July 2019

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Two documentaries about musicians prompted today’s show. The artists are very different. One, I’m a big, big fan. The other, not a fan at all. I couldn’t give you the title of a single album or song. But I’m happy I watched the documentary. And it was a far better-produced documentary than the one on the artist who I love.

I saw them on the same day, but I watched them in the order of today’s title. The first, a documentary about The Jonas Brothers entitled, Chasing Happiness. The second, a documentary about Adele entitled, Adele – The Only Way Is Up. Both are available on Amazon Prime.

If I gave them a star rating I’d give Chasing Happiness 4.5 stars and I’d give Adele – The Only Way Is Up no more than 3 stars. I’m favorably biased toward Adele and her music. I was unfavorably biased against The Jonas Brothers. This just proves how dangerous it can be to fill in the gaps of our ignorance with our own biases. I don’t mean biases that are the subjective nature of music. We like what we like. Both artists are labeled POP, but I’m not a big fan of POP. Certainly not the bubblegum pop that I associated with The Jonas Brothers.

Can an artist or group truly know why they experience a breakthrough? Both of these artists broke through with reasonable speed. Neither of them languished playing small out of the way venues for years before getting a break. Both of them found fast stardom.

The documentary provided evidence that The Jonas Brothers resonated with all the young girls (their dominate audience, especially early on) because they performed with such happiness. During the documentary, the brothers state that the audience wanted to see them having a good time. At some point during their heyday, they stopped having fun and the success suffered.

By contrast, Adele found an audience that could easily relate to her struggles and pain. Her songs were autobiographical, raw and honest. Anything but happy.

One artist – The Jonas Brothers – representing what we all most want. To be happy. To smile. To laugh. To have a good time.

The other artist – Adele – representing what we all fully understand. Struggle. Pain. Suffering. Heartbreak.

Both amassed tremendous audiences and found enormous success. Both went their own way. One, The Jonas Brothers, sorta lost their way and are now on the road back to doing what they love. They’re currently on a tour, Happiness Begins.

Adele is reportedly working on a 4th studio album due out December 2019.

Two gigantic musical acts who approached their music from completely different viewpoints. And found quick success because people could relate to them, their songs, their persona and their talent. It all matters. So did their timing.

Lately I’ve been focused on how to best make people feel safe. Well, actually it’s been a lifelong fascination with unsafe people. They puzzle me. Always have.

Emotional safety has been a lifelong pursuit. And I do mean pursuit. Both in trying to become increasingly more safe myself and in finding people with whom I can be safe.

No, I’ve not found it very often, but to be fair – I’m cautious and have always limited the number of people in my inner circle. I’m not overly guarded I don’t think, but I may be. It mostly stems from my introversion and the fact that my personality is seriously drained by being around too many people. Sometimes it’s more difficult than at other times.

You’ve heard me say it before – if given the option between two rooms to enter, where I could spend the next 3 hours – one filled with hundreds of interesting people and one filled with just six ordinary people – I’m dashing into the room with 6 people. I can’t fully explain it. It just is what it is. And I don’t judge anybody who would choose the other door. All I know is that I’d rather go narrow and deep than wide and shallow. That’s my best explanation.

Human behavior is among the most curious areas of study for me. I’ve spent my entire life studying it, observing it and predicting it. From the time I began to work in retail (when I was just a kid) to now, I’ve spent countless hours watching, observing, learning and trying to understand why people do what they do.

I’ve watched people in shopping malls, large department stores, small boutique stores and even scoured various retailing areas like Rush Street in Chicago watching how people shop. See what captures their attention. Watching the flow of where they walk and how long they linger looking at a display of products.

In a business context, the focus is clearly on understanding what makes people buy. Influence and persuasion have been major sources of study. Some incorrectly (and inaccurately) confuse manipulation with influence and persuasion. They’re not even 3rd cousins to one another.

Manipulation in the verb form, manipulate means…

to control or play upon by artful, unfair, or insidious means especially to one’s own advantage

Some suggest we think of manipulation as win-lose. The manipulator wins, the manipulated loses. Whereas persuasion and influence are more win-win. That could be true.

It speaks to safety. Safety is based on intent. Manipulation has poor intentions. It involves acts of persuasion and influence, but the distinction is in dishonest, insincere or ulterior motive intentions.

Influence and persuasion aren’t necessarily ill-intended. As a father, I hoped to influence my teenage children to hang with the right kind of people, avoid making foolish decisions and commit to godly behavior. The intention was to help them develop and lead productive lives. I wasn’t intending to accomplish anything selfish, other than to be proud of my work as their father. Their lives were never my own. They’re my children and like all children, their conduct reflects on me, but the training and instruction were all aimed at helping them live their best life.

Contrast that with an imposing father bent on designing their child’s life. Urging the child to pursue what best serves dad rather than being focused on what may best serve the child. That’s manipulation.

The difference is the intent. The intent drives the behavior.

This is important because it impacts safety. Look at your life and the people who surround you. Now single out the people you absolutely do not trust. The people with whom you feel unsafe.

Not caring what others think of you is touted as a great way to go. I’ve even given such advice and worked harder to live it myself. Not by thinking less of others, but by leveraging my own personal responsibility. By being accountable for myself.

I do care what some people think. I care deeply about how some people feel. It adds to the burden greatly, but it is what it is. I also know how crippling it can be. And often still is. Because the bottom line is – THIS is judgment. Judgment – this kind of judgment – stymies us perhaps more than anything else.

Salespeople fear rejection. #Judgment

Boys fear rejection by the girls. #Judgment

Business owners fear to lose a customer. #Judgment

A startup fears rejection by the big prospective customer. #Judgment

Judgment too often drives us. It’s not even real. It doesn’t matter. So why do we give it so much power?

Because we play it out in our mind. We “scenario plan” it to the Nth degree. The trash in our head says, “Yeah, but what if…?” and we go on to fill in that blank with some of the worst outcomes we can imagine. Never mind that years of such thinking have proven – given us evidence – that the worst outcomes aren’t even likely probable. Some aren’t even possible. Not practically speaking.

All the more reason why the topic of safety is so critical. We need to surround ourselves with safe people who can help us achieve a state where we’re no longer suffering because of our fear of judgment. There may be no remedy more powerful than a select few safe people who can help us figure this out.

Safe people versus Unsafe people. So let’s pick up that thought of the people with whom we feel unsafe. Are you thinking of somebody?

Let me take a guess or two. I’m guessing you trusted them once, but something bad happened. They violated that trust.

Most, if not all, of the people who make us feel unsafe, are people who have betrayed us in some way. Maybe they were abusive. Maybe they lied about us. Maybe they lied to us. Maybe they broke our confidence. I’m guessing they served themselves at our expense because THAT is the common denominator.

Unsafe people are always self-serving. Their ego and pride make them the number one person in their life. They hate it whenever their power or quest to manipulate is threatened. They may fight back with tyranny or something far more subtle. Like lots of passive-aggressive behaviors. But they will fight back.

The people who make us feel unsafe are ill-intended. They do not have our best interest at heart. They care primarily about themselves.

So if you’d like to be a person capable of making others feel safe, first you have to be more concerned with their welfare than your own. It doesn’t mean you don’t care about yourself. It means that in the context of your interaction with them, you want what’s best for them. At that moment, it’s not about you. It’s about them.

Let me illustrate with a fictionalized account of a true story. This one deals with spiritual things, but if you’re not spiritual you’ll be able to make an application.

