Self Awareness

Old Dogs and iPhones

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

A dear old friend is visiting me this weekend and sitting talking this morning we ended up in a conversation about our mobile phones.  Most specifically the discussion he and I had was a typically modern one of comparing the app’s we had on our iPhones.  In past years I have often gotten into chats with others where we were recommending books, music, movies, TV shows, vacation destinations, cars and more.  Now in the 21st Century “app conversations” have become the norm. 

The longer one lives the more 5 or 10 years does not seem like a long time.  It seems to be about that length of time since I had the first mounted cell phone put in my car.  As I consider it I realize that was around 20 years ago. The only portable option at that time was a portable phone half the size of a cinder block or an eight pound “bag-phone”.  In those days mobile use cost about $1 a minute so making calls was kept to essential reasons and the contact was very short.  And yes, I admit it.  Early on a few times I did pretend to be talking on a call while driving to show off this new doodad I had.  Car phones were still pretty rare then and people looked when they saw someone on one. 

About five years after getting my first car phone, the first small portable phone came into my life.  At the time it was the smallest cellphone made but even then I did not carry it with me on a regular basis as both incoming and outgoing calls were still quite pricey.  The little phone lived in my briefcase and was turned on and carried when I was either expecting an important call or else needed to make one while on the move.  It’s clear in memory the first call I made from the back of a cab while away from home when my phone was able to do this new thing called “roaming”.  

It has long been my nature to resist a bit of whatever is fashionable and “in”.  I did the same with mobile phones.  While I had them, it was a personal statement to resist carrying one all the time as long as I could.   Only about seven years ago did I give in and that was largely because I lived out of the country where my only phone was my mobile phone.  From there a cellphone began to become an accepted appendage.  The rebel contrarian is still within me though.  When I go on vacation I resist even turning my mobile phone most days.  My resistance is odd since in other ways I have always been an early adopter of electronic technology such as computers, sound equipment and gizmos in general. 

I knew things were changing rapidly from an experience in 2001 at one of the last concerts at the old Mile High Stadium in Denver.  My son who was nineteen at the time bought the tickets and invited me to go to the Moby concert with him.  I was one of the oldest people at the show with the average age being somewhere between 18 and 21.  The music was great and hanging out with him is always enjoyable.  At that show I first witnessed a phenomenon I had never seen before.  One of the favorite pastimes of those attending was to call friends who were there and to try and locate each other in the crowd.  With phone in one hand while flailing the other arm to be seen was how friends hooked up at the show.  I had never seen anything like it.  

At this concert a decade ago there was a big display by Apple which up until then was thought of as just a maker of Mac’s used mostly for graphics work.  Apple’s computers were not mainstream and had somewhat fallen out of favor.  What Apple was showing off was this new contraption called an “iPod”.  Those in their big display were available to try out and were the original large models which were not even for sale to the public yet.  I was impressed with what I saw and heard and knew in yet another way the amount of technology headed into our lives was about to take a leap forward. 

Fast forwarding to today, I carry my iPhone with me all the time and feel somewhat naked and exposed without it.  I have 4+ pages of apps and the phone is on 24/7.  It is difficult now to imagine my life being any other way.  Such things as the ability to text, use apps and receive calls while walking on the street in a foreign country make the computer in my pocket feel indispensable.   I am grateful to have it.  The fact that the cost of making calls, texting, buying apps and moving data is affordable today is also on my gratitude list.  Now that there are many types of smart phones what can be done with these units will continue to amaze and mystify as technology accelerates.  I look forward to it! 

When I began writing this today, my feeling was I was going to express gratitude for my iPhone and all I can do on it.  Now that I am here to the end portion of this blog I feel thankful for something related but different.  The gratefulness I feel at this moment is for my ability to change and adopt this new way of doing things.  Yes, I resisted at first but that was due only to my stubborn nature and consistently trying to be different (which is not always a positive thing).  Not only can you teach old dog new tricks, sometimes the old dog learns the new trick on his on.  Woof woof….  

It’s what you learn after you know it all that counts.  Harry S Truman

Gere, Clooney and Me

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

As best I can remember ‘it’ first began to appear when I was about 35.  At the time I was quite proud my maturity had reached the level where ‘it’ started to come into view.  As time has ticked by the effect grew more pronounced and it has now spread far beyond where it first began to appear.  As the effect has become more pronounced the total quantity has diminished and changed but I am pleased to possess more than the majority of my peers. 

You’re may be thinking “what is he writing about now?”  In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I am writing about hair. As you can see in the photo above (hint, hint:  I’m the one in the middle) I have a lot more gray hair than the original dominant dark brown of my youth.  I am very grateful to still have a good deal of hair on my head, but it has thinned out a lot with the passage of years.  At the same time the follicles on the back of my head have replaced quite a bit of my original wavy brown hair with curly gray.  

A few facts:  I’ve read in a lifetime a man’s scalp produces an average of 100,000-150,000 hairs.  Each hair grows autonomously on its own cycle; otherwise we’d molt and shed hair all at one.  The genetics of hair do not come only from a male’s mother although that myth is thought by most people to be fact.  In truth the genes that control hair texture, color and quantity can come from either parent and often skips generations.  So if you’re a bald male and have been blaming your Mom, you probably should apologize to her.  Your hair genetics could be from your Dad’s side of the family and even come from a few generations back. 

