People

“Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish” (Steve Jobs)

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

As I get older I am reminded more of death as friends and family make that transition.  This morning I will be packing for a trip to another state to attend services for a dear friend’s father.  He was eight-six and lived a good long life.  Yet at the same time it’s sad that he departed so soon.  It will be a somber occasion regarding the loss and a happy one in  celebration of a good man’s life.

There is no doubt I will cherish life a little more through the experience of the next few days.  At least for a short while life’s reality will be a little clearer.  Certainly coming face to face with another’s passing will bring my eventual destination more prominently before me and in my thoughts.  And maybe the most important of all I will witness the love of family for one another and how each helps another bear the difficulty of this moment of life.  I know the door of sadness I will walk through initially will have me walking out later tempered with love, joy and gladness.

Steve Jobs died only a week ago.  He gave a remarkable commencement address to Stanford University’s class of 2005.   Included were some of his thoughts about living and dying.  Mr. Job’s words were inspirational and here are a few paragraphs from his remarks:

When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.

Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure – these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.

Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life. Don’t be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people’s thinking. Don’t let the noise of others’ opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important; have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.

When I was young, there was an amazing publication called The Whole Earth Catalog, which was one of the bibles of my generation. It was created by a fellow named Stewart Brand not far from here in Menlo Park, and he brought it to life with his poetic touch. This was in the late 1960’s, before personal computers and desktop publishing, so it was all made with typewriters, scissors, and Polaroid cameras. It was sort of like Google in paperback form, 35 years before Google came along: it was idealistic, and overflowing with neat tools and great notions.

Stewart and his team put out several issues of The Whole Earth Catalog, and then when it had run its course, they put out a final issue. It was the mid-1970s, and I was your age. On the back cover of their final issue was a photograph of an early morning country road, the kind you might find yourself hitchhiking on if you were so adventurous. Beneath it were the words: “Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish.” It was their farewell message as they signed off. Stay Hungry. Stay Foolish. And I have always wished that for myself. And now, as you graduate to begin anew, I wish that for you.

Watch the full speech here:  http://www.ted.com/talks/steve_jobs_how_to_live_before_you_die.html

Sitting here this morning three months past my fifty-eighth birthday, I am more aware of my eventual demise than ever before.  But my awareness of being alive is the most acute it has ever been too.  In contrast to the many years spent sleep-walking through the present toward an imagined future, today I do my very best to be truly alive and aware in the moments of my life.  Just one example is this blog.  For near half a year now I have gotten up around two hours earlier every day to have the time to write.  Why?  Because writing is something I always said I was going to do.  No longer will my awareness of the reality of life and death allow me to hesitate about doing more of what I promised myself I would do.  Previously I wrote about those dying most often having the largest regret for the things they did not do https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/08/27/five-biggest-regrets-before-dying/

Realizing the remainder of days for the “must-do’s” in my life becomes a reduced number with the passing of every day makes me more truly alive.  There is so much about living life well I still want to learn, but it is the knowing of that and applying myself to it which opens my heart, mind and soul to being more fully alive.  I am grateful for this state of being that places me here in this “now” with a joy for living.

Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught,
And spent my little life without a thought,
And am amazed that Death, that tyrant grim,
Should think of me, who never thought of him.
René Francois Regnier

A Crack in Everything

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

With hours on airplanes and in airports last week I was able to finish a hard to put down book titled “Flourish” by Martin Seligman, PhD.  I have read several of Dr. Seligman’s books on the subject of optimism, happiness, character strengths and innate virtues including his books “Learned Optimism” and “Authentic Happiness” (both of which I recommend).  Over and over in multiple studies he continues to prove that attitude and belief shape our lives more than we imagine.  Here’s one example noted in “Flourish”:
 
Sandra Murray, professor at the State University of New York at Buffalo, has done an extraordinary set of studies on good marriage.  She carefully measures what you think about your spouse: house handsome, how kind, how funny, how devoted and how smart he is.  She poses the very same questions about your spouse to your closest friends, and she derives a discrepancy score: if you think more of your spouse than your friend do, the discrepancy is positive.  If you are a “realist” and you are more pessimistic about him than your friends, the discrepancy is negative.  The strength of the marriage is directly a function of how positive the discrepancy is.  Spouses with very strong benign illusions about their mates have much better marriages.  The mechanism is likely that your spouse knows about your illusions, and he tries to live up to them.  Optimism helps love, Pessimism hurts. 
 
So how do you like “them apples”?  I found those words to be informative and bittersweet.  Today I realize readily that my attitude and thinking has a great deal to do with the outcome of things.  The bittersweet comes from acknowledging within each of two marriages my pessimistic thoughts about my wife were a sizeable factor in the eventual end of those unions.  I have no specific idea why the crazy compulsion of wondering if there was someone better out there for me remained so consistently pervasive.  Each time I loved and was loved within one of these meaningful long term relationships, my thinking was part of their undermining.  Yes, there were other factors,  ones that on their own might surely have caused the demise of the marriages, but my thinking was certainly fuel on the fire.
 
