve dreamed of
There’s always time to learn to do something new.

It’s never too late to connect with one you left behind
There’s always time to be lost and to get found.

It’s never too late to try again when you failed before
There’s always time to grow and learn from mistakes.

It’s never too late to hope no matter how old you are
There’s always time to have foolish fun like a child.

It’s never too late to have much more than you need
There’s always time to make your life more simple.

It’s never too late to live the way you want to live
There’s always time to find yourself if you look.

It’s never to late to stop feeling old regret
There’s always time for hope for the future.

It’s never too late to find happiness
There’s always time to laugh more.

It’s never too late to forgive
There’s always time to be forgiven.

It’s never too late to change.
There’s always time to begin.

It’s never too late
There’s always time.
James Browning October 10, 2011

All endings are also beginnings. We just don’t know it at the time.
Mitch Albom 

“Five People You Meet in Heaven” trailer:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IrLMtmvHYy0

Chivalrous Until Death

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

 As long as I live I will not forget an occurrence in  Chicago about 20 years ago.  Winter was upon Chi-town and everyone was bundled, scarf’d and glove’d up.  It had been snowing lightly all morning.  In the city on business I had just gotten out of a cab and was walking toward the doors of an office building for an appointment.  Even though I was a few minutes late, I stopped to open the door for a 20-something woman.  She was insulted!  WHAT?!?!   

I was shocked.  Immediately the woman I opened the door for went into a 10 second diatribe so well-organized and rehearsed I realized later she had delivered it many times.  The barbs the young woman threw at me were something like “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself and don’t need a chauvinistic male like you to open doors for me.  I take it as a personal affront that you think as a woman I am weak and require your assistance.  Take your macho male b@!ls#!t and shove it!”  Then she stormed through the door.  I just stood there dumbfounded while continuing to hold the door for at least a few seconds.  Another guy who heard what she said just looked at me, then her and shook his head.   

I was raised with a sense of old-fashioned traditional values that include saying “please and thank you”, showing respect to elders, letting women and children go first and opening doors for ladies of ALL ages.  The woman I encountered in Chicago was no lady!  To this day I wonder what happened that made her respond the way she did.  Was it she was overweight and physically unattractive and lacked male attention that she reviled any man who reminded her of the lack?  Did she hate men?  I have no idea.  Whatever it was, it is her problem.  Not mine.  I believe chivalrous acts are beautiful trimmings of human experience.  All my life I will continue to practice those respectful acts knowing 99.9% appreciate the gestures.  (I also open doors for men and am usually the last through).

Apparently opening doors for ladies goes back to the days when the women of nobility wore ornate gowns and outfits. In a full formal outfit, a lady could not reach the door if she tried – at least not in a fashionable way that conveyed the grace she was portraying.  Her escort thus opened the door for her.  Women today benefit from a lot that has come about in the last 50 years to shore up inequality they previously suffered under.  Even today there is improvement needed.  I believe today’s women are inherently powerful and capable but also believe chivalry still has its place.  Kindness and respect still matter! 

I was alarmed to find an article in a Great Britain newspaper titled “Men Who Hold Open Doors for Women Are SEXIST Not Chivalrous, Feminists Claim”.  Supposedly researchers from the Society for the Psychology of Women conducted a study among workers of both genders in America and Germany.  Their conclusion was men who open doors for women are guilty of ‘benevolent sexism’.  Also, according to the new study by a group of feminist psychologists referring to a group of men and women as ‘guys’ is a no-no.  (I got corrected once for that back in the mid-80’s in California by a group of four women).  The article goes on to state that women are unaware of it but are unwittingly affected because it helps to create a culture of women being seen as the vulnerable sex who need a man’s help. 

There’s a Bob Seger song that contains the lyrics “Call me a relic, call me what’cha will.  Say I’m old-fashioned.  Say I’m over the hill”.  If those words fit, then so be it.  I believe a real man always opens the door for a woman.  A woman who does not allow a man to open the door for her, or has stopped expecting it, has lost her way. To me being polite to the opposite sex will never go out of style regardless if that woman is a boss, mother, sister, daughter, friend, or stranger. 

Added as a footnote, I do have one pet peeve about the matter of opening doors.  I believe my chivalrous duty is not the public at large. I don’t know how many times I’ve opened a door for a woman then stood there holding the door for a gaggle of complete strangers. Consequently, the woman accompanying me was left standing in the lobby alone, waiting.  I try to be courteous to everyone, but my priority is with the woman I am with.  

