It’s not always safe. Often times, it’s quite unsafe. Made so by people with ill and self-centered intentions. The great human atrocities – such as the Holocaust and the current genocide in Sudan, etc. – seem unbelievable to almost all of us (but not quite all, or they wouldn’t happen). But each of us is capable of losing ourself to our own ambitions and devices to the destruction of others, and ultimately to ourselves. We’re all capable of poor – even dreadful – behavior. Even well-intended people can justify awful behavior believing in their own superiority. The drive for power over others can be intense and effective. But it won’t last. A bigger, more powerful tyrant bent on taking power by any means necessary will overthrow your tyranny. Most tyranny is non-violent, by the way.
Life isn’t about power. Neither is leadership. Leadership isn’t about judgment or displays of righteous indignation. Nor is it about being the boss who makes the decisions. Rather, it’s about compassion. Empathy is the fuel, but compassion is the traction. Driving action to help and serve. Without expectation that it will provide leverage (power) in the relationship. Leadership is about learning, understanding, and growing and helping all around you do the same.
It’s about helping people be their very best. That’s only possible when people feel safe around you. Make them feel unsafe and you add to their burden. That’s power! Destructive power, which is the most common kind.
Listening. Learning. Understanding. Growing. Those are required if a person wants to improve empathy. Displaying compassion requires it. And it’s quite uncommon. Not because we’re incapable, but because we’re mostly interested in, “What’s in this for me?” Or, “How can I appear better than the rest?”
That’s just part of why encouragement is so rare. And why you likely have nobody in your life willing or capable of giving you any. And likely why your life has so few people with whom you feel really safe. Safe enough to know that judgment, pride, self-centeredness, manipulation, abandonment, abuse, control, perfectionism, domination and a host of other bad behaviors won’t be leveraged against you.
I guarantee you have far more people in your life willing to deploy some or all of those bad behaviors than you do people who can refrain from them. Right now people are filling the gaps of their ignorance about you with their own made-up “facts.” They’ve got you all figured out and yet they’ve never listened to you, taken time to understand you, or attempted to display any compassion toward you. They’re just glad you’re not as good as they are. It makes them feel better about themselves. But they’re serving nobody except themselves. Drunk on the power of their own self-importance you’re just one in the vast cast of characters against whom they can feel superior.
Catch yourself whenever these temptations erupt in your life. And they will. They try to wedge their way into all our lives. We make up stories that turn into gossip without ever taking the time to consider we may not have it quite right. It’s just more convenient to write the story the way we think it is, rather than find out the truth.
Make this week the week you change that by becoming a leader who displays positive traits toward others. See if you can suppress your ego, pride, and judgment long enough to learn how. Be a person with whom others feel safe. Be a person who can focus more intently on the needs of others. Figure it out. If you dare…to make a difference in the lives of others.
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.
Geoffrey (my dad) and me
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)
Randy, Lexie (my sister), Joni (Stanley’s sister), Stanley (my best friend)
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.
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.
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.
“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!
I’m just $80 away from the goal. Thanks to everybody who has made a financial contribution.
I’m still mostly wanting your stories of a time when somebody encouraged you in a meaningful way. You’ve seen and heard a theme in the recent shows because encouragement is an expression of belief. So I’m collecting stories of those expressions that others made in you. Why? Because it’s so rare yet so commonly craved by 100% of us.
It speaks to perhaps an even greater tragedy – loneliness. People craving encouragement – that’s all of us – likely also crave connection. Sometimes it eludes us. Sometimes we don’t know how to foster it, attract it or even reciprocate it. The human condition is often helped by other humans. There’s the irony of loneliness. And craving encouragement.
Do you want to participate? It doesn’t require any money.
Let’s pick up where we left off last week thinking about our imagination instead of our past. But first, a word about thanksgiving.
Grace and gratitude.
A few weeks ago a social media guru released a statement.
Don’t let your friends change your mind.
People quickly came to shout, “Hooray!” Okay, they didn’t shout that, but there was loud approval.
Like many memes and quips I thought about it and instantly thought, “Well, it depends on your present state of mind.”
If your friend were suicidal I’d hope you’d try to change their mind.
If your friend was tempted to cheat on her spouse I’d hope you’d try to change her mind.
If your friend was intoxicated and about to get behind the wheel of his car I’d hope you’d try to change his mind.
If you’re in a funk do you not want your friends to try to help you out of it?
If you’re discouraged don’t you want your friends attempting to encourage you?
Things that sound smart, but are really stupid.
We’re surrounded by meme-based wisdom.
“Don’t overthink it.”
“Stop and think about it.”
Question: How can you think just right?