As a religious person, I don’t want anybody to suffer living a poor quality of life that may result in losing their soul. I know there may be many people who don’t believe in such things. I understand. But I do. So my world-view includes a belief based on the Bible that there is life after this one. Eternal life. And that in eternity God has established two distinctly different outcomes. Salvation or damnation.

My intent is to live a godly life so I can go to Heaven My other intent is to serve others so they can go there, too. I wouldn’t be much of a Christian if I didn’t care where others spent eternity. But I’m empathetic that not everybody sees or understands spiritual things as I see and understand them. We can all make up our own minds and determine how we’ll live. No matter what others may say or do.

First, people must know where I’m coming from – a place of concern for them and their soul. Nothing more. That includes no judgment. God didn’t appoint me judge. He’s got that job. I simply know what His Word says and how He hates the sin but loves the sinner. I’ve got some qualifications to discuss the Bible because I’ve studied it my entire life (so far).

A young man reaches out to me. He’s a teenager. Sexual temptations are very real. He’s surrendered to them and committed fornication. A first for him. He’s forsaken his virtue, something he never thought or planned.

I know, I know. How old fashioned am I? I’m not old fashioned, I just happen to believe the Bible = that sex outside of a man and woman being married is sinful in God’s sight.

This boy is crushed by the guilt of his sin. We meet. We talk it through. He says, “I know it was wrong and I want to make it right with God.”

I can now decide my own intentions. Do I want him to do what I want him to do? Or do I want him to do what we both know (he and I) God wants him to do?

Remember, God is the judge. Not me. So we want him to do what God wants. Period. And we chat about that and set about to help him correct this sin.

Some may call that manipulation. Especially people who feel like religion or spiritual considerations are nothing more than that anyway. But is the Bible manipulation or evidence? You get to decide. I’ve already decided and the more I study it the more decided I am that God is truly God, the Creator and worthy of our obedience. Given the high stakes (eternity) I want to make sure I’m correct. At this moment with this young man, I want that for him, too. He wants that.

This conversation happened for two reasons. One, this young man felt safe with me. Two, this young man knew I’d help him accomplish what was best for him. It was a moment of chasing happiness (his seeking forgiveness) by sharing pain (in this case, his sin).

A spiritual context isn’t necessary to understand these principles.

An employee approaches me requesting a few moments. She asks to speak privately with me. “Of course,” I say. She proceeds to tell me of behavior she’s observed in her boss, my direct report. She has evidence in hand of financial improprieties. She’s guarded to not jump to conclusions, but says she’s brought these to the attention of her boss and been told, “Don’t worry about it.” But she’s clearly worried about it.

I investigate. She’s right. Corrective actions are taken to remedy this situation.

She came to me for two reasons. One, she felt safe with me. She trusted me. Two, she knew I’d take action to help fix the problem. It was a moment of chasing happiness (in this case, eliminating improper behavior) by sharing pain (telling me what she had unearthed).

Remove safety and none of it happens.

People shut down. We all do whenever we’re around unsafe people. We seek every opportunity to steer clear of them. Why? Because they’re not safe for us to be around.

This isn’t some petty fear or preference. It’s a very real, honest feeling that we’d be foolish to leave ourselves open to such people. Besides, we understand they provide us no value whatsoever!

Chasing and sharing, no matter what order you put them in, are major components of all of our lives.

Chasing happiness may be worthwhile, but it’s a terrible full-time pursuit. Mostly because people define it poorly and inaccurately. If you accepted the actual dictionary definition it’d be very worthwhile.

a state of well-being and contentment

Our culture defines it more as a pleasing sensation or a pleasing experience. Euphoria. A constant smile on your face type of thing.

Some define happiness as being able to do what you want when you want. How is that not the most selfish thing possible? How is that not all about you without consideration to others? Besides, it’s so not practical. Nobody has that level of freedom. The most powerful and financially successful people have the least amount of it if that’s how we’re going to define it. Go watch that Jonas Brother’s documentary if you don’t believe me. Schedules are orchestrated almost to the minute with little room for variance or flexibility. Meetings, interviews and other obligations are managed by others. They’re shuttled from place to place often not quite sure where they’re headed. So much for freedom to do what you want when you want.

I’m all in favor of each of us chasing happiness if we’re defining it as well-being and contentment. But that’s hardly the level of excited happiness most are pursuing.

Think about your life. Think about those moments of happiness defined in the current culturally correct way – smile on your face euphoria! They’re moments. Fleeting moments. Yes, they’re great and we love them. But we know our life will return to something more normal. More routine. Happiness like that isn’t routine. That’s why it’s happiness. And why we’re often busy chasing it…

Like a drug addict searching for another high.

The problem is normal time isn’t healthy or helpful. The quest for that happy moment robs us of ordinary, routine contentment. The normal time for the addict is that time in between the highs searching frantically for ways to get high. For the happiness addict, it’s time spent looking for the never-ending accomplishment. Some sense of euphoria or freedom. Life is spent in big chunks of routine and ordinary. How can you find happiness there?

By altering how you define it. By thinking about it differently. More realistically. More thoughtfully. And with greater practicality.

The chasing I propose is practical and accurate.

a state of well-being and contentment

As we apply ourselves with feverish vigor to create Instagram moments worthy of admiration by others, we’re fooling some, but mostly ourselves. It’s not real. It’s fake. An illusion (or worst yet, a delusion) to make us feel somewhat better. Does it work?

Scroll through your daily news feed and you know it’s not. Horror stories abound. Poor souls searching for affirmation and validation but finding only the most shallow approval. No sooner do they get it (assuming they get enough likes or whatever other social currency matters most to them), then they’ve got to go get a new fix. Searching for happiness and finding deeper misery. More guilt. More shame. More knowing it’s not real. Maybe followed by self-loathing.

It’s all a mental health destroyer. Sometimes even a killer. Literally.

The R.E.M. song is accurate. Everybody hurts…sometimes. We just hope to fool others by exuding confidence that we’re not like the others. We’re real. Genuine. Authentic.

What if we (that’d be YOU and me because somebody has to start this thing) decided to chase real happiness. That is, what if we devoted ourselves to a state of well-being and contentment?

What if we sought out people with whom we feel safest? What if we relied on them to help us?

Everything would change. For the better.

What if we decided to rid ourselves, as much as possible, of the people with we feel most unsafe? What if we did our very best to limit our exposure to them?

Everything would change. For the better.

And in that safety – being in the company of those with whom we’re safest – what if we confessed our pain and our goals for greater contentment?

Everything would change. For the better.

Then why don’t we do that?

Why haven’t you done that? Why haven’t I?

Let me take a sidebar here. In the past year, I’ve devoted myself more fully to the effort. It’s a work in progress, but I’m committed.

I’ll share my journey because finding safe people is hard. Really hard.

I began with unsafe people. They’re easy for me to identify. Unsafe people aren’t just those who are opposite of the safe ones.

I created 3 categories.

1. There are those with whom I feel safe.
2. There are those with whom I feel neither safe nor unsafe.
3. And lastly, there are those with whom I feel unsafe.

Unsafe people are people who I refuse to be around any more than necessary. They’ve proven unreliable, dishonest, self-centered and tyrannical. There aren’t many of them, but there are a few. I avoid them because they serve no positive purpose in my life. They don’t make me better. They don’t allow me to help make them better. They’re unsafe in every way so I want nothing to do with them.