This morning I am grateful for the two older women I opened the door for yesterday while out shopping. They smiled at me as if I had given them a momentary priceless gift reflected in their direct eye contact and a “thank you sir” spoken with great sincerity.  And to the woman in line at the registers I let go in front of me, I regret that such kindness came as such a surprise you felt you had to gush your thankfulness.  At the time I was in a hurry but not so much I forgot my manners.  I am glad to have put a little positive energy into your day. It is my honor to open doors for women and I am grateful to those who appreciate it.  Even for those that don’t, it is the gift of respect I give that benefits the giver:  ME! 

Gallantry to women – the sure road to their favor – is nothing but the appearance of extreme devotion to all their wants and wishes, a delight in their satisfaction, and a confidence in yourself as being able to contribute toward it.  William Hazlitt

Power of the Written Word

/ James Browning

Writing here and allowing others to know my deepest thoughts, both the admirable and venerable and the dark and painful, has been an interesting experience.  Of all those whose feedback I receive it is often those who perceive they know me best who are seem surprised most.  

What is found on this blog is a sort of self-therapy, where I open myself to write unfiltered for my own eyes to see more clearly the musing that swims within.  Casting them into the world forces me even further to face them.  No running away when anyone can read them!  There are dear friends who make comments like “let her go”, “you’re pretend happy”, “stop thinking like that”, “you imagine things that can never be”, “you’re wallowing in your pain” or simply “that’s a fairy tale”.  I reflect back two thoughts:  “How effective is it to tell someone in pain to stop hurting” and “If I am happy in my delusion, what is the harm of it”. 

How richly I am blessed to have friends who care about me so much they wish to ‘set me straight’.  I know they have only the very best intention in mind.  My gratitude is deep and wide for those who love me and wish my life to be better.  I am richly blessed. 

My finding is when I release my thoughts to the world in an uninhibited and often down-right raw manner that gesture alone is healing for me.  By sharing my undisclosed and concealed secrets, positive and negative, I become mentally quieter and more content. 

A yearning of mine may appear to some to be pure fantasy or wishing for the impossibly perfect. Usually I know when I am expressing one of those dreams one wishes for knowing it is somewhere between highly unlikely and completely impracticable.  Thinking in such a manner has brought the hidden child within me back to life with sparkling hope.  Just as a five-year-old wishes for innocent whimsy, the dream alone is the answer to its wish. 

A pining for a long-lost love or rehash of old childhood pain is only a further release for me of tension and discomfort that remains.  With each little spew and hiss of words, the pressure of the slowly diminishing hurt is relieved a bit more:  a healthy practice.     

How often I have failed to understand the emotion behind the content of an email as I paint the words on the screen with the emotional color I add.  I am coming to realize that each person who reads what I write here filters my words differently.  The meaning received by each reader is different from the next and frequently askew by a little or a lot of what I was thinking and feeling when the words first appeared on my screen.  That’s OK! 

What pleases me most is I am striking chords within others.  As a friend accurately pointed out, people usually respond strongest toward what we read or hear when the content is already alive within the reader.  To share about pain can awaken someone else to release a bit of a hurt.  To share about joy can renew another’s delight. To share about anguish can rouse and help diminish a reader’s agony.  To share about gladness can rekindle bliss…. And so on.    

From an article titled “Word Play: The Power of the Written Word in Ancient Israel” by Joey Corbett comes:  To the modern world, the written word is often taken for granted. We are so removed from the origins of writing that when we write something, whether on a piece of paper, on a sign or on the internet, we don’t even think about the physical act of creating words. For us, writing is simply a means to an end, an almost primordial and instinctive technology that we use to communicate with each other. 

… when alphabetic writing had just begun to spread across the masses of the ancient Near East, written words were far more than idle marks meant simply to be read. Words were repositories of power, physical vessels that gave material reality to one’s innermost thoughts and even the soul itself. 

The magical properties of writing meant that written words, once they came into being, were active and sometimes even unstable forces that could be manipulated, both for good and for ill. 

As an avid reader since early childhood, I am grateful to see the return of the power of the written word.  For soon to be a hundred years the spoken word has grown in strength through radio, telephone and television.  With the internet  written word that has become powerful again.  Whether expressing deep emotions that touch others or writing of injustice that overturns governments, we live again in a time of power for the written word.  I am very grateful for this turn of events and hope my small contributions serve in some small way to better life for a few in this modern world.   

Words must surely be counted
among the most powerful drugs man ever invented.
Leo Rosten