Many women say that the amount of hair on a man’s head does not matter.  I believe that is true for some females, others are just being nice while to the remainder it does matter (even though most will not tell a man).  Otherwise why would many men be so obsessed with the quantity and color of their hair?  True or false, a good number of men have thoughts of virility being connected with their hair.  Anyone who thinks this is suffering from delusion as science says there is absolutely no connection.  

Here and there I have thought about dying my hair to be one color.  Most women do it, some to cover gray, while others do it as a fashion statement or some combination of both.  So why not?  If you’re a man who dyes his hair to hide the gray and it makes you feel better then by all means you should continue to do so.  However, if you think the majority of people can’t tell that you dye your hair, you are fooling yourself.  There are men I know who color their hair and a few refuse to admit to anyone their color is not natural.  If you say otherwise to them they will argue vehemently it’s natural.  A psychologist would have a field day with that delusion. 

I know most male movie stars dye their hair as they age and I suppose it is accepted by the majority it has to be done.  I admire those who don’t.  Many who are bald wear hair pieces or have weaves.  I have no issues with that, but it is a sort of adult “dress up” as on most it is easy to spot.   Personally I find it downright funny to see some of the long-in-the-tooth actors with a full head of dark hair.  I think it actually makes them look older.  

With all that said, I want to express my gratitude for my hair in all its phases.  First, I am grateful to have been born with hair at all.  Some are not so blessed.  Then I am thankful the texture of my hair has always been fairly easy to manage and even allowed me to grow it way down my back in my 20’s.  Many men have hair that is difficult to manage unless it is cropped short.  My gratefulness is strong that even thinning, I still have hair on my head as many men I know have little or no hair on top.  It is not something that makes me feel better than my hairless or thin on top friends.  I am just grateful.  

As I age, it is easy to see the destiny the hair on my head has.  With each passing year, it will become grayer, then most likely white.  There will be less and less of it and the texture will continue to change.  Some hair will move from my head to other places where hair did not used to be.  It’s all OK… it really is!  As I have strongly professed, I pray to the power beyond me that I will be allowed to have the full life ride into old age.  Only by being thankful for what is, instead of displeased about the changes my body will go through can I enjoy that trip.  

I have written this wandering, long way around to get to one simple belief:  The quality of my life is tied in large degree to my ability to live in the present moment.  Life does not happen in the past, nor does life take place in the future.  Past is past.  Future is fantasy.  Life is now.  

In the one of my favorite books, “The Power of Now” Eckhart Tolle wrote “Life is now. There was never a time when your life was not now, nor will there ever be.  Nothing ever happened in the past; it happened in the Now…  Nothing will ever happen in the future; it will happen in the Now”.  

I am thankful to be here, to be living life and to be experiencing this moment as I sit here and type.  I accept the changes, the constant nature of the evolution of this thing I call my “self” (even the gray hair).  I find the more accepting I become of what is, the more grateful I become for my life as it is.  The more present I am to live my life as it is happening the more thankfulness fills me.  

If gray hair is cool with Nick Clooney and Richard Gere, its cool with me!

Age is an issue of mind over matter.  If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.  Mark Twain

Only One First Love

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

It has been common remark for me to say “there are days when I was growing up I remember more about than entire years of my adult life”.   It is such a memory I share today. 

It was a few hours before sundown on a late summer Sunday not long after my 13th birthday.  My mother, stepfather, brother and I were going to visit a woman and her two young adult children who still lived at home.  This family had lost the man of the house some months before.  Making a visit “to check on them” was a customary gesture of country kindness in those days. As we were driving up the dirt road to their house I was wishing our visit would be very short and we’d be headed home very soon. 

A line in a Garth Brooks song goes “some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers”.  This was certainly true that afternoon with me not getting my wish for a short visit.  Upon arrival we saw others had also stopped by to visit.  This family of four we met for the first time lived about 50 miles away and included two children.  One was a boy around 9 or 10 years old near my younger brother’s age.  And the other was a girl, but not just any girl. 

Her name was Linda and she looked a little older than her 12 years.  Blossoming from a girl to a woman was just beginning to show itself on her. Once I saw her something came over me I had never experienced before.  I was drawn to her like a nighttime moth to a light.  I had to be near her.  What was instinctively happening was beyond my comprehension, but I didn’t care.  Whatever it was I liked it… a lot! 

Our younger brothers entertained each other while Linda and I walked around the shady yard talking for a while.  Then we sat down on a couple of tree stumps at the edge of the yard for about an hour making small talk, laughing and enjoying each other.  I can’t remember a single thing we talked about, but my memory of her is still vivid today.  She was fair-skinned, tall and skinny with straight brown hair cropped a few inches above her shoulders.  She was pretty, intelligent, funny and sweet.  Being with her seemed almost dream-like as the minutes quickly evaporated.  

After about two hours Linda’s parents yelled for their kids signaling it was time to go home.  For families visiting down south saying goodbye is a fairly lengthy process.  Nothing happens quickly.  Linda and I began to walk slowly toward the house that was about 50 yards away.  With my mind wrapped up completely in the moment I did not notice she had begun to veer toward a big tree between us and everyone else.     