That’s part of the power of being thankful. It’s always appropriate. It’s always right. It never fails. You can’t say that about too many things. I mean to even use dramatic terms like “always” and “never” is remarkable. But it applies to being thankful.
It’s ironic to me that the things we associate with grace – at least the things I associate with grace – fit that bill more than anything else I know. Yet, we’re so reluctant to practice them.
Seems that if something was ALWAYS beneficial to us, and something that would NEVER fail us — that we’d lean in as heavily into that as possible. Instead, we shy away from it or worse. We steadfastly declare we won’t do it.
Grace things.
Like being thankful.
Like forgiveness.
Like compassion.
Find a time or place where their practice won’t help you. You can’t. Which is why grace is so foundational to leaning toward wisdom. The benefits are just too vast and deep to ignore.
I know the secrets. At least 3 of them.
Stop thinking about what you don’t have and think about what you do have.
Stop thinking about your lack and think about your abundance.
Stop thinking you’re a victim and instead see yourself as blessed.
But the key is – you have to want to do this. Until you want to live with grace you’ll never be able to. The second you decide you want to, you can. Instant power!
This is the beginning of spending more time in the place where you want to be. And we’re assuming that where you want to be is good for both you and those who love you. That’s not always the case.
Some people want what they want and if they hurt themselves and harm others – well, what’s that to you? Those people are the biggest fools. Selfishness, lack of temperance (self-control) and lives filled with destructive behaviors aimed at sin, self and immorality are wasted lives. They contribute nothing to themselves or the world. Instead, they wreck whatever is in their path contributing to the collective foolishness the rest of us are battling hard to conquer. In one fell swoop, they’re the enemy undoing all the good the rest of us may be attempting to establish. Yet they feel like the oppressed. Too stupid to know they’re the oppressors. But they see it how they see it and until events open their eyes, they’ll continue to be blinded by their own delusions fueled by their pride and ego.
We’ll never lack for them. They surround us. All the more reason for us to embrace the truths that can help us wage this battle – this war – against our own human foolishness. Because that’s what’s going to destroy us individually. And collectively. Our own foolishness.
All the more reason to rise early each morning dedicated to doing just one thing – conquer our own foolishness. Just today. Then we’ll get up and do it again tomorrow. And along the way, we’ll try to help somebody else conquer theirs. It’s not the least we can do. It’s the most we can do.
It begins with me. Stopping long enough to not think about what the world owes me. Or what injustices I’ve endured. But cataloging all the blessings placed under by stewardship.
It begins with me asking myself, “Am I a good, faithful steward?”
And it requires an honest, thoughtful answer. The Truth.
Grace is challenged – and all its components like gratitude, forgiveness, and compassion – by comparing ourselves to others. Fact is, others have zero impact or influence on our practice of grace. Except of course, we give them permission to control it on our behalf.
I might be more grateful except I see others who have it better than me. How can I be gracious when I see Instagram posts of people having fun, traveling to beautiful places and enjoying a life foreign to mine? My life sucks by comparison. So my lack of gratitude isn’t my fault. It’s their fault.
Never mind that intellectually I know there are millions of people who suffer present conditions far worse than mine. I don’t think of them. I don’t think of the people whose feet will never walk on hardwood, tiled or carpeted floors. People who will live their entire lives not knowing what it is to walk mere feet inside their house and turn on a faucet to have clean water. People who will live their entire lives not knowing what it is to live in a country ruled by peace. Forget about those people. Because I do.
Instead, I’m taking aim at those living better than me. Bigger, nicer houses. Newer, nicer cars. Trips. Eating at restaurants I can’t afford. Buying things I’ll never afford. Doing cool things I’ll never be able to do. Those people are the reason for my lack of grace. It’s not my fault.
Is this really where you’d like to spend your time? At this place? This is beneficial?
Why don’t we conscientiously figure out how to spend more time in better places?
I suspect it’s largely because we don’t know how. But mostly, I suspect it’s because accepting blame and responsibility for our lives is so painful. But only because we’re focused on the pain. Not the power.
Focus on the power. Not the pain.
This seems huge to me and I’m fascinated why we don’t see it more clearly. I’m really fascinated at the many times I don’t see it myself more clearly because I’m just like you – prone to my own foolishness.
When we look deeply enough inside ourselves and face our pain we feel the need to protect ourselves from it. That’s best done – so we foolishly think – in seeing others as the source of that pain. So we must protect ourselves from THEM. After all, they did this to us.
All along the way our power is diminished. Until it’s gone completely. And we’re left as roadkill on life’s highway. Powerless to do anything about it because the universe is so much bigger than us. No way we’ll ever win.