There is a line of thinking that goes something like “why do people allow what is known to be met with contempt, while holding the unknown with desire and admiration?”  Stated a different way; “why does someone new look more attractive than one that is known?”   Certainly this is human nature, but why is that?   (That’s  subject for a future blog).

In the lore of love and tales of romance, initial attraction and love at first sight are scattered consistently.  That imagining combined with some physical, shall we say hormonal, attraction seem to me to be factors in people wondering if there is more outside marriage.  Real life counters such thinking. An important part of a compatible relationship is ensuring that each partner’s values coincide, and to learn that takes time, discussion, observation, and interpersonal interaction, not an initial impression based on superficial cues, says James C. Piers, Ph.D., professor and program director of social work, at Hope College in Holland,MI.
 
From an article attributed to Match.com called “The New Rules of Attraction”:  You can check off the attributes you want—appearance, background, education, career, salary—but unless you’re building your lover in a lab, you’re missing out. Of course, you should have standards and not settle for a two-pack-a-day smoker who doesn’t want kids when you’re allergic to smoke and eager to start a family. But settling for nothing less than perfection is unrealistic. “Wish lists are a classic recipe for unsuccessful dating,” says Fleming. “They’re too limiting and don’t allow for chemistry, which is more intangible and valuable.” Try to be flexible, especially when it comes to physical or material attributes like someone’s height, salary, or hair color. After all, just because someone’s 6’2”, blonde, or makes six figures doesn’t mean he or she will make you happy, so do yourself a favor and treat your ideal-mate wish list as just one factor in deciding who’s right for you.  So “what glitters is not always gold”.
 
One of my issues (of the past hopefully) has been a lengthy “wish list” that I am now doubtful anyone could ever fit into.  I have mellowed and been able to sort down to the “must haves” that make my future prospects more realistic for a lasting relationship.  No, I won’t settle for less that those items in a partner that I must have.  That simply is good caretaking of my self, but I no longer search for near perfection.
 
The single factor that did the most in helping me see past bad habits, irritating behavior and bothersome traits in others was to begin to come to grips (at least somewhat) with my own imperfections.  It still amazes me how gaining clearer view of one’s self allows a person to more accurately see others.  When kindness and understanding is self-applied it is easier to use that insight in one’s view of others.  I am very grateful for the knowledge I have today that was learned the hard way.  Mistakes are made worthy when wisdom is gained from them.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.
Leonard Cohen

Holding on for Dear Life

/ James Browning / 3 Comments

What a sinking feeling it was to realize I had lost my iPhone.   Being away on business yesterday, my morning in the hotel room was filled things to be grateful for like getting to sleep later than usual, room service breakfast in the room, leisurely having some time to write and catch up on news on the internet.  

My mood was fabulous as I checked out and met my two associates in the hotel lobby.  We drove to the airport, dropped off a rental car and said our goodbyes before heading to the gates for flights to our individual home cities.  A short while later just after making it through security I was putting things back into my pockets when I realized I did not have my phone.  Oh, crap!  Where could it be?  I frantically looked around the security area.  A helpful security agent ran my computer bag through the scanner again to see if I hide it from myself inside.  All the while my mind is bouncing around thinking about the loss of photos and data, the process of setting up a new phone and all the numbers not included in a backup made months before. 

Slowly logic and reason returned as I focused myself on the mystery of my missing iPhone.  I was able to remember entering a phone number on the way to the airport and began to think through where I might have lost it.  Did I leave my phone at the kiosk when I was checking in?  Did I put it down on some airport seating where I stopped to clean out my pockets just before security?  

Mentally working back to where I knew I last had my phone, I hurriedly reversed direction.  Walking as fast as I could out of the security area and down the concourse I soon was outside the airport and walking up to the rental car return area.  I asked if an iPhone had been found and the young woman who had checked the car in quickly went to ask the clean up crew.  I convinced myself I was going to have to get a new phone upon arriving home.   I was lost in thought about which one I was going to get when the rental car agent came running toward me, smiling and waving my phone in the air.  Being a sweating mess from hauling butt through the airport was quickly forgotten as the happiness about my found phone overtook me.  As I walked back into the airport I was felt blessed and lucky and made a mental note to keep closer tabs on my phone! 

On boarding my flight a short while later I found my seat was in the very last row of a completely full airplane.  My assigned aisle seat was next to a young woman who appeared to be in her early to mid twenties.  She was a tiny little thing and looked to be about five feet tall at best.  As the man in the window seat made conversation with her I focused on my book, but noticed she spoke with accented, but good English.  As the plane taxied to the runway she got her Walkman ready.  Once in the air the young woman disappeared with closed eyes into her music whose beat I could hear faintly.  She squirmed a bit and seemed to have difficulty getting comfortable for the next hour and a half.  A while later I found out why. 