Linda stopped right behind the big tree and asked me if I would write her.  “Of course” I told her and asked if she would write me.  She gently grasped the upper part of my left arm with her right hand and said she’d write.  As she spoke she leaned in close to me in what seemed like slow motion and gave me a quick little kiss right me on the lips.  Later I learned that was her first real kiss just as it was mine.  With her face still not far from mine I leaned toward her and we kissed again.  For a split second we lingered in that magic moment and pulled away slowly looking right into each other’s eyes. 

The moment was broken by Linda’s parents calling for her again.  We hustled up to the house feeling a little like we had something to hide, when in fact we didn’t.  She ran to their car, got a pencil and wrote her address and phone number on a scrap of paper.  As her family’s car drove slowly away down the dirt road she looked out the back window at me as I looked back at her until she was out of sight.    

Linda and I exchanged a letter or two a week for several months.  Once school started that year I was able to call her from a phone booth nearby a few times.  Without physical contact we drifted apart as the months that passed.  Our letters would stop for a while and then we’d start up again. Over time she had other boyfriends and I had other girlfriends, but we kept drifting back to writing each other in between.  Three years from when we first met I got my driver’s license and began to go see her when I could sneak away to make the trip in my little VW.  We got really good at kissing, but never moved past hugging, smooching and holding hands. Our innocence was never spoiled.  The final curtain was when I had to move 200 miles away shortly before my 17th birthday.  I never saw her again and often  have wondered what might have been.     

There has been no sweeter moment in my life than that Sunday in August long ago when I met Linda.  My chest tightens a little and fills up with feeling even today as I think of the experience.  

I do wonder how things turned for her.  I hope she is happy, content and living a good life.  Somewhere I still have a small school picture when she was 14 or 15.  I hope to run across it one day so I can look into those pretty brown eyes again.  

My gratitude is clear, deep and strong for the awakening Linda and I shared.  It is one of my most cherished growing up memories.  The magical innocence of first love comes only once.  I will never forget.       

You know you’re in love when you don’t want to fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.  Dr. Seuss

Planning My Own Funeral

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Here in the late middle part of my life I have lost several friends my age already.  Most often it has been those who did not take care of themselves and abused their bodies.  It seems the late 40’s and 50’s is when such behavior catches up.  Also, more than once there has been an unexpected disease that took someone dear to me.  All are signaled reminders there are no absolute certainties in life except we all depart at some point.  One rarely knows when we see another for the last time. 

I am uncertain of any particular reason why, but lately I have had thoughts about what I would prefer to happen in remembrance of me after death.  Here I am going to try to write down a few of the random threads of thought that have bounced through my mind on this subject. 

1 – Church hymns are just not my preferred type of music and if any are going to be included I’d prefer one my Grandmother used to sing as she worked.  “Amazing Grace” is what I remember most clearly in her sweet off key voice.  

2 – Being a rock and roll fan my preferred music would be favorite artists like Jimi Hendrix, Cream, Led Zeppelin and The Beatles.  That is the music of my youth I love the most.  Two other songs I assimilated are “Fire and Rain” by James Taylor and “Angel” by Sarah McLachlan.  Both those songs I have always felt could have been written about me. 

3 – I’d prefer a party for people who cared about me far more than a church service although to cover bases maybe both would make sense.  Since I would be dead I will leave that up to others to figure out. 

4 – The geographic location of any remembrance gathering is a quandary.  I have lived many places and feel a kinship especially to Tulsa, Dayton, Colorado Springs and in the country where I grew up in Shinbone Valley, Alabama. I think the “where” should be a case of the living figuring how what they want to do, for I won’t be here anymore. 

5 – Should there be partying in my name?  You betcha!  I can think of no finer tribute than those I care about sitting around having a very good time with music turned up a bit too loud. 

6 – To bury or cremate?  Now that is an interesting subject.  My ego says I would want to be buried with a nice headstone so people can walk by and wonder who the heck I was.  On the other hand, not taking up space and letting my body revert to dust quickly in a cremation appeals to my “green” sense.  At this very moment, I think I’d prefer to fertilize a tree above me in the Union Baptist Cemetery in Alabama. 

7 – If my body is committed to a grave, PLEASE don’t bury me in a suit and tie.  I will try and come back to haunt people who would do that to me!  No matter what trappings I have adopted on the outside, inside I am just an old hippie who’d prefer to be laid to rest in his jeans, a chambray shirt and a pair of my cool “tennis shoes”. 

8 – If there is a grave that calls for a marker try to find a spot to inscribe “Learn to smile at yourself and you’ll always be amused”.  I have learned there is much wisdom in that thought and the practice of it lightens my load.  I am convinced God has a sense of humor and laughs along with a self deprecating funny about one’s self. 

9 – My will currently leaves all my possessions to my son.  Most of all he has told me he wants my jukebox and record collection.  I would like that and be honored that he would carry on my love of music.  Also it is my wish that my closest friends, Brother and Sisters get something from my mountain of “stuff”.  And what no one wants, sell it all or give it away! 