People with whom I don’t feel safe aren’t necessarily unsafe. They may be people with whom I don’t have a deep enough relationship to know one way or the other. I’m not judging them as unsafe, I’m only discerning that I lack information or the relationship to properly know, one way or the other. They may one day veer into the realm of safe or unsafe. Time may tell. Or not. They may forever remain among the majority of people in my life. This category easily comprises 90% plus of all the people I know or interact with. They’re neither safe nor unsafe. They’re neutral.

The most valuable and important group of people are those with whom I feel safe. This group is the second largest group for me, but it’s still very limited. Unsafe people are the smallest group, but they’re not problematic because I avoid interaction with them at all costs.

These safe people are the select few with whom I have a deep relationship. I know, through experience and tests of life, that they care about me. They want what’s best for me. It’s reciprocal. I want what’s best for them. We both have a common understanding, trust, and concern for one another.

Truth is, I want what’s best for each of the three categories, but that comes pretty easily for me. Are you familiar with character strengths? Character strengths drive our behavior. It’s not personality. It’s not talent or skills. It’s character.

I’ve taken a character assessment a few times because it can change over time as we grow and develop. My number one character strength at the moment is forgiveness. So when people harbor bitterness, resentment and a failure to forgive — I can struggle to relate or understand. My empathy forces me to give consideration to how they’re feeling, but I am unable to fully relate because forgiveness isn’t very challenging for me.

Before you go pinning a medal on my chest tap the brakes. Forgiveness is also problematic. I struggle mightily with forgiving myself. It requires a Herculian effort and even then I often fail. My strength, like most strengths, can become a weakness in a certain context.

I can forgive others easily. I find it almost impossible to forgive myself.

So it shouldn’t surprise anybody who knows me that I don’t even want the people with whom I feel unsafe to suffer or enjoy misery. I’m pretty consistently wishing they’d alter their viewpoint and behavior because I know it’s not going to turn out well for them. But I want it to turn out best for them. Even if they’re unsafe for me. I figure it’s the best outcome for the world if we’ll all behave ourselves and achieve the best outcome for ourselves.

I’m an INFJ based on the Myers-Briggs Assessment. It stands for Introverted, iNtuitive, Feeling, Judging. I won’t bog down in the details because I’m no expert, but that judging part (like the others) is critical.

INFJ indicates a person who is energized by time alone (Introverted), who focuses on ideas and concepts rather than facts and details (iNtuitive), who makes decisions based on feelings and values (Feeling) and who prefers to be planned and organized rather than spontaneous and flexible (Judging). INFJs are sometimes referred to as Counselor personalities.

INFJ and all the other personality types aren’t one-size-fits-all. We all vary amongst ourselves. My INFJ may look a bit different than somebody else’s.

Judging, as it’s used in the INFJ, is discerning. It’s been described by some as being a noticer. INFJ’s notice. We see patterns emerge. We make judgments based on our observations.

Remember what I said about watching people and noticing what made people buy? There you go. I’m a noticer and I’ve always been a noticer.

But there’s another judgment that isn’t based on noticing. It’s purely based on self-centeredness. It’s harsh, critical judgment. It’s commonplace with unsafe people. In fact, it’s largely why they’re unsafe.

We know unsafe people are going to be critical, not based on us hurting ourselves, but based on not doing what they think we should do. These people SHOULD everybody in their life. They second guess every decision made by everybody around them. They’re opinionated about everything and they must express it. They refuse to keep it to themselves. It’s important to them that others know their opinions and judgments. How else will they be able to feel or know they’re superior? I mean, what good is superior judgment if you can’t call people out? Sorta defeats the whole point.

I don’t know how to help people care about other people. Some do. Some don’t. I’m attracted to those who do. Those who don’t populate my unsafe list.

It’s possible to only care about people because you benefit in some way. Unsafe people will help you so they can shine. They’ll help you so they can tell you why you’re doing it all wrong. It’s really not about helping you as much as it’s about looking good themselves. Or feeling better about themselves. At your expense.

And there it is. A big component of the unsafe. They do what they do at your expense. Remember what I said about the difference between manipulation and persuasion? There it is again. It’s why intent matters.

Chasing happiness and sharing pain is befitting of the word I’ve recently coupled to encouragement. CRAVING. We all crave encouragement.

What is encouragement? Here’s how I define it…

Expressing belief in somebody

Today’s show is about some components of that. We encourage people when we provide a safe place where they can share their pain and talk about their pursuit of happiness.

It demands tremendous humility, vulnerability, and courage. If you’re the person doing the encouraging, those qualities must be present. If you’re the person being encouraged, those qualities make the encouragement stick.

Remove humility, vulnerability, and courage and you negate safety. Or any chance for it. You destroy encouragement. Instead, you do harm. You damage yourself and those around you.

At best, I observe mere tolerance of unsafe people. And for good reason.

Those people who must put up with it (most often family members) do. The rest, steer clear. Relationships are superficial and shallow because the people exposed to unsafe people have learned to protect themselves. Meanwhile, the unsafe person MAY be oblivious. Highly likely. But they NEVER care because they’re too busy judging and being right. 😉

If social media has proven anything it’s our strong need to share. We’re social creatures. Some more than others, but we all need to share. The scale slides across a very, very broad spectrum from the narcissist who cares only about himself (or herself), sharing their greatness because they’re the focal point of the universe. Or the shyest of us, reticent to share anything with anybody. If the law of averages is in place, and I suspect it is, then most of us fall somewhere in between.

This much is true. We all want to look as good as possible. Putting our best foot forward and all that. Social media has certainly fueled that because at no time in human history have we been able to fake it ’til we make it (or until we don’t) on such a grand scale.

Our digital life isn’t a long term play. It’s not even a journey. It’s a moment. A picture. A 20-second video. It’s a carefully orchestrated high-light reel that we want others to judge us by because we know judgment is happening. It’s our effort to dictate the narrative by crafting the ideal story.

When I was much younger I learned a valuable lesson about human behavior and judgment. An early boss was fixated on internal theft. Being a kid working in retail, I got it. But his obsession seemed over the top, even for my suspicious nature. Then I figured out why he focused so intently on it. He was stealing from his own company. Sneaking inventory out without paperwork. It was the first real example I saw of somebody focused on the very thing he was guilty of. That lesson has repeated itself many, many times.

The point?

Our sharing is exposing us for who and what we really are. Our fixations are revealing things about ourselves. Mine certainly are. I confess I’m being very intentional about it, too.

I’m positively, unapologetically fixated on the ideals I’m pursuing. We’re often displaying things about ourselves that we may not even consciously realize. Some of us do it quite intentionally and consciously. Fact is, that’s the whole point of this podcast. Not to share how I’ve mastered leaning toward wisdom, but to share my journey of figuring out to lean toward wisdom more and more.

We want to share. We need to share.

We also want others to share with us. We need them to trust us enough to do so.

There’s this — I’m not sure what to call it, but it seems quite phenomenal to me, so I’ll call it a phenomenon. Some share their chase (or having caught) happiness. High-light reel stuff for many. Quite real for others because there are plenty of people who have more money than they’ll ever spend. Sir Richard Branson can share pictures of him and his family or friends frolicking on Necker Island. He ain’t fakin’ it.

Some share their pain. The spectrum is broad on both counts.

