Category: Awesomeness

Relax, You’re Doing Fine

Enjoy your time. Let someone else worry about all that other…

I saw this on a license plate frame.  When I first saw it, I didn’t give it much attention.  Then, as I sat at the red light, staring at those four simple words, I realized how freeing they are.

Relax, you’re doing fine.

You aren’t as far behind as you thought in the “race” of life.  In fact, life isn’t a race at all.  There’s no prize at the end for getting to the finish line faster than the other people.

You’re living in a great time.  Why is it so great?  Because it’s your time.  It doesn’t matter what else is happening.  The fact that things are actually happening, and you are here to see, participate, and have an impact is all that matters.  What impact?  That’s up to you.

What you do, how you do it, and the pace you choose are up to you.  I recommend you take advantage of your limited time on the planet.  Start moving, stay moving, always learn, and never stop teaching.  But, that’s just me.  It’s up to you and no one else.

Not as happy as you’d like to be?  Not as fulfilled as you’d like to be?  Worried that life is passing you by?  Worried that you aren’t as rich, pretty, strong, tall, smart, stylish, successful, or any other measure society places on us, as you’d like to be?

We all have the same seconds, minutes, and hours every day.  Our ability to define our time by the people we help, and the smiles we coax into the world are the only things we control.  The rest is going to happen with or without our involvement.

Enjoy your time.  Let someone else worry about all that other comparison stuff.

And, never forget:  Relax, you’re doing fine.

Yo Ho, Yo Ho, A Pirate’s Life for Me!

What makes this ride so popular? Definitely not the speed. Is it the “escape” into another world? Maybe. But, is it really an escape?

Disneyland-POTC_sign

If you’re like me, you know the only way to turn at the end of Main Street USA is left.  Left, toward Adventureland, and New Orleans Square.  Sure, you could go for one of the “speed” rides like Space Mountain over in Tomorrowland.  Buzz Lightyear (Astro Blasters) is a good one.  Or, maybe Thunder Mountain.  The Matterhorn is re-opened, if you like to have your spine compressed (not sure why they didn’t fix that problem during the most recent refresh).

But, the best rides are definitely in Adventureland.  The Jungle Cruise, Indiana Jones, Pirates of the Caribbean, and the Haunted Mansion.  Don’t even get me started on how awesome Tom Sawyer’s Island is.

The Jungle Cruise is all about the puns.  Indiana Jones is (mild) sensory overload and a neat cave walk to and from the ride.  The Haunted Mansion is a cross between Tim Burton’s vision of the world, and old school special effects that are still cool.

The best of all is Pirates!

First you’re in a New Orleans bayou.  Crickets are chirping, a few frogs are croaking quietly, and fireflies dart about.  It’s dark, quiet, and lazy.  The swamp guy sits on his porch, smoking a corn cob pipe.  The sound of slow banjo picking comes from his house.  Do swamp guys have CD’s?  Electricity?  Does he have a banjo-playing friend in the house?  Then, total darkness, a quick drop, and we enter a pirate’s lair.  It’s clearly seen better days.  Tons of treasure gather dust and cob webs.

I’ve never known what a New Orleans bayou has to do with being in a pirate’s lair, but over the years, I’ve learned it doesn’t matter.  “Dead men tell no tales!”  Just as you figure out that all the riches and treasures in the world didn’t do these dead pirates any favors, a foggy curtain projects an apparition of Davy Jones, warning us about the cursed lives of pirates.  Our boat ignores the warning and carries us into this cursed world.

We enter a pitched battle between a pirate ship with cannons blazing, and the shore defenses firing back.  It’s a desperate battle with explosions and lots of yelling.  Somehow the shots never hit anything vital, or do they?  The battle rages on, but we pass safely under the line of fire.

The harbor comes into view.  Not just any harbor, but a “Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate’s life for me,” harbor from long ago.  Pirates are drinking and singing.  Some of the less fortunate are dunked endlessly in a well.  A vain search for Captain Jack Sparrow.  Others are sold as brides.  We see drunk pirates singing to themselves and no one in particular, scheming ways to find more treasure.

The scene shifts again to a prison where the only hope of escape lies in convincing a dog to give up the keys.  The dog never budges, but always looks like he might.  Hopefulness mixed with despair.  If only the prisoners would realize that their only salvation is to find a new strategy, a new direction.  Of course, they never make this connection.  We slowly pass under a collapsing ceiling, and back into the harbor.