When the reality is the pain is mostly our fault. And if it’s not our fault, it’s 100% our responsibility. And there’s no need to protect ourselves from things beyond our control because we have plenty of work to do to protect ourselves from our own foolishness – best done by embracing goodness and committing ourselves to our own learning, understand and growth. In short, to become the best human beings we can!
That’s the path forward.
But that’s a lot of work. Much more work than blaming others. Never mind that it’s productive and profitable. FOR US!
That’s why we don’t do it. It’s too hard. We think.
Maybe.
Or maybe we just don’t know how because the collective culture is always working against us. Collective wisdom ain’t so wise. Never has been. Mob rule is a thing. And it’s never smart, wise, thoughtful or considerate. It’s herd mentality and it never fails to be colossally stupid, foolish and destructive. And mostly impulsive.
So Nike comes out with some sneaker that has Betsy Ross’ American flag on the heel. And Colin Kaepernick jumps on it as racist. And “thar she blows!” Social media ninnies from around the globe jump on it. Poor Betsy Ross. Poor Colin Kaepernick. Poor America. Poor us. All of us for being surrounded by such nonsense! But we always have been, always will be. Because the ninnies always have the numbers.
Which is an opportunity for us. You and me. An enormous opportunity!
To escape the herd of ninnies driven by impulses not their own, driven to remain victims of Nike and every other company on the planet, driven to remain victims of a society that just won’t give them everything they want and feel entitled to…so much tyranny from which to escape. And plenty of time to do it because we can do it in an instant. A flash. One blinding moment of clarity where we determine to stop being victimized and simultaneously a moment where we accept responsibility for our own lives. Our own outcomes.
Because I don’t care what Colin Kaepernick thinks.
And I don’t care what Twitter says.
And because I don’t care what new shoes or watch you just bought.
Because it doesn’t affect me. Unless I let it. And I see no value in letting it.
Except I’m thankful to live in a country where Colin can say what he wants. I hate that people like him can rally herds of ninnies and contribute to the collective lunacy, but when you express gratitude to live in America – that’s what you embrace. People’s ability and choice to be the ninnies they would be. So I salute Colin’s Ninnie Army and all like them who choose to let others dictate their path and their life’s outcome.
I just don’t choose to follow. It’s not where I want to spend my time. It’s not the place where I want my present or future to reside. So I choose something else. Something over which I have control.
I’m thankful to be an American. I’ve never had to protect myself or my family from foreign invaders. Or from fellow countrymen. I’ve only heard bombs and the machinations of warfare on TV and in films.
I’ve never had to walk miles to fetch clean water for my family. Or had to devote myself to hours a day wondering how to feed them. Or how to find suitable sleeping quarters for the night.
I don’t know such a life. I’m sad for those whose lives are defined in such ways. But I’m thankful mine is not. Not in some “I’m better than you” kind of gratitude, but in amazement wondering why I’m so blessed while others aren’t? Some things you accept and leverage for the best of yourself and those around you. I accept such things about my life and give God thanks.
I did nothing to deserve it. But I’m responsible for what I do with it. I’m a steward. So are you.
“Why me?” isn’t a worthwhile question. Largely because there is no answer. And if there were, how could it possibly help us make a positive mark on the world?
Our lives are resources. Not the stuff. Or the circumstances. Resources comprised of our experiences, our thoughts, our actions, our choices, our words, our willingness to help others, our behaviors. Which of those do you want to declare don’t belong to you? Experiences? Really? You have no influence on what you experience? Think more deeply because those resources are within your power to deploy however you see fit.
There’s the power. You can look at it intently, staring it down like you might a buddy in a “no blink” contest. Or you can surrender all of your power opting to hug it out with Pain.
I’m not saying we can avoid all pain, suffering and heartache. I’m saying we can eliminate much of it, reduce a lot of it and better manage some of it by owning our lives. All of it.
The magic of the Ideal is that you never arrive. The Land Of Your Ideal is always ahead. Somewhere. Near or far. But the daily striving is what promotes lives better today than yesterday. If only marginally. Still better.
Small erosion over time reveals itself in mountains and streams.
Small investments over time reveal the power of compounding interest.
Small movements over time reveal the power of mastering music. Or art. Or communication. Or most anything else.
“Inch by inch it’s all a cinch.” And if not a cinch, then at least a higher probability. Guarantees of nothing more perhaps than that we can make today better. And tomorrow better still. And that’s a pretty powerful guarantee.
Time spent where we want to be versus time spent where we are. Or where we’ve been. That’s why we began this conversation last week. So much focus on the past. Worthless. Because we’re powerless to do anything about it other than learn from it. But we don’t often leverage it for that positive purpose. Instead, we opt to embrace regret and blame. Neither of which serve us with much more than resentment and bitterness.