Two hundred miles from Denver the pilot announced very high winds were limiting the number of runways in use at theDenverairport.  He said our arrival would be delayed and the last part of our ride was going to be very bumpy.  Soon the turbulence got worse and worse and in our holding pattern it was as bad as I ever remember.  The young woman beside me was very scared and getting more agitated with each big shimmy and bounce of the airplane.  The 30-something buy in the window seat was talking and trying to calm her, but her fear was growing fast as beads of sweat began to run down her face.  On her face was pure fear. 

The first I spoke to the young woman was to tell her that everything would be OK, that I was a small plane pilot who had lived and flown in the Denver area.  I had encountered turbulence like this before in my plane (even though 25 years earlier, that was true).  I told her I knew from experience that what was occurring was uncomfortable, but we were safe.  On one particularly rough bump she grabbed my left hand and gripped it tightly with her right hand.  She was holding on for dear life and did not let go until after we had landed.  For 20 minutes not only was she gripping my hand with her right, but her left hand was holding on tightly to my arm as she leaned against me.  From time to time I continued to talk to calm her, saying everything was going to be fine.  Just as we landed the plane bounced around quite a bit and I though she was going to break my hand her grip was so tight.

There is not a time I can remember encountering someone more fearful that this young woman was.  Only when we were on the ground did she began to talk to me.  She was so grateful to me and was gushing with gratitude.  She kept apologizing that flying scared her so much and thanking me for helping her.  I learned her name was Gabriella and she was from a country that was formerly a part of the USSR.  With her accented but very well spoken English we made conversation as we taxied.  She told me she was a Master’s Degree student headed to Chicago to see a friend (a boyfriend I think).  Her flight connection was tight and others like her were allowed off the plane first.  We hurriedly said our goodbyes and in just a matter of moments another “temporary friend” was lost into the sea of humanity.  

As I walked up the jet-way I was struck by how much helping another enriches one’s life.  For the rest of my trip it seemed everyone was nicer than usual to me, yet I know it was largely my frame of mind being reflected back to me.  I felt joyful and the sense of it continues within today.  It began with finding my phone when I was certain it was permanently lost and continued with helping a frightened young woman.  I doubt either of us will ever forget the other for the rest of our days. 

What I experienced yesterday were little things certainly, but the type of happenings that enhance life and give it little splashes of color that make living worthwhile.  I am thankful for the experiences, but to an even greater degree I am grateful for the awareness that allows me to notice such abundant richness in my life.     

For today and its blessings, I owe the world an attitude of gratitude.  Unknown

Who Lingers in Your Heart – Part II

/ James Browning

A while back I wrote a piece here as a response to a question a friend asked me in an email: “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.”  https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/08/19/who-lingers-in-your-heart/ .  I replied with the most top of mind people who occupy good-sized real estate in my heart.  An interesting phenomenon happens when as idea is planted and allowed to percolate over time; memory and response continually come from deeper and deeper recesses of my mind. 

Now sitting here writing and opening the door on a further reply to the question “who lingers…” those who occupy smaller, yet treasured, scraps of memory surface. 

Linda, the first girl I kissed when I was 13, immediately comes to mind.  Actually she surfaces with some regularity.  On June 21st I wrote about her and our magical afternoon in a post called “ Only One First Love”:  https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/06/21/993/

Buddy H., my big friend and protector from high school has his own special place.  He and I were the most unlikely friends.  Music was our only real common ground and I liked him because he was a little “nuts” like me.  Ever tried listening to “In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida” on 8-track going 120mph?  We did!  Buddy died in a boating accident when he was 20. 

Ricky S. was one of my best friends in 10th and 11th grade.  He was Mr. Studdly Cool and one of our favorite things was to go to dances.  We specialized in going to dances in towns where we did not know anyone and ending up with a date to hang out with before the evening was over.  His was a special manner with girls and attracted them like a magnet does iron.  I benefited from that magnetism when we did our thing and always ended up with a girl on my arm.  Vivid in memory is some steamy heavy petting in Dadeville, Alabama with two girls we had met one evening.  Ricky and his date were in the front seat and I and mine were in the back.  I smile as I remember those sweet moments. 

Dale H. became my best friend in Jackson, Ms for the year and a half I lived there that included my senior year of high school.  For better or worse, he was the person I smoked pot with back in the day.  We almost giggled ourselves to death or overdosed on munchies on a number of occasions. 

Marcia was the makeup artist assigned to me when I had a part in a school play.  “Look Homeward Angel” which was a fairly racy selection to be performed at that time.  She became my girlfriend for a good part of my senior year.  How innocent and tender what we shared was.  I’d run to get to the part of the school she was in so I could walk her to class and then run back to get to my class trying hard not to be late.  Most of the time we’d trade little love notes on scraps of paper.  I wish I had some of them today as my heart swells with the sweetness of the memory. 