Here in America happiness is mostly equated with money and financial wealth. We can’t imagine Sir Richard Branson, Bill Gates or Warren Buffet ever being unhappy, but they are. Perhaps more than we’ll ever know. I don’t have any way to know. I only know they’re human. They suffer. They experience sorrow, disappointment and all the other things that we do. I also know they face challenges most of us will never understand. All the fretfulness and worry that goes with protecting such enormous assets. All the angst that must accompany the insane expectations of those close to you, including children and family. If you’re worth billions how to do you refuse to buy a $100,000 BWM for your 16-year-old who knows it’s such a small thing for you? I’m happy I didn’t have that problem. 😉

Let’s think for a moment about another behavior. Mercy.

Here’s the definition…

compassion or forgiveness shown toward someone whom it is within one’s power to punish or harm

People are unsafe because they have the ability to hurt us. The hurt might be minimal, but it’s hurt nonetheless. They may be able to cause us great injury. They lack mercy.

We all have the opportunity and power to hurt each other. At least in the context that I’m using the term, “mercy.” Which means we all have the opportunity and power to offer mercy. Sadly, unsafe people are bent on refusing it. And mostly because they can. It may make them feel powerful and superior, which is largely the point of it all.

Feeling better about themselves at the expense of others! It’s what being unsafe is all about.

Let’s drill down a bit more on the unsafe people, the people with whom we absolutely know we should refrain from sharing anything. They’re unable to empathize. Or unwilling. They simply will not put in the effort to understand others.

I’m happy to give due consideration to the possibility that some may not know how. I’m also happy to consider they may not desire to learn. Those who want to, likely can. And do. It’s a magnificent achievement if an unsafe person puts in the work to become safe. The entire world benefits. I’m only supposing this is true though because I’ve never seen it. I imagine somebody somewhere has pulled it off though.

Unsafe people believe they are the arbiters of right, wisdom, and brilliance. If they don’t judge the world, who will? Somebody must do it and they’re glad they’ve been given a special measure of full-knowledge enabling them to render justice and truth to the rest of us.

Nevermind context. It doesn’t matter. Nevermind your situation or circumstances. Those don’t count. As for mercy, it’s not even in their vocabulary because nobody is deserving (which is kind of the point of mercy, you know?).

You need to chase happiness. Well-being and contentment.

You need to share your pain.

You need safe people with whom to do so.

So we’ve come full circle and now it’s time to look in the mirror more intently.

Are YOU safe? And I mean in both the receiving and giving context.

Do people lean on you? Do they confide in you?

If so, great. Keep doing the great work you’re able to do. You’re filling a need that is desperate.

If you’re not safe, the big question is, “Do you care? Do you want to do something to correct it?” If so, then that’s great news for all of us. We need many more safe people.

The bad news is I’m not the person to tell you how to go about it because I don’t know how to teach it. I just know how to do it. Somebody smarter than me will have to help, but I’m sure Google can point you in a helpful direction.

Are you safe in your own sharing of your pursuits and your pains?

My goal is to shine a bit of light on the reality of why people lean on certain people and not others. And to encourage you to get busy finding safe people with whom you can share your pursuits and pain. It’s about finding safe people. It’s also about you feeling safe. So that question, “Are you safe?” rubs both ways. Give and take.

Don’t confuse safety with comfort. Growth most often happens during times of discomfort. Sometimes enormous discomfort. But the discomfort grows into a new level of comfort. Growth involves the unknown. It’s the movement from the unknown to the known and back toward new unknowns. Rinse and repeat.

Don’t be complacent. Don’t stop chasing. Don’t stop sharing. You need people willing and able to help you. People willing to be safe for you. You need to be that safe person for somebody, too. It’s a reciprocal cycle that makes the world brighter.

Safety is as simple as ABC – Always Be Careful.

“The purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well.”       ― Ralph Waldo Emerson

Richelle E. Goodrich wrote this in her book, Smile Anyway: Quotes, Verse, & Grumblings for Every Day of the Year…

“I’m starting to think this world is just a place for us to learn that we need each other more than we want to admit.”

I think she’s right. We do need each other more than we sometimes want to admit. We just need to be safe for each other so we can grow and lean more toward wisdom. Together.

Randy

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The other day I was listening to some guys on the radio (yep, I still listen quite a lot to the radio, but that’s because we’ve got a great one here in Dallas – The Ticket). Go to TheTicket.com and download their app so you can stream it free.

They were talking about the sweet spot of being on the planet. Artificial intelligence prompted the conversation which had started because of an article that talked about an AI-driven robot defeating 6 players at Texas Hold ‘Em poker. The machine had played trillions of hands and learned how to win through deception, which is a big component of winning poker (so I’m told).

Then this past week that face app was all the rage with people taking selfies that could project, with alarming realism, what they may look like when they’re old. With my face, I don’t need no stinkin’ app! I’ve got the real thing.

The phrase “deepfake” is now in our consciousness. The question being debated by the morning radio guys was, “How are we gonna ever know if what we’re seeing is true or not?” Technology is allowing us to manipulate reality with convincing evidence.

Some think the robots – armed with AI capabilities beyond what we may be able to currently imagine – will destroy us. That prompted the notion that being a Baby Boomer is likely the ideal. Those of us born to the World War II vets between 1946 and 1964 fit that bill.

I’m one of them, born in 1957 in Ada, Oklahoma – a town not known for much of anything really until Blake Shelton hit big. He even released an album featuring the town water tower in 2014 entitled, “Bringing Back The Sunshine.”

My family left Ada when I was in the 3rd grade moving to Louisiana. But I’ve lived in Texas far longer than any other state. I’m still an Okie. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try. And along the way let’s see if I can bring you some value as you figure out who you are because that’s really the subject. Self-awareness. Self-identity. And the realization that somewhere, deep inside, we’re still the little kids we once were. Roots run deep for most of us. And it’s not just place that follows us the rest of our lives, but it’s also time. The time when we grew up. And how.

So feel free to think about your childhood. Consider the days of your youth. Reminisce. I hope your memories are mostly good, but whatever they are – I hope you find a way to leverage them to make your future better.

Willis Alan Ramsey is a local DFW guy who grew up in the grand privilege of Highland Park, the wealthiest section of Dallas. He released one brilliant album in 1972. On it was a song about another Okie, Woody Guthrie…”Boy From Oklahoma.”

The chorus goes like this…

Just a boy from Oklahoma
On an endless one-night stand
Wan’drin’ and a-ramblin’
Driftin’ with the midnights and
He played the blues and the ballads
And all that came between
His heart was in the Union
And his soul was reachin’ out
For the servant’s dream

I really grew up in Louisiana and I have a special fondness for the culture, music, and food of southern Louisiana, but I have always felt more connected to Oklahoma.

Sooner football was important early. I recall playing in the leaves in our yard in Ada tossing a football to myself, pretending to be a star athlete wearing the crimson and cream.

Sooner state born people were always on the radar. Mickey Mantle, Johnny Bench (even though I was not a baseball fan), Tony Randall, Dale Robertson, James Garner, Ron Howard (hey, Opie) and of course, Will Rogers, the state’s favorite son. These were the Okies of my youth.

Merl Haggard wrote and sang “Okie From Muskogee” but he was from Oildale. A city in California. But both his parents were Okies who migrated like tons of others during The Great Depression. I wonder what California would be like today if it weren’t for The Gold Rush and The Great Depression. Anything with “the” in front of it is a big deal.