I’ve looked but been unable to find anybody – or any group of somebodies – who cranked out a good life by incorporating more resentment and bitterness into their lives. Rather I’ve seen lots of people – enough to prove to me that it’s empirical evidence. Resentment and bitterness don’t pay. They cost. Enormously!
To what are you attached?
It’s one way you can look more deeply inside yourself and see yourself accurately. Soul searching. Looking more closely inside yourself reveals answers to many questions. Most notably, “Why?”
Lots of people wake up and go to bed daily questioning, “Why?” Why am I doing this? Why is this happening to me?
But they have no true answers. Only excuses.
Until they discover their attachments. Which could be anything.
Addiction. Abuse. Ego. Narcissism. Status. Stuff.
Your attachments help define your identity.
I know lots of business people who are very attached to their status symbols. Their cars. Their suits. Their houses. Their office. Their trips and vacations. Their dinner reservations. Their stuff.
Their prestige is locked inside these things. Deeply.
Remove them – it often happens due to the cycles of life that affect us all – or remove some of them, and you’ll see people struggle because they no longer know who they are. They thought they were one thing, but now they don’t know.
What’s important to you? What’s so important that it helps define you because you choose that?
You choose it. Every day.
We’re all attached to something. Or someone.
We get to decide what’s important. Default can be our setting. It probably is for most people. The precious few – the supreme achievers among us – create a more intentional, determined course. Some of us are working toward it. Trying to escape the gravitational pull of mediocrity and foolishness.
Making choices about our attachments is a daily grind. It can be disrupted instantly. Momentarily. And that can become our new norm if we allow it.
The guy who longs for a 7 series BMW finally gets one. But he’s been attached to such things the moment he decided to long for it. When he gets it, it’s not enough. And it won’t remain new, current and cool forever. Next year a newer model will replace it. His attachment will continue down the spiral toward more. And more. And more. But his soul will never be satisfied because the attachments are – at their core – quite insubstantial. Shallow.
But it can affect any of us. Shame. Embarrassment. Not measuring up to others. Again, because we’re busy comparing ourselves to others and it either makes us feel better about ourselves or worse about ourselves. Not because of us. But because of THEM.
The Power Of THEM
The proverbial “they” know everything. And often determine everything.
Mostly they distract us from ourselves. Prevent us from searching deeply enough to stare down our fears, doubts and insecurities.
Time with ourselves is power. And pain. Focus on the power knowing the pain is real.
Spending more time in the place where you want to be requires our willingness to spend more time in the place where we need to be. No matter how uncomfortable. No matter how painful. Because that’s where the power is – at least the power we possess to change our own lives.
Fear drives too many of us.
Mostly fear of what others say. How they’ll judge us. What they’ll think of us.
Because we really care what people think of us.
It’s scary. Because we mostly don’t care about these people, but we put big power in what they think of us.
It’s scary. Because we mostly can’t control what they think of us anyway because negative people – which is by and large the defining trait of most people – are going to judge. And harshly. Much of the time.
THEY don’t matter. Because your life isn’t their life.
Conquering your life is the game. Not conquering the life of somebody else. Not allowing others to conquer your life for you.
More time in the place where you want to be means you’re not there. Yet.
Great leaders see the future first.
Truth.
Are you a great leader of your life? The proof is found first in what and how you think, and then in what you do about it.
We love the comfort of excuses. Our brain craves it, seeks it and searches for it.
I know I do.
I don’t want to grind. I don’t want to sweat. I’d rather lounge. Do nothing.
But the problem is what it produces. Nothing.
Fancy and soft don’t work. In spite of our high cravings for them both.
The past is soft because it’s over. There’s nothing to do but dwell on it. So we do.
Imagination is hard. Discipline is, too.
Simplicity is hard. Complexity, not so much.
Conquering yourself is THE chore. Which is why these conversations are critical. Because they don’t require anybody else. The proverbial “they” don’t matter. Except to shut them out. So we can get to work figuring these things out for ourselves.
Where are you right now?
Your present doesn’t have to be awful. Fact is, it may be quite wonderful. It doesn’t matter. Whatever your reality is right now – that’s what matters.
Face it.
For what it truly is.
Does it really matter how you got here? Maybe. But not likely as much as we think. Because it fosters excuse making. And blaming. Instead of provoking us to examine the truth of how we got here…which could be highly valuable. An autopsy designed to show us what really happened. All so we can learn from it and understand it better so we can avoid replicating it. Growth.
I screwed up. I got it wrong.