10 – As for what might be read at a party or service some suggestions are the Lord’s Prayer or Psalm 23 (but go easy on the bible stuff otherwise), a page or two from the Prophet by Kahlil Gibran such as my favorites on “love” and “death”, Sonnet #43 from Elizabeth Barrett Browning and find a good passage from Henry David Thoreau’s “Walden”.  And if that is not enough, Mark Twain had a way of putting things into words that aligned with my feelings better than just about anyone.  Make it a funny one! 

When I try to think ahead to a time when I won’t be here any more, I hope most that those I love will know how much I cared about them.  I have tried hard to show it and have become not shy about saying “I love you” to those I keep in my heart.  If I said it once to someone I meant it.  The love for him or her never left my heart.  If the world and people left behind are truly better for my having been here, one of my greatest wishes will have come true.  I truly do not want to leave a life behind that just took up space and consumed.  

Before you jump to conclusions and think I am writing a goodbye note about some pending occurrence, please know I am not.  I am healthy as far as I know and I have absolutely no intentions of harming myself.  It is my prayer that my Higher Power allows me a long life deep into old age or as I have called it “the full ride”.  For me doing so would be coming to know the full spectrum of the mystery of life.    

There is nothing like pondering death to make one deeply grateful for being alive.    

Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did.  So throw off the bowlines.  Sail away from safe harbor.  Catch the trade winds in your sails.  Explore.  Dream.  Discover.  Mark Twain

Making the Habit Stop Kicking Me

/ James Browning

In my formative years, most everyone around me smoked:  parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, teachers, doctors and more.  Those were the days when it seemed like a rite of passage to become a smoker certifying one as“adult” when old enough to smoke. 

In my early teens I began sneaking cigarettes and buying them when I could get away with it.  The strongest influence was “hanging out” with peers where puffing away was part of the culture.  Curiously though, smoking did not completely invade my life until I was long out of high school.   Once the habit had me, it REALLY had me.  Clear in memory is a few times when I had no money and picked out the longest butts from my ashtray to smoke.  Looking back now that seems pitiful. 

My habit took hold in the 70’s when the message printed on the packs became “Warning: The Surgeon General Has Determined that Cigarette Smoking is Dangerous to Your Health”.  I ignored it for a while with my youthful bullet proof attitude.  Then came the advertising campaigns about the adverse effects of cigarettes.  By then there was no doubt within I was doing something harmful to me. 

My young wife said we should stop smoking when we were in our mid-20’s.  I was impressed when she put them down and stopped cold turkey.  Always thinking I could accomplish just about anything, it was degrading to discover the smoking habit beat me again and again.  I became like Mark Twain who in the 1800’s wrote “Giving up smoking is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I’ve done it thousands of times”.  

When my son was around 4 years old he used to get my cigarettes and throw them in the trash when I was not looking.  When I would get onto him he would tell me “Daddy, Cigarettes are bad.  I don’t want you to die”.  That hurt, but my attempts at quitting remained unsuccessful.  I made it two weeks once with help from nicotine patches back when a doc had to prescribe them.  Then came advertisements on TV for a prescription drug called Zyban.  I tried that also but in hind sight believe I was looking for a short cut without the proper commitment needed. 

It was in the throws of a complete make-over of my life about four years ago I was finally successful in kicking cigarettes.  Finally there was a real desire within to quit.  That lead to a request of my doctor to prescribe what I believe to be a miracle drug called “Chantix”.   I am thankful for those tiny little pills that were a great companion to the determination to stop I had finally mustered.  

Looking back I realize it was disgust with the habit that finally motivated me.  Things like the need to have cigs and a lighter with me at all times and feeling like a second class citizen in smoking zones in alley-ways, loading docks and nasty yellowed smoking sections in airports finally got to me.   How sad I began to find those “designated areas” where smokers were concentrated smoking, hacking and coughing.  If any smoker tells you they enjoy smoking, I believe they are lying!  It’s just denial and justification. 

If you smoke, I sincerely feel for you.  I know how difficult that monkey on the back is to shake.  Never will I be on your case about quitting.  The only tip offered is the lack of knowledge of how badly I smelled when my habit was a pack-a-day.  Now I realize that no amount of hand washing, cologne or breath mints hides the habit. I lived in the delusion that I was fooling people for many years.  I know better now as I can smell all but light smokers from 10 feet away.  

The following is taken from “No Smoking” by Shane P. Ward who quit after 28 years. 

Was it hard to stop? You betchya! Every single day.
Some minutes seemed like hours till the craving went away.
I conjured up so many good excuses to give in.
But I was so determined that tobacco would not win.

The first day was the worst until the second day came.
The third day was the worst and then the fourth was much the same.
The fifth day? That was not so bad but bad enough to bear
But then I felt the sixth day I had got it beat. So there!

Telling you to stop is not what I would like to do.
The reason that I quit was choice. The same is up to you.
To quit is hard, I don’t deny it. Really it’s no joke.
But if you can withstand the strain, you’ll not return to smoke.

And finally a warning – and I say this in good heart.
If you have never ever smoked – then never ever start.
If you think that it’s cool to smoke then just try stopping it.
You’ll find it’s easier not to start, than smoking is to quit. 