Well, all these Okies stars of my youth would be joined by country music stars Reba McEntire, Vince Gill and Garth Brooks. And then came Blake Shelton from Ada, Oklahoma circa June 18, 1976. Nobody more famous ever came from Ada. We’re not gonna claim Oral Roberts. 😉

Ada is the noted location of John Grissom’s only non-fiction book, “The Innocent Man.”

Other than that, it’s just your typical rural county seat kind of town. Main Street literally was the drag where the kids drove up and down ogling one another in an endless loop parade of teenage hormone-filled angst.

Store windows bore shoe-polish painted signs supporting the Ada High School Cougars football team.

Main Street was riddled with Christmas decorations and a parade at Christmas time.

Down at the end of Main Street was a tree. One lone tree on the north side of the street with benches around it where old men would spit and whittle. We just called it “spit and whittle.” That’s likely where I’d be if I still lived in Ada.

Across the street from spit and whittle was Shaw Brothers’ Barbershop where my dad and I always got our haircut.

And next door was my favorite store of all time. A five and dime store where candy was embedded in the counter. Other than TG&Y’s toy department, it was my favorite store.

My least favorite? Any place that sold fabric. Because my mother was sure to spend what felt like hours there pouring over bolts of fabric and scads of patterns.

Any clothing store other than Anthony’s because we knew a lady who worked there. But mostly because they had those cool contraptions that would convey paperwork from one part of the store to the other. It was a system of metal tubes, pulleys and cables sending money and paperwork across the store. I loved to watch it. Anthony’s was the only store in town with it. And the floors were wooden. It almost makes me wish I could open a store that looked just like it. I’d sell stereo equipment and records. We’d have to close within 90 days because nobody would buy our stuff, but it’d be a cool place to hang. Maybe Starbucks would lease some space inside making it close to a break-even proposition.

The Dixie Drive-In had the very best cherry-vanilla-milk-Dr. Peppers with one green olive put inside. And they had good crushed ice, to boot. That’s a vital ingredient for a CVMDP.

Huddle was a drive-in combo eat-it-here place with great hickory sauce burgers. Two pickles on top of the beef. My grandmother loved them. So did I. And root beer in a frosted mug was the way to go to help the burger go down.

My lifelong best friend lived in Ada. That likely had a big impact on me. No, not likely. It did. His name was Stanley James Elmore and there’s never been a day in my life when I didn’t know him. He died in May, 2013. I chronicled more than maybe I should have in an episode recorded in July. Nothing wrecked me like losing him. Oh, but life has multiple wrecks in store for us all and I’d learn more were heading my way. And so it goes. (insert my favorite Billy Joel song here – truth is, it’s my ONLY Billy Joel song)

Hayes Elementary is where I spent my first crucial early years educationally. Mrs. Arnold in first grade. Mrs. Fenton in the second grade. Mrs. Goddard in the third. I loved them all. Mrs. Arnold more than the others though. It was in her class where we got the news in the winter of 1963 that our President had been killed in Dallas.

Mrs. Goddard was reading aloud to the class, The Boxcar Children. And I loved it. When we moved I was mostly sad that I wouldn’t be able to hear Mrs. Goddard finish the book. I doubted I’d ever find out what happened to Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny.

Moving to Louisiana didn’t change my notion of being “just a boy from Oklahoma.”

My grandparents – both sets of them – still lived in Ada. They all died there, too. And are buried there.

That culture of my youth.

The smell of tires in my grandfather’s tire store, Menasco Tire. Visits to his ranch land where cow roamed and hay was stacked in barns.

The smell of the pipe of my other grandfather. Seeing him in his easy chair. Always.

The smells and sight of my grandmother cooking in a flour-dusted kitchen.

The sight of the same grandmother reading her New Testament then napping on a sofa at the back of a long den. Never understood why she’d never go lay on the bed, but folks didn’t do that. And naps never involved getting under the covers. Another weirdness to napping habits of the past. If I’m laying down to sleep, I’m getting IN bed although I confess I’ve napped on top of the bed before.

School recess. When playground equipment was dangerous, but nobody thought so. It was fun. You can Google and see pictures of how fun it truly was.

And nobody wore a helmet to ride a bike. You only wore a helmet to play football.

And seatbelts weren’t yet invented. Which meant car seats for infants weren’t either. Mom’s lap was the car seat. Kids sat wherever and however our parents would allow us. Me? I mostly rode in the back of my grandfather’s pickup truck. Yep, sometimes I’d stand up with my arms resting on the top of the cab. While going down the highway.

It was a very different time.

Jeans were pressed and cuffed.

P.F. Flyers were the Nike of our era.

Shirts were collared and ironed.

Teachers were respected and supported by our parents.

Sir and ma’am, please and thank you were required.

Playtime mostly consisted of figuring out what to do and deploying your imagination to do it. Hence, I played football alone quite often. The game was mostly in my head, made real by the fall air and the smell of the leather football I’d toss to myself. As an imaginary OU Sooner.

Saturday mornings meant Warner Brother’s cartoons. Bugs and all those terrific characters made alive by Mel Blanc, who I still think was the greatest actor of all time. I’m happy Boomerang channel has them back on. I feared the Political Correctness Police would ensure we never saw them again. What with all the violence and other objectional material that might destroy our society. Yeah, like all this gender-bending hullabaloo won’t! We were all quite corrupted by Looney Tunes.

Dominos, card games and board games seemed to be the social activities of our parents. Gathering with other families, the kids going off to play while the adults sat around kitchen or card tables playing games. And engaging in banter along the way.

I envision such a scene today where four adults – two couples – sit at a card table, each with an iPhone in hand. Texting one another perhaps. Or, more likely, each just scrolling and swiping in their own little digital world. Oblivious that three other humans are sitting mere inches away.

I don’t say that to harken back to “good ‘ol days.” Mostly because that’s not my viewpoint really. I point it out to reveal why those talk radio guys thought my generation was hitting the sweet spot of existence. We got to experience that world. The pre-Internet world when life and society were so different than the present age. The diversity of that experience may have rewards. I’m not sure. But it certainly gives my generation perspective.

My great grandmother traveled in covered wagons. She also dipped snuff. A wiry woman who would have never imagined life in anything other than a simple, frame house with screen doors to let the breeze through. I never remember her house having an air conditioner (which were all window units when I was a kid).

Post World War II America was prosperous, but nobody was fancy. Not in Ada, Oklahoma. Not that I knew anyway. The Buxtons had a pool. My grandmother would call and invite herself to bring us to swim in it sometimes. My grandparents didn’t have a pool. But they did have a big cement storm cellar. With a metal door which we’d slide down until the summer sun made it too hot. By the way, that dangerous playground gear we so loved included metal slides. Bottles were glass. Slides were metal. Those were the “good ‘ol days.” 😀

Radios were AM only. Our parents were kids and young adults in the days of radio. TV was the new thing for them. My generation were the first wired generation. We grew up watching TV. But avoided sitting too close because it would do something harmful to us.

TV remote controls were the kids. “Hey, Randy, turn that up a little.”

Or

“Hey, Randy, turn that to ABC.” (you only had 2 or 3 channels)

Rabbit ear antennas was about as hi-tech as any home was. And everybody had balls of tin foil on the ends.