Carol was the “older woman” I got involved with when I was 19 (she was 23).  We worked together and she was engaged but that did not stop us, even though it was wrong.  She was the first woman I ever loved with the depth a man can love with. Our relationship was tumultuous and troubled, but also wonderful and ground shaking.  The wounds that hurt then ended up being some great teachers for me.  We went our separate ways after about a few months, but will always remember reconnecting for our last time together.  Close to a year passed without seeing each other.  Then one night came the knock on my door two days before she got married.  We spent the evening in bed and said goodbye at my front door well after midnight.  I never saw her again.  Today I see the wrong and contradiction of of the night we shared, but also relish the memory of the passion we shared. 

Michael was the man, who for six months, I thought was one of the best friends of my life.   That was 13 years ago and he was charming, educated and intelligent.  We were together doing things or hanging out often.  The end result was deep hurt as I came to know that he was just using and manipulating me.  We worked together and I was his boss.  The friendship ended badly with me firing him for very wrong things he did thinking our camaraderie gave him special latitude.  The lesson for me was difficult, but a necessary reminder that it is not just love of a woman that can blind.  Friendship with a man can do the same.  

One the lid on my heart is lifted and a peek is taken within, the many who have been players on the stage of my life begin to surface in ever greater quantity.  My life has been a rich and colorful mosaic of experiences, for which I am deeply grateful for all.  I am thankful for the joy, the good times, the love shared and the painful lessons that came from knowing and loving people.  Frequently those individuals have been some of my greatest teachers.   

In the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.  Abraham Lincoln 

Who Am I?

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Good afternoon gratitude!  At least today that is what you find here as the morning was filled with other things that prevented me from being here to write sooner.  What delayed me was all good.  

I have a friend I have not seen in ten years who, while in town on business, made time to be my guest last night.  Even though we have stayed in touch through email, it is not the same as being in the presence of each other.  We talked all evening until after midnight and again this morning we continued.  Our conversations are always deep and meaningful with time evaporating quickly.  She is one of the more spiritual people I know and like me is a seeker in search of meaning and truth.  However her knowledge and experience covers much more time and ground than mine, so I always learn from talking with her. It did me much good to have my guest room used by someone whose company is always enlightening.  

Another remarkable part of the morning came at a regular Codependents Anonymous (http://coda.org) Saturday meeting I attend 95% of the time.  Someone who has been coming to the meeting for a few months had a breakthrough.  She had struggled to find her way in the program, yet believed in the process and was determined to make it work.  Today was the day when the pieces began to fit together for her.  Though the refuge and safety she has come to know with the group she was able to share deeply of her self.  It is quite emotional for a person arriving at such a point.  Such an occurrence is touching for those attending who are honored to witness such self-discovery and realization.  I am so glad for her!    

As I have come up out of the rabbit hole where I isolated myself for so long, I am finding a richness not experienced before.  There are more caring and wonderful people of all kinds active in my life than ever before.  Once I began to stop playing the pretend game of being outwardly who I thought others wanted me to be and started to look inward, slowly, ever so slowly, I began to find “me”.  The experience has been everything from wonderful to harrowing, but rewarding.  In general, people are much more comfortable with me as I truly am than they ever were with the old “fake me”.  

As the process of self discovery began in earnest in late 2007, my range of emotions swung widely from pure delight as I came to know being imperfect was OK to upsetting and disturbing as suppressed memories surfaced.  Without positive discoveries to balance the distressing ones I could never have made it to where I am now.   

On occasion others will ask about my growth.  If a person is genuinely interested usually a question comes up verbalized some like “So what do you think has changed about you?”  My answer will always include comments like:   “I have begun to know my true self and find peace with who I am, just the way I am.  The contentment that comes from consistently practicing the principles I believe in is something I have now; not all the time but most of it.”

The content of my answer is further well stated by Jane Collingwood who writes for psychcentral.com.  She wrote: The answer to the question “who am I?” lies in our underlying principles. If we can be true to our core values, we have a compass to guide us through life, and will never stray far from who we really are. But first we have to discover those basic values.

There is more to it than that which becomes more difficult to describe.  What I am stabbing at has to do with the process of slowly but surely coming to know my true self and then allowing others to know me as I truly am.  It’s a tricky process as sometime it brings others closer to me while driving people away at other moments.  Some people I thought of as friends in the past liked me only as I pretended to be.  When the real me started to show, they stopped being around. 

No matter; it is a healthy part of the long-term process of sorting “me” out.  While good and necessary the discoveries bring effects which are damn painful sometimes.  To have people I once loved no longer even speak to me has hurt.  Through coming to know my previously unknown secrets, mistakes, faults and blunders by those people I am perceived as some “fiend or monster”.   Even if that were ever true (and I don’t believe it ever was) that was then and this is now! 