My gratitude is deep to be cigarette free having last ‘burned one’ on October 26, 2007.  That was such a momentous day I will never forget the date.  Firmly entrenched in my mind is the knowing I am only one cigarette from being hooked again.   I know I can never have another one as long as I live.

Don’t get discouraged; it’s usually the last key in the bunch that opens the lock.  Unknown

The Shadow of Monsters

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

Today I take a further step in opening up and letting the world see inside me.  It is a move that makes me nervous, yet I know it is the right and healing thing to do.  About 10 years ago I made my first visit to a therapist to help me deal with unresolved childhood issues that were surfacing more and more.  Such previously buried conflicts within were coming up with greater frequency.  This was due in part to my efforts then to close some emotional fissures and “find” my whole self but also because dysfunction often increases over time.  

The first counselor I went to I liked a lot even though she was tough on me at times.  She gained my trust and I saw her intermittently for about six years.  I was able to make slow stop and go progress wrestling my demons with her counsel.  Then in 2007 my life changed. 

It was four years ago about this time that my life seemed to melt down due to the trauma of the failure of a marriage, a union that I did not want to end.  The emotional chaos was not due just because  of the pending divorce.  It was exacerbated by the knowing that I was in majority responsible for the cause of the divorce.  More correctly the main reason was dysfunction due to my “box of monsters”.   

Keeping a mental image of a wooden box holding my horrors of growing up had helped me over the years to cope.  When one of the fiendish critters of my youth would start to “crawl” out of the box and manifest itself in my life, I usually could mentally get it back in the box and lock it away again.  The emotional harm I did to myself and others was kept to a minimum with this practice most often, but not always.  Once in a while one of the monsters such as insecurity or trauma would break out of the box, grow in size in its freedom and create tremendous havoc. 

The emotional crescendo about by my failed marriage (my 2nd) brought tremendous blame I placed on me.  The resulting shame I felt caused me to begin seeing my trusted counselor once per week for about two years.  In order to see her regularly I had to fight myself quite a bit.  At the top I felt I was the controller of my destiny and whatever I needed to do I should be able to do myself.  Then there were the thoughts of the American macho male stereotype and tough guy image that I wrestled.  Also stirring around was thinking that other people would think I was crazy because I went to a therapist.  I struggled with these misplaced beliefs a lot at first, but less and less as time passed.  

In time I came to realize that going to a therapist for emotional pain is no different than seeing a dentist when a tooth hurts.  My stigmatized thinking about going to counseling was due purely to ignorance and lack of knowledge.  The more I got past such erroneous thinking the more rapidly I got better.  I fully came to comprehend that “secrets were posion”.

Today I can proudly say I am genuinely happy for the first time in my life.  I had never been able to honestly say that until about a year ago.  Nothing changed outside of me.  What did changed is what is inside me and my understanding of myself.  Are the monsters completely gone?  No, and they never will be.  What has happened is they no longer have to be locked up in a box they can escape from.  The little devils reside freely inside me now kept in check 99% of the time by the knowledge and emotional tools I have learned. 

I liken the process to an old cartoon where there is a street vantage point of an alley at night.  Standing there one sees the shadow of a big monster rat headed from the ally to the street.  As the monster gets closer to stepping from the back lighting of the alley the size of the scary beast grows larger and larger. Then suddenly it emerges into the direct light of the street to be seen as only a small mouse who was casting a huge shadow because of the angle it was being viewed from.  

The cartoon analogy explains my internal monsters well.  Once I brought them into the light of day, became more accustomed to them and learned about them they shrank dramatically in size and strength.  Once I could clearly see this way, my life began to accelerate its improvement.  Today I can truthfully say my life is better overall than it ever has been.  Learning that the quality of my life has mostly to do with what was inside me and not what was outside was a grand revelation.  Once I put that knowledge into practice coping with whatever life threw at me became much easier.  I learned that the good times were to savor and the difficult times were teachers sent to teach and make me better. 

I have written all that to say to a reader I did not do this alone.  First, I need to express my gratitude to my ex-wife who after the initial months of her own emotional chaos, found room to aid my efforts.  In turn I believe I was able to aid her as well.  I have not seen her or talked to her in a long time now which is for the best for both of us.  I will always be grateful to her.

That brings me to express my gratitude to the person who had by far the largest role in my growth.  I can’t name her or lend any more than generalities about who she is.  I will say only that she is a licensed counselor who for me was a bit of a miracle worker.  She has said now for almost two years I don’t need to come back.  However, I do still make an appointment every few months as a way of checking in, confirming to myself that my recovery from my childhood junk continues and to again express my gratitude to her.  

In the last decade of searching for healing, I had experience with a few other therapists.  For my issues most went through the proper motions but I could not connect with them.  Maybe it was just an issue of compatibility and they were a better fit for others.  What I do know is that outside of myself, there is one person who did most to help me become the well adjusted, contented and happy person I am today:  My therapist.  Thank you R.!

Nothing is life is to be feared.  It is only to be understood.  Marie Curie

Who Am I?