Phones were all rotary dial and everybody’s number started with letters. Like FE was our prefix in Ada. My current cell begins with area code 214, but nobody used the area code. You dialed a 7 digit number. And phones had bells built-in. They rang loudly. Phone calls were a big deal. Just like getting the mail.

Newspapers and magazines were regular reading material. My grandparents subscribed to the TV Guide. Lots of people did. Mostly for the schedule of what was on, and when. “When are our shows on,” was a common question. “Our shows” were the ones folks wanted to make sure they didn’t miss. ‘Cause if you missed it…you missed it. It’d be 10-15 years before the VCR would be invented.

We watched Bonanza. Chevy sponsored it. Andy Griffith, F Troop, McHale’s Navy, I Dream Of Jeannie, Hogan’s Heros, Gilligan’s Island. But the shows I most wanted to see were forbidden. Twilight Zone and Outer Limits. Now, THOSE would corrupt us forever and we’d never be the same. So my mom said, “NO!” to both. Youthful rebellion opportunities were limited because the shows aired at a time when you couldn’t even sneak around to see them.

Which meant rebellion existed to looking at the ladies underwear section of the Sears & Roebuck catalog. Or the summer catalog with swimwear. 😉

I was in first grade when Scott Fenton showed me a Playboy magazine. His mom would become our second-grade teacher. He was worldly, obviously. I was not.

I told my parents about it. Shows you have naive and stupid I was. I ratted Scott out. So my dad drove me over to the Fenton’s house to inform Scott’s dad. It was clearly his dad’s magazine. I think Scott even told me so. The results weren’t fruitful. I don’t know what my dad hoped to accomplish really ’cause Scott’s dad – based on his facial expressions visible to me while I sat in the car – indicated he couldn’t care less. No matter. I had seen a naked lady. So there was that!

Corrupted at 6. Changed forever. Damaged beyond repair. Thanks a lot, Scott.

My family was religious. Many people used to be religious. My grandfather and father had helped build the church building where I grew up. Nightly Bible reading and prayers were just a way of life. Stanley’s dad, Johnny, was (still is) a preacher. He was working with the congregation where I was a little boy.

Stanley and I sat on the front row. Directly in front of my folks. My grandparents sat on the same row as my folks, at the other end. At least that’s how I think it was because whenever I’d misbehave my mom would thump my ear with a crisp, painful flick of her middle finger. How appropriate, huh?

Stanley was the only reason for my misbehavior. I blame him. Mostly because he was to be blamed.

He was restless. Much more so than me. Had the attention span of a gnat. Men got on their knees during prayer at church. So did we. That was “showtime” for Stanley. Fingers pulling on eyes and stretching cheeks while sticking out a tongue – a favorite public prayer maneuver for Stanely because he knew – with precise certainty – that it would make me laugh. Then my ear would be thumped. That seemed to be the objective.

But the Bible, faith, prayer, congregational Accapella singing and preaching were a major part of life. Still are. My life has been defined by Faith. And in all the best ways. In spite of how others view Christianity or religion, in general. I was fortunate and blessed to have been taught the Scriptures since I was a boy. It’s an enormous gift. That’s my point of view. It will always be my point of view.

Largely because through the years I’ve seen people wrestle with questions about why and purpose. Those questions never existed for me. Not as a boy. Or as a man.

I know exactly why I’m here and why we’re all here. To honor and glorify God. And I believe the Bible is God’s Word instructing us how to do that so God is happy. I never grew up thinking it strange or odd or crazy because faith was never blind. My parents never asked me to believe something simply because they did. We had the Bible as our guide and proof. If the Bible taught something, we followed it. If it didn’t, and the thing didn’t violate any principles taught in the Bible, then okay. Figuring it out for oneself based on using the Bible as our guide and authority was all I knew. It’s still all I know.

Knowing who God was as a little boy wasn’t some fable. Without the Bible how would one know anything about God? Especially how to serve God? I grew up not wanting to be lost, but wanting to go to Heaven.

Stanley and I would be baptized at the same time, by his father, in the summer of 1967. But that’s another story.

Faith was the prevailing thing in life. Church and God entered into every decision. And I’m sure that’s why my father made a big deal out of Scott Fenton showing me that Playboy magazine when I was in first grade.

Those days – and all the associated memories of them – make me who I am today. I’ve always felt it, but I’m not sure I’ve always known it.

Through the years I’ve been approached with career opportunities on one coast, then another, and even some just a state or two north of Oklahoma. I rejected them all. Because I’m just a boy from Oklahoma and I never felt comfortable being too far away. Fact is, the only difference between Oklahoma and Texas is the dividing line, The Red River. Otherwise, you’d never know the difference.

Cattle. Oil. Bible-belt conservatism. Lots of rural towns. Pretty flat. Windy. Tornado Alley.

I’m comfortable here. Always have been. It’s what I know. It’s what I grew up knowing. And loving.

When it comes to time and place I suspect we are who we are. Largely the product of that time and place. Free to bend it, go beyond it or do whatever we’d like. But I choose to stick around this part of the country because I know deep down, it’s who I am. And I refuse to try to be somebody different.

My son and I were talking the other day about how we’re wired. We share quite a lot as you’d imagine, but we also have distinct differences. Many that I’m envious of because in some areas where I’m weak, he’s strong. I’m thankful for those differences. And likely more thankful that he’s got those attributes over me.

For some reason, we were talking about bullies and I remarked, “I never got bullied. I’d talk my way out of things.”

“Me, too,” he replied.

I remember being among kids – whether on the playground or in the neighborhood – and being the peacemaker. I always stepped in to negotiate peace so kids wouldn’t fight. Or so none of us would get in trouble.

And if somebody wanted to fight me for some reason, which didn’t happen much because I knew how to navigate socially pretty well, I’d back them down with words. I’ve boxed quite a lot with kids (gloves on), but I’ve never been in a fight!

All these little details add up. You’re thinking of where you were born. I hope. And where you grew up. The names and faces of the kids in your class. Or on your street.

Terry Hart was a friend at Haye’s Elementary School in Ada. He lived right across the street from the school. He could run fast. I was never fast, but I always envied speed. Terry was the first speedster in my life.

I never did dream much about flying, but I did dream of being able to run fast. Only in my dreams.

You’re thinking of friends you had who may have had a talent you lacked. Ability to do things you wished you could do.

It all adds up.

To make us who and what we are.

My uncle Pete died awhile back. He was my dad’s youngest brother. I went back to Ada for the funeral. It’s the first time in years. It’s changed.

Haye’s Elementary School doesn’t even look the same. It was a tall 3-story red brick building when I attended. It’s your typical flat, spread out affair today. Not the same. The room and the window I looked out of in first and second grade are gone. The flag pole isn’t even the same today. It doesn’t matter. It’s still very vividly alive for me. In my mind.

My grandmother’s house, featuring two grand elements – a big hedge down the entire driveway (she once hit the paperboy riding his bike down the sidewalk because she backed out so quickly and couldn’t see him because of it)…and a big willow tree on one side, didn’t look the same at all. The hedges are gone. So is the willow tree. But they’re as grand as ever in my mind.

The old bike I had at that same house, stored in the garage without a door – it was more like an enclosed carport – is long gone. It was blue and carried me all over that neighborhood. Down the block to my great grandmother’s house. Jumping over big cracks in the sidewalk.

Where are YOU from?

What has made you who you are?

How has it impacted your today?

The world has changed. Culture in America has changed. Dramatically. Not all for the worst. Not all for the best.