The town is ablaze, but nobody cares.  We know the flames spell disaster, but that’s lost on everyone in the scene.  They continue to drink, sing, and chase each other in a search for the next moment.  Some fire randomly across the water at their friends.  “Yo Ho, Yo Ho, a pirate’s life for me!”

The dichotomy of the celebratory singing and the evil that humans do to one another isn’t the point…or, maybe it is.  All the while, our boat floats lazily through the scene.

We begin our slow climb out of this cursed world as Jack Sparrow tell us to, “Drink up you laddies!  Yo Ho!”

What makes this ride so popular?  Definitely not the speed.  Is it the “escape” into another world?  Maybe.  But, is it really an escape?

Each of us can relate to being the pirate.  We’ve been dunked in the proverbial well…sometimes we do the dunking.  We’ve fired aimlessly at our enemies (and our friends) at one time or another.  Oblivious to the pain we may cause.  We’ve focused solely on the now.  Ignored the future.  We’ve looked for treasure.  Maybe we’ve found it…and yet, our search continues.

Are we nothing more than passengers on the boat, passing lazily through the scenes of life, yet never connecting to any of it?  Hopefully not.

A pirate’s life, indeed.  Time to get in line for the next ride!

 

Speed bumps and walls…

…have a few things in common. Both force us to pay attention, slow down, and (sometimes) change course…

speed-bump-warning-sign

…have a few things in common.  Both force us to pay attention, slow down, and (sometimes) change course.  In many ways, speed bumps are merely walls that are short enough to get over with minimal effort.

Unlike speed bumps, walls are there to stop us, contain us, to protect something we’re not supposed to see, or maybe provide protection to something we don’t want others to see.

Is that nasty cold you have a speed bump or a wall?

How about the job you had until last week?  Is losing that job a speed bump or a wall?

Is the macro-economic forecast for 2% or less in U.S. Gross Domestic Product growth a speed bump or a wall?

Is bad weather (however you define the term bad) a speed bump or wall?

The death of a loved one?  Speed bump or wall?

The diagnosis you received from your doctor that has you wondering how long you have to live this life you love.  Speed bump?  Wall?

Meeting the person of your dreams and falling in love.  Speed bump or wall?  Surprise!  Good news introduces speed bumps and walls, just like bad news.  Of course, good news can also knock down walls.

When the news first hits, it almost always looks like a wall.  Only after further reflection, maybe some quiet meditation, a hard workout(s), discussions with our friends and family, enjoying a bowl of our favorite ice cream, watching some sunrises and sunsets, or all of these, do the walls start to look shorter.

As the walls lose their height, they may disappear from sight, or take the shape of speed bumps that we can handle.

Some walls are high and stay that way.  If we can’t climb over, we learn to change direction and find a way around.

What if we can’t climb over, can’t change direction, and the high walls continue to surround us?  Should we give up?

No way!

We build our expansive life inside the new walls and never drop our quest to escape…even if we have to dismantle the walls one brick (or chisel strike) at a time.

Do you remember that guy who gave up?  Neither can anyone else.  –Author Forgotten

The Most Powerful Words of All

We can tell ourselves almost anything, and we will believe it. If we don’t believe at first, we can relentlessly work to convince ourselves. Remember, we’re in our head all the time…unfiltered!

“Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.”

Why do parents teach this little quote to their kids?  Simple.  It’s a one-sentence philosophy that arms each of us against the words others may use to describe us, or worse, to tear us down.  We learn from this one sentence that words can’t hurt us.

As a philosophy, it works.  But, in practice, it misses a few points.

Words do matter.  They inspire, motivate, comfort, and create.  They also discourage, disappoint, frustrate, and destroy.

Certain words wield more power than all others.  The words we say to ourselves.

We can tell ourselves almost anything, and we will believe it.  If we don’t believe at first, we can relentlessly work to convince ourselves.  Remember, we’re in our head all the time…unfiltered!

We each have a personal stream of consciousness that narrates our perspective of what’s “really” happening around us, and to us.  It’s this continuous chatter of self-talk in our head that drives everything we feel, and everything we do.