I didn’t apply myself. I was lazy. Some things came easily. Until they stopped coming easily. College kicked my butt because I didn’t do the work. I hated it. Every lousy bit of it.
Until I entered the College of Journalism where my identity felt congruent with what I cared about. And everything changed. At least college-wise. I excelled. Because I loved it.
I was an introvert expected to behave like an extrovert. So I played the role. Until it exhausted me.
The depths of the struggle were real. They are real.
Fast forward to about a decade ago. My career isn’t over, but it has drastically changed. A failed attempt to purchase the company I was running left me fractured, if not broken. It was time to reinvent myself but I had no idea how. I did all I knew to do – dive inward.
The search inside was intuitive to me. I’ve lived long enough to know it’s not intuitive for everybody.
The chore has been longer, more arduous and fraught with more failure than I ever imagined. I didn’t think it’d last this long. I didn’t think more failure and sorrow would pile up. I now know I thought I was about as down as I’d ever get. Boy was I wrong!
That’s the thing about down. Or the bottom. There’s no welcome sign.
All the attachments that proved vain had to be faced. Identities that once seemed important proved empty. Life was flipped upside down at an age when most folks are thinking of winding down. I was having to find a way to wind it up.
The good news is, I wanted to wind it up. I didn’t want to wind it down. Admittedly, I was hoping to wind it up to a new height rather than to start over. But starting over is what was demanded. I had no options if I wanted to move forward. And I did want to move forward. But only after I overcame wanting to retreat and surrender.
It always takes longer than you think. Or hope.
When you’re older, like I was (and obviously still am), it’s very hard. It has been for me. Self-discovery is like history to the older. There are more years of debris to remove so you can find the Truth.
And I had a lifetime of inner strength – part of my DNA – to be reflective. Self-introspection came easily, naturally. Along the way, I discovered that forgiveness is one of my 2 character strengths. It’s always been easy to forgive. To ask for forgiveness. Equally difficult – almost impossible – to forgive me. I had no idea how powerful that opponent would be, but it kicked me, put me in a choke hold and refused to accept my tap out. I had to fight because my lack of self-forgiveness was going to kill me. I had to learn to fight.
I haven’t won it, but I’ve turned the tide more to my favor. It took a long, long time. Largely because life threw other haymakers at me that I wasn’t planning on. It happens.
I knew who I was. That was the mainstay.
I knew what I was.
The struggle was figuring out who I wanted to be and what I wanted to do. Visualization and imagination come easily. Always have. Getting them focused so they could best serve me…that’s not been easy.
Imagine.
It’s a verb. One I’ve relied on. One you need to rely on.
First, figure out where you want to be. You’ve thought about it. Not likely been courageous enough to head in that direction though. So commit to the destination. Nevermind that you’re not sure how you’ll get there. Nevermind that family and friends don’t think it’s possible for you. Nevermind that you’re alone in believing in yourself.
Does it really matter? Nope.
Only because you let it.
Your family and friends aren’t the calvary come to save you. Frequently they’re the bigger enemy telling you you’ll never be able to get where you want to go. It’s okay. They mean well. They’re just like the others who haven’t been able to do it so understand their lack of faith. It’s self-imposed and now they’re just doing what they know to do – apply it to your life. But they’re not you.
You can be a better human being. You can be a bigger human being. There is an ideal to which you can grow closer. It’s up to you.
Get really clear on where you want to be. Be detailed. Be precise. Write it out. Record it. Do whatever it takes to make the visual more complete. The imagery matters. You need to see it, touch it, feel it, taste it and experience it – in your imagination. First.
Now, go there. Like any other trip, set out. Start. It’s not important how long it takes you to get there – in your imagination. What matters is that you get there.
Stay there.
Don’t make it a quick trip. Make it an extended stay.
Because the longer you stay there in your imagination the faster you’ll arrive in reality. It’s not a bad plan to get there as fast as possible then stay there with no intention of leaving unless you discover some better place you’d like to go.
And you will. Over time there’ll be a new improved destination. But the habits and things you figured out to get to the last one will serve to make you more efficient at getting to the new ones. It’ll happen more easily. More quickly.
Along the way, you’ll become better – even good – with being uncomfortable. The suffering will spur you on to go further than you thought you could. The pain that once crippled you will seem inconsequential. In its place, new pain will emerge. Pain that will remind you how powerful you are to discover new strengths, new abilities, and new resolve.
If you’re super blessed, a few folks will serve to encourage you along the way. Most won’t. Often times those closest to you will believe the least. It’s okay. Don’t judge them for it. Ignore them for it.
They’re not driving your life. You are. Drive it to where you most want (and need) to go. Stop waiting.