You can’t go back. Except in your mind. But that’s what matters anyway. What we think.

Because what we think determines how we feel and how we feel drives our behavior.

I’m thankful. Thankful to be from Ada, Oklahoma. Thankful to have been born to Jeff and Becky Cantrell. He oil field trash (his words) from the other side of the tracks as her. His dad, my grandfather, a wildcattter willing to risk it all for some bigger payday. Her, from a successful businessman in town, determined she’d be among the highly regarded in town. An unlikely pair in many respects. Two people who just like you and just like me are their own people born in their own place and time. With their own childhood memories which have served to largely forge them into who and what they are today. Yes, they’re both still living. My father will turn 96 in September, Lord willing. He never figured to outlive all his siblings, but sadly he’s had to bury them all. He’s the last man standing. My mom? Well, she’s younger. She’d tell you “much younger.” But time marches on and we’re all going to leave this time and this place one day. They each know they’re getting closer, but so are we all. They’re here in Texas, but they’re both just kids from Oklahoma, too. The nut doesn’t fall far from the tree, huh?

The strange thing about it all is how deeply we’re impacted by it. How it influences us all of our lives. More so than perhaps we realize.

I do a podcast with a guy named Leo. He’s from Boston. He hasn’t lived there in some time, but in some shows, we recorded during the Stanley Cup Finals, his Boston Bruins were celebrated by him in the wearing of his Boston Bruins cap. Now he’s wearing his Boston Red Sox cap. He’s a Boston boy still. Living in San Diego, but still just a boy from Boston.

Me? I’ve never even been to Boston. Shoot, I’m just a boy from Oklahoma.

Randy

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Today, I went outside The Yellow Studio to record this special episode. I’m soliciting your input and insights.

Thanks for listening and for all your support of this podcast.

Should Project Craving Encouragement becomes something more than an episode (or two), or a regular segment of this podcast? If so, what should it be?

Get your thinking cap on and let me know.

Randy

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Craving Encouragement: A Project Update

Thanks to you guys I’m closing in on the goal. I’m not there yet so if you’re so disposed to make a contribution, do it.

A BIG THANK YOU to everybody who has contributed. Even you anonymous ones. You frustrate the snot out of me being anonymous but thank you just the same. Know this…

Participation in the project doesn’t rely on your financial contribution. I’m super grateful for the donations, but I’m VERY anxious to gather your stories of a time when you were encouraged in a meaningful way.

Please click on that Support This Podcast tab in the navigation and learn more about how you can share those stories with me.

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“Life is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Yeah, who says?

Just another thing that sounds smart, but maybe it’s not. Okay, forget about smart. Is it accurate? Not likely.

I watched yet another documentary on Janis Joplin the other night during another bout of insomnia. She died at 27. Along with a host of other rock and rollers like Jimi Hendrix. 27 seems to be a popular age to check out if you’re given to excess. There’s even a 27 Club.

I guess 27 years is a marathon compared to 2 years. Life is relative. But lifespan isn’t usually what we’re referring to when we say, “Life is a marathon, not a sprint.” Mostly, I think people mean things take time. So the saying is really an exhortation toward endurance, patience and staying with it.

But it implies something more.

That slow and steady is the path to success. And that fast is the enemy.

Is that right?

Well, it can be. But not necessarily.

Truth is likely far more complicated. And difficult.

Human endeavor largely depends on our beliefs. That’s why these are important subjects to discuss. Even more important to think about. And yet even more important to figure out so we can implement positive changes in our actions.

Does it take a long time to make a positive change?

Is growth always a marathon?

Can we not change our minds and our lives quickly?

We’re human beings with greater capacity for achievement and adaptation than any creatures on the planet. Other creatures require more time to adapt because they have to experience changes before they adapt. Or before they begin to learn how to adapt.

Not us.

We can think about it in our minds before we ever experience it. That gives us the opportunity and ability to make changes quickly. Humans have the innate ability to figure things out. And quickly.

This may be on more of a micro or short-term level, but it has a macro or longer-term ramifications. We can figure out what to do next rather quickly about most things. People do things, say things and we face new circumstances or situations. If life were really a marathon we’d be stuck trying to navigate our way through all the new people and situations we face. But that’s not the case.

Sure, some folks can do it more quickly than others, but every human being blessed with sufficient cognitive ability and mental health has the capacity to figure out rather quickly what to do. There’s just one little catch. Okay, it’s not so little.

We don’t always implement wisdom in figuring it out. Long-time listeners know how I define wisdom. It’s not very complicated the way I think of it because I’m pretty simple.

Wisdom is getting it right in real time.

We can all get it right in hindsight. Some of us need a few times maybe. But the real catch is to figure it out in real-time. To get it right as it’s happening.

It’s really hard. The time pressure is real.

Many psychiatrists and psychologists have written and given talks about ways we can improve our brains. Which should translate into how we can think better. There’s quite a lot written and said about reality. I bring this up because we don’t always see the reality of time. Is this a sprint or a marathon? How can I tell the difference?

Sometimes you can’t. But we seem to almost always be under the pressure of time. Most decisions feel like sprinting is needed. Do we really have time to ponder this some more? Deadlines don’t help. And our lives are filled with them.

“What is taking us OUT of reality?” That’s a question one mental health professional asks. I thought it sounded quite smart at first, but after about 15 seconds I began to question, “How do I know I’m being taken out of reality?”

Contextually the doctor seemed to mean, “What is taking you out of what you know to be true?” He illustrated it like this. Suppose you’re telling yourself, “I can’t do this. I’ll never be able to do it.” Why are you saying that to yourself? Because you’ve not mastered it yet. Did you get everything you ever tried right on the first try? Well, how many things were you able to get right eventually? When a person answers those questions they may rightly conclude they don’t know why they’re telling themselves this negative thing. Truth is, they’ve rarely mastered something right off the bat, but they conclude they’ve mostly been able to succeed eventually. THAT’S the reality but that’s not what they’re now telling themselves.

The question – What is taking you out of reality? – wants the answer to why you’re telling yourself you can’t do THIS thing when reality has proven to you that you likely can. By stopping long enough to ask the question – and by walking through those reality checks – we can quickly figure out if our self-talk is based on any evidence or if it’s just the emotional frustrations of the moment.

Patience is a funny thing.

Like most kids I didn’t have much of it. Older people in my life would urge me not to “wish my life away.” Before I got my driver’s license I couldn’t wait. Or so I thought. Stuff like that. “Don’t wish your life away.” It didn’t feel like that’s what I was doing. From my perspective, I was just anxious for what was next.

Some of that has never left me. Some of it I’ve given up on knowing such a day may never come. Hope and dreams die along the way. When you’re a kid you feel like you’ve got a lot of time left, but you just can’t wait for it to get here. When you’re old you know you’ve got limited time left, but you rather hope the wait is long.

Being patient and being anxious – I suppose it happens within each of us simultaneously. I’m patiently anxious a lot these days! 😀

Hurry up and wait. 

Life is like that. A lot.

In the tortoise and the hare, the hare is sprinting ahead, then resting. Waiting. Then sprinting some more. And resting some more. He’s overtaken by the tortoise during that last rest.

Of course, life isn’t necessarily a race. If it is, I don’t know what we’re racing. Or how we’d win. We live our lives. We live however long we live. If I could figure out what I was racing then I might better know how to run.