/ James Browning / 1 Comment

Memory tells me the first time I did it I was around 12 or 13 and found the experience startling.  It was then I looked into the bathroom mirror with pointed focus and truly saw myself.  For the first time I was not simply acknowledging my reflection as I had previously done.  I was really seeing “me”.  The thoughts at that moment were fairly alarming as through my mind ran related thoughts like:  “Is this really me?  Am I am really here?  Do I really look to others like what I see?”  For a while I would look away whenever it was me in the mirror I began to “see” because of the uncomfortable feeling it I got from the experience.  Over time I have become more able to let “me see me”, but the process and I are tenuous friends at best.  

In retrospect I think the first experience as a kid of seeing my self could be a natural part of the self-discovery of growing up.  However, I have never tried confirming that with anyone else.  The thought I have kept is mentioning the experience to another person could get me labeled as “weird” even though I have continued to try to notice myself in this manner since childhood.  Only now writing at a time when I have better acceptance of my uniqueness do I wonder publically if others ever have similar experiences.  

Previously I wrote about seeing beyond looking a few weeks ago:   https://goodmorninggratitude.com/2011/05/25/seeing-beyond-just-looking/

 “…My discovery has been mostly I just acknowledged what came into my view.  Sometimes I walked by not seeing at all what was right before me.  Mine was a bad habit of hardly ever really “truly seeing” much of anything.  My mind seemed to always be racing forward thinking about where I was going, what I had to do and what issues I needed to deal with.  Or else, I was looking backwards trying to solve some past emotional riddle or find some meaning in an episode of life I wanted an explanation for….”  

That certainly describes well what was going on in my young teen years.  Until more recent times I just did not realize that the ability to actually see began trying to make its self known to me when I was quite young.  

In De Bello Civili Julius Caesar wrote “Experience is the teacher of all things”.  What Caesar wrote I believe is the first step where gaining wisdom begins, but experiencing is not enough.  I believe one must experience and then be  AWARE of what is being experienced to learn the lesson.    

On the website falcoblanco.com (white falcon) I found:  The BEST teacher is the conscious observing and relating to daily circumstances, then responding to it out of one’s own experience, being aware that this comes out of an old programming, which happened in one’s past. So also observing these reactions, one is able to decide to follow this track or to try a new way, what might guide to a new experience and triggering new unknown reactions to be observed and so allowing one to get to know oneself.  The best and most efficient teacher without doubt is one’s own awareness….    

This morning I intentionally tried the true seeing of myself in the mirror.  Even after all the time since I initially discovered the activity in my early teens and the many times trying it since, it still makes me uncomfortable.  In part I tell myself now it is because I see age, gray hair, wrinkles and the loss of youth.  That is a portion of it, but I do not think the majority.  The process remains an enigmatic mystery to me and one I will keep trying until I can allow the experience to become full awareness and thereby learn the lesson being taught.  

“Is that really me?  Who am I?  Why am I here?  What is my purpose?  What do I consciously think of myself?  Unconsciously?”  Such questions gnaw at the boundaries I have placed around the core of who I am.  What do I fear I might find there?  Why is there any fear at all? 

The only explanation I have come up with is contained in the thought “if I let you see who I really and truly am you may not like me”.  However, in my personal context it is “me” who has yet to let “me” see myself fully just as I am.  Each time I take up this subject there is a little more light that finds way into the inner circle of my self.  This blog is my best exploration of self I have discovered to date.  Through pulling back the curtains and letting others see deeply into me, I am seeing myself more clearly.  Each day I write here is like staring in the mirror and saying “who am I” then finding a little of the answer on the screen when I am done. 

With every experience of seeing a glimpse of the core of my being I find a little more comfort in being as I am.  This process brings me wisdom and insight in tiny pieces through a sort of delicious torture.  Stepping into the unknown can be for me everything from humbling to down right frightening.  Yet, I am grateful for every humble moment of unease that teaches me and brings my living to be more parallel with my true and real self.    

I am very grateful you are reading this.  Each who does is my appreciated ally and supporter who lends me encouragement to keep writing and mining my inner depths for truth.  Thank you.

We don’t see things as they are.  We see them as we are.  Anais Nin

Hanging Out with Thoreau at Walden

/ James Browning

I was in the 11th grade when I first came in contact with “Walden or Life in the Woods” by Henry David Thoreau.  I recall little about the book from then except reading it was an assignment and I had to do a report on it.  At that age my mind was a swirling mass of girls, cars, grades, dreams and hopes seasoned with a screwy home life.  Absorbing what Thoreau was saying and the depth of his message were wasted on the teenage version of me.  I re-discovered “Walden” about a decade ago and it is now one of my top ten books and one I have read cover to cover three times.  I often pick up a well worn copy I have and randomly open it to read a page.  Wisdom usually finds me each time I do.

“Walden” is today considered to contain some of the first American writing about transcendental thinking.  One of Thoreau thought’s about his two years living in the woods in a self built cabin was to find out just how much a man needed to work to supply the basic essentials of life.  I recall that his conclusion was an estimate of about six to eight weeks of labor each year.

Thoreau said his intention was to  “live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”  There in the 1850’s on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s property at Walden Pond, he lived in a one room cabin furnished with castoffs.  Thoreau found his food in the woods around him, in the lake beside him and in the field near him where his garden was.  He scavanged for lumber and nails and worked barter fashion with farmers for supplies, seed, food, and other things he needed.