I am grateful to those who have stuck it out through the process of me coming to better know my true self.  I am thankful for their acceptance and their forgiveness as it was called for.   Also, I am also grateful to know the truth about those who are no longer in my life.  Now I know better who is who! 

During good times your friends know you.
In bad times you know your friends.
Anonymous

“I Love You”

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Do not keep the alabaster boxes of your love and tenderness sealed up until your friends are dead.  Fill their lives with sweetness, speak cheering words while their ears can hear, and while their hearts can be thrilled and made happier by them.  William Congreve

For much of my life there have been only a very, very few close to me to whom I have expressed my deeper feelings to.  My son, two wives, my brother and a lover or two filled that short list near completely once upon a time.  Eventually difficulty, heartbreak and disappointment softened me to be the man I am today who is far more openly expressive about his feelings toward others.  Yet, I am just a “baby” in expressing the contents of my heart.

I am stuck by the realization there are likely two extremes of experience that opens one’s heart to be able to express their love and affection freely to others.

1) Although foreign to me, I believe one method is when a person grows up in an environment of love freely expressed and openly practiced for them by parents and family.  As long as there is no grievous mental or emotional injury a person grows up to realize the ability to express tenderness, compassion and love is a great strength.

2) The other is my path.  It is one of being thrashed by life until one may emotionally close them self off completely from the world and hide inside a hard shell.  There a person may permanently stay or else may find them self cracked open by life experiences as I was.  The realization for me found the hard way is simple to state.  Love is all that really matters.

Neither method always works.  I am at a loss to explain why.  Why a deeply loved person can sometimes grow up to be mean, hurtful and uncaring is beyond my ability to understand.  But I know it happens.  Why the school of hard knocks frequently causes some people to become cynical and uncaring if not completely numb or mean and breaks other’s hearts I have not explanation for.

How much simpler life would be if my realization of method number two was something I previously practiced consistently in all areas of my life.  Without growing up in an environment that nurtured an expressive love instinct to be inherent, I am a child in an adult’s body in areas of emotion and its expression.  It is only by the realization of this that I am able to learn and see myself somewhat clearly.  I can not become more than I am unless I first accept myself as I am.

Raising my son has been a great teacher about open expression of feeling.  For me to open myself lovingly to him has always been easy and natural.  Maybe that comes from knowing how much I yearn to this day to have love expressed to me by my parents.  Though impossible, that wish will never go away.  It is human nature to sometimes learn from the lack in one’s life.  That lesson learned well gives a person the ability to give to others what they them self never had.  It is then a hunger that is sated by reversing the need and expressing to others what is desired.  Growing up I told my son every day I loved him and to this day every contact ends with that expression which is always reflected back to me.

To all the women who have loved me through the years, thank you for what you taught me.  I regret only in retrospect can I see and appreciate you as I should.  Please know what you expressed was not wasted on me in any amount.  While I may have under appreciated your love at the time, today I am deeply grateful for it.  I know in return I said the words without knowing how to give them their full meaning then.  However please know today I benefit from all the kindness, tenderness and caring you ever showed me.  Thank you!

It embarrasses some of my dear friends when I tell them I love them openly and sometimes in front of others.  I can see the befuddled look on their face occasionally but it is always combined with an appreciative gaze.  Somewhere inside I came to the conclusion that try as I might I can never express love to others too much.  In my knowledge there is no one in the world who has ever had too much love in their life.  I have never read or heard of anyone for whom there was excess of love that was hurtful or a burden.  Yes, there are those who through obsession rave on and on with “I love you, I love you, I love you”.  That is far from love and absolutely not a true expression of the emotion.

It is sad to note that most people today live in a lack of love.  The majority of people neither express their love to overs or have it said to them in the amounts they need.  I am glad to be in recovery from that “dis-ease”.  Today it is still not easy for me to tell someone “I love you” for the first time whether it be friend or more than friend.  However, once past the first time I am glad to have learned to be openly expressive.  How much richer my life is because of this!

It is said that what you put into the world comes back to you multiplied.  Maybe that is why life nearly crushed me emotionally some years back.  The trail of emotional damage and mayhem I left behind me apparently echoed back to bring me to my knees.  But “what does not kill you makes you stronger” the old adage goes and so is the case with me.  Today the love of others I send into the world resounds strongly back to me.  How simple, yet how very difficult this lesson was.

I am grateful for all the people I love and for all the love that is shown me whether the demonstration comes directly or in an indirect way.  The type of expression really does not matter.  To go along with saying “I love you” there are a thousand ways to say it without words.  To date I have probably learned about a hundred and eleven of them and look forward to knowing more about the other eight hundred or so other ways to say “I love you”.