The words in our self-talk carry all the power, regardless of what’s happening around us.  Imagine you’re a golfer.  A professional golfer.  Maybe the best golfer in the world.  You’ve won major tournaments this season.  You’ve outclassed the entire field.  And yet, you aren’t satisfied with your results, because they should have been better.  You finished second a few too many times this season to let yourself really celebrate your success.

Why?  Negative self-talk.  Your self-talk is telling you that you aren’t good enough.  You don’t deserve all the accolades coming your way.  You tell yourself that your short game needs to get a little better if you expect to win again.  Each mistake you make is amplified in your head as yet another reason you shouldn’t win.  So you stop winning.

Negative self-talk has nothing to do with reality.  It only robs energy and happiness.  Positive self-talk has nothing to do with reality.  It only brings energy and happiness.  The reality you perceive, the reality you create, and the way you will ultimately live your life are each dictated by your self-talk.

The words we say to ourselves can and will hurt us.  Or…they can lift us, propel us, and bring us happiness.

We get to choose.

“Whether you think you can, or think you can’t.  You’re right.”  –Henry Ford

What’s Not to Love about Carrot Cake?

They called it carrot cake, but this cake was a lot more than carrots, and it was awesome!

I had my first piece of carrot cake in 1974, or maybe it was 1973.  We were at my uncle Denby’s wedding, and the cake they served was this oddly wonderful concoction of flavors I had never tasted.  Being one of the munchkins in the crowd, I did what smart munchkins did back then:  I eavesdropped on the adults who were talking about the cake.

They called it carrot cake, but this cake was a lot more than carrots, and it was awesome!

I don’t remember having carrot cake again until college.  I may have had it before then, but those memories are lost in a din of other information like the capital of North Dakota, the difference between an adverb and an adjective, why the earth rotates around the sun and not the other way around, and who shot J.R (we watched that episode with a huge crowd of Hilltoppers in a hotel bar in Rosarito Beach, but that’s another story).

Whenever I see carrot cake as a dessert option at a restaurant, I order it.  Carrot cake muffin?  Gotta have it.  I’ve sampled carrot cake recipes across the US, and even a couple in foreign countries.  Some are decent.  Claim Jumper’s is probably the best, especially with a scoop of vanilla ice cream (everything is good with a scoop of ice cream).

When the time came to choose our wedding cake, Janet and I chose carrot cake.  Actually, I think Janet knew I’d love it, and it was her small wedding gift to me.  The only bite of that cake I got that day was in the cake-cutting ceremony.  We were too busy with all the other wedding stuff to actually eat any of the awesome cake we’d chosen.

As good as everyone else’s carrot cake is, none come close to mom’s.  Mom’s is the only carrot cake that captures the awesomeness of my first carrot cake experience in the ‘70s.  It’s simply the best.

Unfortunately, my love affair with all things carrot cake came to a screeching halt a little over a year ago when I was diagnosed with gluten intolerance.  Someone asked me recently what I miss the most now that I basically can’t eat anything made with wheat, or containing gluten as an additive (it’s hidden in tons of sauces, dressings, and of course, beer).

The first thing that popped into my head was carrot cake.  It’s not that I miss the taste of carrot cake so much (but, really I do).  It’s the freedom to try everyone’s attempt at carrot cake…knowing that none will compare to mom’s.  I miss getting to have a huge slice of carrot cake at mom’s, and then getting to take about half of the cake home (since it’s not everyone else’s favorite) to enjoy every night for a week.  There’s nothing like a slice of carrot cake and a tall glass of milk after a hard day of whatever I did that day.

Thanks to gluten intolerance, I thought those days were gone.  Not so fast!

Turns out there’s an excellent gluten-free “all-purpose flour” available at Trader Joe’s.  What’s the first thing I thought of when I saw it?  You guessed it!  I need to get mom a couple pounds of this stuff so she can make some of her carrot cake with it, just in time for my 49th birthday!

We are about t-minus one hour from heading over to mom and dad’s to celebrate the September birthdays in our family (there are a bunch of them).  We’ll eat some barbecued steaks with all the trimmings.  But, more importantly, we’ll be trying the gluten-free carrot cake that she and my niece baked.  I’ve heard that it’s pretty good.

I know it will be awesome.  Why?  Mom (and my niece) made it, and that’s all that matters.

 

Real People. Not Actors.