Thoreau told time by the train whistle from the nearby tracks which he thought often disrupted his contented existence.  He preferred the sounds of whip-poor-wills, owls, loons, frogs, chattering squirrels and distant crowing roosters.  Thoreau spent much of his time observing everything from the seasonal changes of trees and plants to the activity of the animals around him.  He spent hours with self-assignments such as with a rock and string ascertaining the depth of Walden Pond to a degree that he could map the entire bottom of the lake.

Some of my favorite passages I have underlined in my most worn copy of “Walden” are:

“I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself, than be crowded on a velvet cushion.” 

“I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”  

“However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names.”  

“A simple and independent mind does not toil at the bidding of any prince”. 

“As for the pyramids, there is nothing to wonder at in them so much as the fact that so many men could be found degraded enough to spend their lives constructing a tomb for some ambitious booby, whom it would have been wiser and manlier to have drowned in the Nile, and then given his body to the dogs”. 

“Why should we live with such hurry and waste of life… When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence, that petty fears and petty pleasures are but the shadow of the reality”. 

“Every man is the builder of a temple called his body…We are all sculptors and painters, and our material is our own flesh and blood and bones”. 

“You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment”.  

“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it; but while I drink I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is”. 

“Why should we be in such desperate haste to succeed, and in such desperate enterprises? If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, how ever measured or far away”. 

Today I eagerly express my thanks for the work that Henry David Thoreau left behind for me to discover.  It served a large role in my “awakening” starting around ten years back.  It was then that I began to uncover the real meaning and purpose of my life.  While a difficult journey, I am deeply grateful for the discoveries I have made since that initial inspiration.  Further, there is much thankfulness within for the 14 years of life I have already had beyond that of  Thoreau’s time on Earth.

My writing is far below the caliber of his work.  My thoughts are not as original and deep.  However, I do hope in a small way I am showing my deep gratefulness to Mr. Thoreau for his impact on my life by playing forward his original thoughts of 160 years ago.

A good book has no ending.  R.D. Cumming

Sound Pictures

/ James Browning

About a decade ago I stumbled across an idea I call taking “sound pictures”.  I was sitting having coffee in a little European cafe and Iwas struck by how different what I was hearing was from home.  With most countries having their own tongue and with nations being closer together than many US states, speaking several languages is a necessity.  It is not unusual to hear three or four languages being spoken simultaneously.

While a portion of the music I heard in shops, bars and restaurants was songs I knew, much of it in Europe was foreign to me.  I learned about several artists and groups I would never have known about had I not traveled and paid attention to what I was hearing.  On each visit my music taste has broadened a bit more.

The sounds of the streets in European cities are unique.  The trams are different than trains here and often run right down the middle of streets where cars drive and people walk.  Mostly running on electricity the trams make much different noises than I’m accustomed to and the bells they clang sound unique in each country.  In some Euro-nations bicycles are everywhere and have their particular clatter.  Buses make distinctive noises and even car horns make sounds unique to European countries. 

Then there are the emergency vehicles that have sirens and warning sounds that are unique to Europe.  Most people in the United States have knowledge of them though movie exposure and recognize the sirens instantly as “foreign”.

It was in Europe where I first began to close my eyes for minute or two at a time while listening very closely to what sounds I was hearing.  I let what was in audible range soak into me until I had captured a “snapshot in sound” and stored it within my mind securely.  Even though those initial “sound pictures” were made over a decade ago, I can close my eyes and focus on a particular place and almost instantly the sounds of being there come back to me clearly.  Sometimes the images in sound I recorded mentally contain more detail and memory than actual photographs I took!  Further, it is not unusual that seeing any image of a place I visited will cause a “sound picture” to instantly pop into my head.  It is a unique experience.  

Being in New York City on business for the last couple of days I have had the opportunity to take a few “sound pictures”.  The street soundsare distinct in their intensity and frantic nature.  Human voice on the street in the Big Apple is noticeable in its absence.  People just don’t talk much on the streets in NYC unless they are tourists.  Here and there people do yell at each other, but they don’t talk much on the sidewalks and in the streets.

Restaurant ambience in general is louder in New Yorkand is a match for the overall high volume the great city has in general.  Then there are the street performers, while not particularly distinctive to NYC they lend dintinctive sounds to life in the big city.

I am grateful to have spent a morning on the 3rd floor pool and spa level of the New York Athletic Club where I was staying.  The institution dates back to the last 25 years of the 19th century and is a classy old world kind of place.  There I sat with my eyes closed taking in the varied accents I was hearing.  The moving water from the swimmers in the huge pool echoed off the cavernous walls and forty foot ceiling.  There was voices of attendents taking care of the guests and the sound of doors opening and closing.  As those sounds surrounded me I captured a mental “sound picture” of my morning experience that is now part of the memories in my mind.  That new “snapshot” is now cataloged with all the others safely in my memory.