You don’t blast a heart open.  You coax and nurture it open, like the sun does a rose.
Melody Beattie

An Angel in the Marble

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Day in and day out I live with the face of a mystery woman whose name I do not know.  As I leave and come home, she is always there to welcome me or bid me goodbye silently with an expression of contentment on her face.  If there is something I must remember to take with me when I depart, I lay it beside her so I will be reminded not to forget it.  She has been with me for well over a decade now, yet I know nothing about her.

“She” is a marble statue I purchased at an antiques auction in the late 90’s.  The bust is around 24 inches tall and its scale is life-size.  Being solid marble the statue is very heavy.  I can lift her, but only with a great deal of care and strain.

What little research I have done about her has led me to believe she may have been handmade in China sometime in the 20th century, but her face does not match the standard ones typically used to create statues in Asia.  While I wish the bust was from antiquity with an image created during the life of a person of royalty or fame, I suspect she is a fairly modern creation.  While being old would make the bust worth more, it would not cause me to enjoy her more than I do.  There is much gladness to have her residing with me in my home.

There are times I actually speak aloud to her.  Anyone who has lived alone for a few years or more knows about speaking occasionally to photos and other reminders of people; sometimes even to a piece of furniture or appliance.  (I recall reading once upon a time that talking to one’s self was a sign of going crazy and having a conversation with one’s self is a sign of insanity.  So I avoid both labels by making sure I speak to some object or image at home like my mystery lady when talking aloud.  So what if that is a little game I play with myself.  Living alone allows such harmless indulgences).

No matter when my statue was made, it is the face that intrigues me as it appears obvious hers was patterned after real features.  I like to believe the image portrayed is that of a real person who lived in Victorian times when poets like Browning and Barrett were revered and writers like Thoreau were in vogue.  The overall style the face is contained within appears to my unlearned eye to be from antiquity like something from Roman times.  Could the face be one that has been recreated over and over for two thousand years or more?

Sometimes I have wondered who my imagined “Victorian lady” might have been.  My imagination is broad and deep so it is relatively effortless for me to spin a story.  My deductive reasoning (and pure guesswork) tells me she would likely have been European as most wealth of the time was centered there.  Assuming her lineage might be English (for no reason except my roots are) some of the most popular names for women in the mid to late 1800’s were Alice, Millicent, May, Evelyn, Victoria, Violet, Elizabeth, Lily, Anna, Ruth and Emma. I love the names Emma and Anna, but my choice is Elizabeth, fully realizing it is my love of the work of Elizabeth Barrett that causes that selection.

I suspect if Elizabeth was the correct name those close to her would have called her by a nickname like “Lizzy” or “Beth”.  Such a pet name would seem to better fit the slightly mischievous and almost hidden smile on the bust.

Flushing out my imagined story of the presence in my entry way:  I would say “Elizabeth” was created as a likeness of a woman 18-21 years old and the original statue was carved of a just married bride’s face for a well-to-do couple’s home.

I hope “Beth’s” life was good and content as the look on the face appears to be.  If she could know her face had been carried down through the decades or more of being reproduced, I wonder what her reaction might be.  I hope she would be pleased to know even today a man sat down and wrote about her because he was intrigued by her kind face and sweet yet regal expression.  My gratitude is genuine and substantial to have the “old girl” with me as her presence brings me comfort and joy and stirs my imagination.

I also wonder what “Elizabeth” would think of the fact that frequently she wears one of my ball caps or hats?!?  Seems to me she’d laugh about it.

I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.  Michelangelo

Love Them Anyway

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

My son is visiting Tulsa for a few days from his home in Boulder.  I am blessed that at the age of 29 he enjoys coming to visit often and hanging out with me.  Last night our evening’s entertainment was a concert by ZZ Top at our local Hard Rock Casino and Hotel.  

Our tickets were comp’s that had to be picked up will-call once he and I arrived.  With no idea where we might be sitting, we were thrilled once the tickets were in hand to see our seats were “center section on the floor”.  When the show began we were only nine rows back from the stage.  We had great seats where everyone was well behaved and sitting down as the concert began.  

During the third song a couple arrived to occupy the empty seats just in front of my son and me.  That’s actually not completely factual.  They never sat down.  Every single person in the entire section was sitting down except this man and woman who arrived late to block our almost complete the view of the show.  So for about 35 minutes or so we watched the concert on the projected screens on each side of the stage.  Otherwise our view of the stage was almost completely blocked. 

We were both irritated.  At one point my son said something like “I can’t believe we’re 20 feet from the stage and can’t see the show”.  I said “wanna stand up like they are?” to which he replied “No. Then we’d be the only other two people in the whole section standing”.  So we continued to sit, watch the jumbo-trons and the 30 something couple boogieing in one spot right in front of us. 