Racers win by arriving there first. Whatever defines the finish line – that’s where there is. If death is the finish line for this life (and it is), then I need there first…why? If something else gets there before me, what have I lost? See my point.

But we’re part of the human race. Does that mean we’re all racing each other? If so, then is the measurement time, money, stuff, experiences, accomplishments…or all of the above? Or none of the above? I haven’t a clue.

Except for one thing.

What’s our capacity? For anything and everything?

People focus on potential. Maybe it’s worthwhile, I’m not sure. I’m not able to quite get a handle on my own potential so I’m in no position to judge yours. And if one believes he’s able to “change the world” (a common goal I hear people actually say out loud), then is he responsible to change the world else not live up to his potential? Is it wrong of me to believe – even know with the highest degree of certainty – that I lack the capacity to change the world?

What’s taking me out of reality? Hey, I’m not the one claiming I can change the world. Ask that fella what’s taking HIM out of reality? He’s the deluded one I think. 😉

Critics would tell me I’m negative, but I don’t think so. I just wonder what’s possible. And I’m always going to think it can be better. It doesn’t mean I’m dissatisfied necessarily, but it doesn’t mean I never think we’ve arrived. “Yep, that’s it. Nailed it!” I’ll never feel that way. About anything. Which brings me to the truth of potential. It’s fictional. Nobody will ever achieve it. Doesn’t mean it’s not worth chasing. Just means you’ll never arrive.

I dropped out of college with something less than 18 hours needed to graduate. Did I live up to my potential? Hardly. I left a boatload of potential on State Street near the front gates to LSU. Did I think of how that decision would play out? Not really. I just did it because I was making plenty of money selling stereo gear and my wife and I wanted to get closer to Dallas/Ft. Worth where she was from. Some of you won’t understand this, but a big driver was spiritual. Church-wise we determined it was time to leave. So we did.

Do I wish I’d finished those last hours? Kinda. Sorta. But it would have required another year (mostly) and my patience was done. I was more anxious than patient. Besides, I left thinking I’d finish my degree elsewhere. That was the plan. At least in my head. It just never happened.

Careers happen. Maybe most people architect theirs. I didn’t. Mine absolutely just happened. One thing led to another. And before you knew it I had a family. Along the way, I learned the sprints toward greatness were really short. The marathons of failure seemed to never end.

In the beginning, it was especially arduous. We struggled. I struggled. But we made it. Thanks to God’s blessings, hard work, lots of suffering and our collective inability to do anything different than fight every day.

Today it feels like I sprinted to something that may not have been worthwhile. But how am I to know?

I would have been a cartoonist. A writer. A college professor. They all crossed my mind. Dropping out of college sorta killed that last one. 😉

But I never pursued any of them. Well, writing is something that’s been a lifelong habit. Doesn’t mean I’m good at it, or that I even know how to do it. Properly.

I’ve been paid a total of $100 for being a writer. That was for a hockey magazine back when I was coaching. It’s $100 more than I ever earned teaching college or drawing cartoons. So there’s that.

My life has been spent in business. And there are parts of it I love. And parts I hate. But I wasn’t sprinting toward or away from it. I was plodding tortoise-like through it. Mostly interested in human behavior. Interested in employees and customers alike. Watching how they acted and reacted. Fascinated by shopper behavior since I was a kid. Fascinated by people, but not too much so. Not enough to want to get too close to too many. Rather preferring to get close to a select few – of my own choosing – and steering a comfortable distance away from the rest.

Time goes fast. Then it picks up speed.

Life goes slow until it goes fast.

Today I’ve got perspective. I know more than I once did. A lot more. And not just the stuff I know I don’t know. The stuff I honestly do know. For sure!

What’s Next?

Life is mostly a sprint to what’s next.

When the kids were little it was the family battle cry. “Now what?” Or, “What’ll we do now?”

It was an incessant question asked as we pulled out of the parking lot of Six Flags after an 8-hour exhaustive prowling through the park.

It was asked as we got in the car after a 4-day stay somewhere.

It was asked after leaving a ball game, hockey game or some other such night out.

“What are we gonna do now?”

“Now we’re going to go home and sleep!” That seemed my always unpopular reply. Like the hare, I was sprinted out and ready to rest.

Tortoise life isn’t real. For anybody, I know.

Slow and steady may win the race, but nobody I know is poised to break the tape at the finish line. We don’t call it a RAT RACE for nothing. All the rats I know are running like crazy toward who knows what? Many of them haven’t a clue. I’ve rarely had a clue myself. It just seemed like running faster was required.

Some years later, as the kids grew older, I realized we’re not running toward anything. We’re running away from. Now we’re getting somewhere, I remember thinking.

Sprinters like Usain Bolt are masterful. Artful. Remarkable.

Crooks running from the cops are anything but. Clumsy. Awkward. Stupid. Yes, I can relate to them. These are my people. Not in their criminal endeavors, but in their ability to flee or sprint.

Some are. Some aren’t.

Some do. Some don’t.

Taking a line from a Steve Martin bit that came out while I was in college I had a t-shirt made that said on the front, “Some people have a way with words…” The back said, “Others…not have way.” Remember, I was in journalism school. It was especially topical at the time.

Well, in this race of life I certainly have spent WAY MORE TIME feeling like the person who “not have way.” It has long seemed like others had the way. But not me.

Businesses love to project hockey stick growth. That is, it starts off with a slight upward trajectory, but then it goes up sharply…taking off…going almost straight up. Such sales growth is ideal. We think. Not terribly realistic for most businesses though.

Instead, many businesses have growth that looks more like a snake run over by cars on the highway. And that’s if things are going well. FLAT.

The worst-case scenario is the snake gets pounded into a gravel road. Dead as Ned.

Life is like that, too.

All these high achievers and their hockey stick growth. Careers that go straight up. And keep going higher and higher. People who go from one great thing to something even greater. No slumps. No downturns. Just upward trajectory with no end in sight. As we stand there gazing upward in amazement at their prowess. Sprinting from one remarkable achievement to another and another. Experiencing orbits that just seem to higher than we can imagine.

On rare occasions, I take off my rose-colored glasses – okay, they’re not so rose-colored as they are green – and I look a bit more closely at one of these high orbit rotating achievers. And something weird appears. A dent in the armor of their superiority.

A psychiatrist with tons to say about living a good life, improving your brain and most anything else to do with reaching your ideal self…I see a picture of him with his wife. Wait a minute! She’s easily half his age. I dig a bit into his life. She’s wife #3. Well, there you have it. His hockey stick life has involved a few hockey fights that have knocked out a few teeth. That’s a bridge in his mouth. Those aren’t his real teeth. But you never know if you don’t look too close. Most don’t. Or care.

I suddenly feel a bit better. About myself. Him, too. He’s human. Okay, good for him that he went younger at the wife position. I’m assuming #1 and #2 got some money out the deal, but what do I know. Or care.

We all pick our nose. Sometimes.

So much for you or me being our ideal self. Or reaching our full potential. Any more I’m happy to reach the next rest area.

And there it is. The lead I always bury.

Life is a sprint and a marathon. We’re all short sprinting the same marathon. The race is to the next rest area. We’re not racing each other. We’re just trying like crazy to sprint to the next rest stop so we can stop sprinting. For awhile.

Life is about sprinting so we can stop sprinting. String enough sprints together and eventually we’ll find ourselves at the last rest stop. And then, finally, at long last. The sprinting will end!

Come on, comet!

Randy