The more I have participated in the practice of taking “sound pictures” the keener and more discerning of individual sounds I have come to be able to be.  I notice nuances far better over time than I ever did originally.  I am grateful for this unique practice even though I have no idea exactly where the idea came to me from.  Thankfulness for the wonderful places I have gotten to visit is greatly enhanced by my memories in sound I have carefully filed away.   That added dimension helps to keep recollections vibrant and alive.

i am grateful to have had the opportunity to visit New York City on this trip for just about the right amount of time for me which is three days.  I am ready to head westward toward home, but now have new Big Apple “sound pictures” to take home with me.  They are more of the simple gifts of living that I am grateful for. 

 We do not remember days; we remember moments.  Cesare Pavese

I Love New York City (a little)

/ James Browning / 2 Comments

From the vantage point of my 14th floor hotel room I look just across the street and see a high rise apartment building probably 30 stories tall.  Sitting here eating a room service breakfast in my view are balconies attached to most of these apartments.   Each one seems to tell a unique story. 

As I study the contents of the balconies I notice some are empty although through the sliding glass doors the apartments appear occupied.  The most common balcony accessories are chairs.  More often than not there are two side by side appearing to be for people who like to sit together.  Other times two chairs are separated giving rise to the thought they are for two people who don’t enjoy sitting together or else for one person who likes to sit in two different places.  Then there are the balconies with 4 or even six chairs causing me to wonder if there is a family living there or if the person(s) who occupy the apartment like to entertain.  

Some of the high rise apartment balconies have two bicycles which lead to the assumption that most likely a couple lives there.  Then there is the one apartment balcony that appears to have four bikes for a family and another that has one bicycle for a lone occupant. 

As I study further the contents of the balconies become more unique.  There is one that has flower boxes all over it filled with young plants and a single tomato plant in the middle.  Another balcony has a large wooden Indian on it and nothing else.  I wonder what the story about that is.  Several other balconies are adorned with living houseplants while at least two are decorated with faded and fake assorted greenery.  On and on as I look I am struck by the thought that each balcony is as unique as the renters who occupy each apartment.  I realize that it is these small individual differences that help give this large city some contrast and keeps everything from looking the same.  Only now after looking for a half hour do I finally see a single live human sitting on a balcony.  As I watch she is sitting alternating between drags on her cigarette and holding their head.  It must have been a long night!

From walking yesterday I remember life here in this huge city is a jumble of people, cars and buildings with none quite having ample space.  There is a faster pace than most places in everything from the velocity of cars to the speed of people walking (and there are LOTS of people walking).  While I knew somewhere around were packed public buses I don’t recall seeing one.  Under my feet was the subway used by thousands every day but something I have never been completely comfortable riding.  I guess I have seen too many things in movies to feel safe there.  

In city getting a cab is inconsistent.  Once in a while a taxi begins to pull over for me before my arm is completely up to hail the taxi.  At other times cabbies drive by over and over ignoring my existence.  Still others will stop momentarily and ask where I am going to decide if the fare is healthy enough to warrant use of their time and gas.  What is consistent about cabs here is the driving. 

There are few amusement rides that can compete with a ride in a taxi in this city!  Whether speed, rapid acceleration or deceleration, rapid moves or the rush of adrenaline as the vehicle swerves to miss pedestrians, bicyclists and other vehicles there is never a dull moment.  Adding to the experience is that few of the cab drivers seem to have command of the English language yet somehow manage to understand what I am saying even if I can not comprehend much of what is being spoken to me.  It’s all part of the experience within a city population created in a stirred melting pot.  

My hotel is near, Central Park, the only substantial patch of green in the city besides balcony plants and occasional street planters dotting the landscape.  The park is striking in its contrast to the surrounding concrete buildings and streets especially here in late spring.  Besides the green of the park and the near monotone shades of the buildings the most dominant color here is the bright color of the dozens of yellow cabs in view at most any moment.  

The room service I have been enjoying between typing and looking out my window cost about $40 for bacon, eggs, toast, coffee, juice, tip and delivery charge.  Like everything in New York City, living here is expensive.  

In my 20’s I lived in the heart of a major city in a high rise.  At first it was a major thrill and I thought I had really made the grade to be there.  Over time though I began to notice little things like there was no where I could hook up a hose and wash my car.  The big grocery stores were all out in the ‘burbs’ and in town were just small markets with large prices.  The color of anything in living green began to be noticeably absent replaced by concrete gray and asphalt black unless I wanted to walk many blocks to a park.  And even there I was often put off by doggie “do” and homeless residue.  

This morning I realize how blessed I am to get to travel as I have.  There is much gratitude within to have witnessed many places most will never see.  From the wilds of the South and Central America, to the cultural contrast of Eastern Europe to Western Europe, from life on an island to that between London and Zewatinaho I am lucky to have witnessed what I have seen and experienced.  

Where it has all brought me is to a hearty appreciation of where I live and of the life I lead daily.  I am grateful to live in a medium sized city with 90% of the advantages of a major metropolitan area and only about 10% of the headaches and troubles.  Nor am I deafened by the silence and solitude found in a remote area like where I grew up.  It is life in the “middle” that suits me best and for it I am so very grateful.  However, I am further thankful that anytime I need to lose myself in the quiet of the country or the noise of a city I have the ability to visit there. 

I truly do live a magnificent life with so much good fortune I am humbled by it all.

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts.  Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.  Mark Twain