This morning looking back I am struck by the thought of how some people live their life so out of touch with an awareness all about themself.  They simply can’t or choose not to coexist with the world in a caring manner.  Instead their inward focus causes them to be largely oblivious of their impact on others.  I wonder.  Is it they just don’t care?  Are many of this sort simply sleep walking through life without any consciousness of people around them?  Are they mean spirited because life made them that way or out of choice? 

Both my son and I were tempted to say something to our concert view blockers, but decided not to.  Our conclusion was to give the two people in front of us the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe they don’t get out much.  Maybe they can’t afford to attend many concerts.  Maybe they had to save for months to afford the tickets to the show.  Maybe ZZ Top’s music has some sort of ultra special meaning to the couple.  Maybe…..  Whatever the reason, the couple was completely in their own world without a care for anyone else.  

Somewhere past half way through the show, the couple to the right in our row motioned to my son they were leaving and gave us their seats.  We moved over and for the remainder of the concert were able to see very well from our great seats in the ninth row.  

In case you’re wondering, the standing couple never sat down once during the entire show.  Not once!  As I reflect back there are still thoughts in my head asking “how can people be so completely inconsiderate of others?”   All excuses we made for them put aside, I wonder how much of the rest of their life they will live in this manner.  I wonder how much of their own behavior comes back to them and if it shades their life negatively creating a spiral of “we don’t care”.  Maybe they will learn better as they get older. 

My gratitude this morning is strong that my son and I said nothing to the couple in front of us blocking our view.  If either one of them was a hot head with an attitude, who knows where that could have taken the four of us.

 My thankfulness also includes the couple who let us have their seats.  Their kindness was a sharp contrast to the lack of caring of the view-blockers.  

Most of all I am grateful to get to spend time with my son doing something we both enjoy so much:  seeing a live music performance.  I am lucky to have the relationship with that exists with my son and for us to enjoy each other as much as we do.  I won’t forget the inconsiderate couple at the concert, but that memory will mostly fade given time.  What I will always remember is being there with my son and the good show we got to experience together.  For three old guys, ZZ Top still kicks butt!

People are unreasonable, illogical, and self-centered.
Love them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish ulterior motives.
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some false friends and true enemies.
Succeed anyway.
The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow.
Be good anyway.
Honesty and frankness will make you vulnerable.
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight.
Build anyway.
People need help, but may attack you if you try to help them.
Help them anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God.
It was never between you and them anyway.
credited to Mother Teresa

 

Carlos Santana: Sound of Collective Consciousness Tour

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

A painter paints pictures on canvas.  But musicians paint their pictures on silence. 
Leopold Stokowski 

Music has been a deep love as long as I can remember.  Both my parents were big music fans.  The radio was on at home and in the car almost all the time.  Clear in memory is a concert program my parents got at Hank Williams, Sr. show when I was a baby that was around the house for years.  Vividly I recall the records Mom and Dad played over and over.  I remember the first record I ever owned and because of it since five years old I’ve been able to recite the lyrics of “The Ballad of Day Crockett”. 

Born on a mountain top in Tennessee
The greenest state in the land of the free….

OK, I won’t go on, but I know every single word.  My guess is there is at least one song from your early childhood that is just as deeply embedded in your psyche.  

By the time I was eighteen several thousand songs were logged deep in my memory and the profession I choose was related to music.  For over forty years I have had the honor of being a part of great radio stations that play music all day long.  

I can’t imagine life without music.  In my home there is only one television, but there is something that makes music in every room including the bathroom!  My life has had a constant soundtrack of my own making.  What I am listening to at any given point is either a reflection of where I am mentally and spiritually or else where I would like to be. 

Often I go to concerts and have been to hundreds.  Last evening a show was attended that made left me feeling extraordinary.  It began with an opening act I had never heard of:  Michael Franti and Spearhead, a band that blends hip hop with a variety of other styles including funk, reggae, folk and rock.  The music was good but the message was even better.  Every song was upbeat with a positive message. 

Michael spent half of their set dancing, singing and playing guitar down on the floor with the audience.  I have never seen anything like it. There have been shows I’ve seen where a band member went down on the floor for a song or two, but never for song after song like as he did.  For their last song a randomly selected group of about 30 people ranging in age from 8 to 87 years old were on dancing on stage with the band.  Anyone watching was smiling almost as big as those on stage were.  

Berthold wrote “Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life” and that is what the main act then did for me.  Carlos Santana and his band build upon the vibe of the opening act and made it match the name of their current tour:   “Sound of Collective Consciousness Tour”. 

At sixty-four years old, Carlos is playing guitar as well or better than he ever has.  He makes doing it look effortless.  His backup band was incredibly talented and very well rehearsed.  It was obvious everyone on stage was having a great time as were most people in an audience that ranged from little kids to great, great grandmas.  

As good as the music was the message was even better.  Twice Carlos talked about world problems and how much more love of our fellow-man was needed. 

Santana has given a lot of credit for his success to his spiritual beliefs.  His message is about love, beauty, grace, purity and peace.  There is hope in his music as we are urged to love deeply and for humanity to show its best side. All during the show he backed these points up in rhythm and beat that left it impossible for me to be still.  There are some traditional religions that take exception with some of Carlos’s beliefs, but even they must admit he is sincere and practices what he preaches.  

A highlight was attending the show with a relatively new, but dear friend.  Santana’s music has special meaning for her.  It was at one of Carlos’s shows on his adopted home turf of Northern California where she essentially reclaimed her life and started rebuilding it.  Getting to revisit a personal spiritual renewal with someone is a special experience.  

Carlos Santana, thank you for a wonderful show.  My life is richer because of your music and the message you spread in the world.  I hope you are still playing guitar at ninety! 

When through life unblest we rove,
Losing all that made life dear,
Should some notes we used to love,
In days of boyhood, meet our ear,
Oh! how welcome breathes the strain!
Wakening thoughts that long have slept,
Kindling former smiles again
In faded eyes that long have wept.
Thomas Moore

Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

There’s an old song most often credited to Bing Crosby and other crooner’s a bit before my time titled “Count Your Blessings Instead of Sheep”.  I prefer to hear Diana Krall sing it and my favorite of her versions is just her playing piano and singing:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeftvZPsXeY 

The lyrics of the song are: 

When I’m worried and I can’t sleep
I count my blessings instead of sheep
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

When my bankroll is gettin’ small
I think of when I had none at all
And I fall asleep, counting my blessings

I think about a nursery
And I picture curly heads
And one by one I count them
As they slumber in their beds

If you’re worried and you can’t sleep
Just count your blessings instead of sheep
And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.

I had a living reminder over the weekend of the blessings I have to count.  It can be sobering observing another person’s difficulty but also a solid reminder of one’s own good fortune. 

A friend and I were visiting an antique shop in a small town outside the city where we live.  There was a print from the 1920’s I took a fancy to and decided to buy if I could improve the asking amount a little.  I asked the man behind the register what the best price was and he said I would need to talk to the proprietor who he went to get.  

The owner was summoned out of the back of the store and very, very slowly he made his way to the front leaning heavily on a cane.  The sluggish pace of his movement gave me time to study him.  What I saw was an old man probably near 70 years-old who looked older than his years.  He did not look healthy.  It was distressing for me to watch him grimace with pain with each step.  There is a gray-ish color that comes upon the face of someone seriously ill and he was painted with it.  

The owner made me a fair deal on the print and in conversation I learned knee replacement surgery had not gone well and he was in a great deal of pain along with some other unnamed health issues.  He sensed my taste might be similar to his based on the print I purchased.  We were invited to the back of the store to see some “really good stuff that was not for sale”.  

I expected we’d end up in a storeroom and instead found myself walking through a door and into the man’s bedroom.  Through the bedroom we continued and entered into a combination living room and kitchen, all dimly lit.  The place was well lived in but was not a mess.  The bed was unmade and there were things lying about.  Yet there seemed to be some general organization to the clutter.  

Once in his “living room” with some difficulty he plopped down on a Queen Anne type love seat.  Our host started to point out several art deco pieces I had noticed as soon as we entered the room.  He was correct about me loving that type art from the 1920’s and 30’s.  

It is my strong suspicion the shop owner has few personal visitors.  I think he is lonely.  While he was in obvious pain, he seemed to enjoy greatly the half hour he spent with us.  His face would light up when he pointed to another deco piece as he began to tell us about its story and pedigree.  His collection contained several quite valuable pieces of types I have never seen up close before.  I enjoyed hearing about each one.  I think he would have preferred to visit with us longer but it was clear the moving around had brought increased pain which he acknowledged to us.  He said he needed to rest.  

As I emerged back into the main store, I was struck with a sadness that matched the murky light in owners two room home in the back of the store.  Thoughts rushed in asking:  Why did he live alone?  How did he come to be here? Why was there not someone to take care of him?  Was there no better place else where he could recuperate?  Was he as depressed as he appeared?  And so on….

As we began the drive home I thought of the shop owner hobbling along.  Over his gray pallor I clearly saw an expressionless sadness that seemed to keep him from making much eye contact.  I sensed he was fearful that someone who looked directly into his eyes could see the source of the pain he preferred to keep hidden.  Even this morning I feel sad for him. 

I have no idea what the shop owner’s story is, but meeting him reminded me how blessed I am with good health, a caring son, friends to take care of me, more than two rooms to live in and so much more.  I am very grateful.  From the weekend experience I gained a renewed perspective of gratefulness and a soft spot for the “old man” who owns the store.  I know I will visit again soon.  

The capacity to give one’s attention to a sufferer is a very rare and difficult thing; it is almost a miracle; it is a miracle.  Simone Weil