Are real people supposed to be more honest than actors…

There I was at the gym, climbing the StairMaster (it’s what competitive stair climbers do for fun), and I noticed a commercial on one of the TV’s.  I don’t know what the commercial was trying to sell.  I only know that the people who looked so excited were Real People. Not Actors. That’s what it said on the screen.

I wonder if actors like being thought of as not real people.

Are real people supposed to be more honest than actors?

Don’t we all act just a little bit everyday?  If that’s true, who’s the real person, and who’s the actor?

Real people choose to act in a certain way, everyday.  They may choose to act unhappy, irritated, belligerent, impatient, frustrated.  Or, they may choose to act happy, supportive, patient, welcoming.

We’re all actors…and real people.  We choose how we act.

When we choose, it’s real for everyone, including ourselves.

One Syllable Words

The assignment: Describe the most dramatic moment in your life. Easy. But, there were two rules…

The assignment:  Describe the most dramatic moment in your life.  Easy.  But, there were two rules:

1) You have 15 minutes.

2) Only use one-syllable words.

That’s a little tougher.

Here was my entry:

“The rate is gone!”

“Turn her!”

“Code blue!” yelled the nurse.

All of the white coats on the floor were there fast.  Jan’s eyes showed her fear.  I was no help.  I froze and watched in awe.

One nurse pushed some drug in her arm.  One nurse held her hand.  Two docs barked new plans and the group worked their plan.

“Crash cart!” yelled one doc.

“We must go in.  The child may be lost!”

This was our first child.  We had been there for a day and a half, and now this.  What did it all mean?  Would our child make it out to see the world?

They ran down the hall on her bed with wheels.  There I stood.  The clock read five. The mess showed what was left from my child’s fight for life.  Where did they go?  I did not know so I stood there in the dark for at least three ticks of the clock.

“Sir, your wife is fine,” the nurse said.  She had found me and showed me to the room.  “Your child is fine.  Come in and see.  Would you like to hold her?”

Our girl was born!  From out of the dark, the world turned bright for us all that day.

***

Twenty-five years later, yet it seems like only a few minutes have passed.  Julianne made her dramatic entrance, and our lives have never been the same.

Happy (slightly early) Birthday, Julianne!

 

Be the Candle

There’s a place in Baja, on the Sea of Cortez side, about 100 miles south of San Felipe…

“It is better to light a candle than to curse the darkness.”  – Confucius (Kung Fu Tzu)

There’s a place in Baja, on the Sea of Cortez side, about 100 miles south of San Felipe called Gonzaga Bay.  You can drive there pretty easily (by Baja standards) nowadays.  But, 30 years ago, it was quite an adventure to get there.  Your reward for all that off road adventure (other than the journey itself)?  An off-the-grid community of small “houses” on a beautiful bay with whatever supplies you were able to bring with you.

Beyond the stark beauty of the bay, the warm water, fresh ocean breezes, and perfect cocktail conditions, the thing I remember most was the darkness.  The stars were so close you could almost touch them.  On a moonless night, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face.

But, light one candle and the scene changed.  The light from that one candle would penetrate the darkness.  The terrain glowed in the light.  Bushes and rocks cast shadows in the night.  The darkness was no match for the light from just one candle.

Darkness is all around us.  That darkness may even come from within.  We can choose to let the darkness consume us and everything we do.

Or, we can be the candle.

The End of the Beginning

I should mention one detail: I wasn’t Catholic…

sistine-chapel-ceiling

There I was, about to enjoy my Chipotle for lunch, listening to some financial news, when the commercial came on.  The Catholic Channel was covering the papal election over on channel 129.

That’s right, I thought.  They’re electing a new Pope today.  Funny, we had just visited Vatican City a few months before Pope Benedict announced his retirement.  What a beautiful place!  It was huge.  Michelangelo’s paintings in the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel were breathtaking.  The views of Rome from the top of the dome in St. Peter’s were spectacular.

What do they talk about on that channel when there isn’t a papal election, I wondered.  I switched over to 129.  My timing wasn’t bad.  The two hosts were all fired up.  A new Pope had been elected!  Their excitement was overwhelming.  “We have a new Vicar of Christ, and he’s about to make his first appearance,” one of them said.  They were waiting for him to come out and make his first appearance in the window above St. Peter’s Square.

As I sat there, listening to them talk about this new Vicar, I realized I had tears running down my face.  Tears of happiness.  “We” had a new Pope!  A new Holy Father to shepherd us in the Way of Christ.

I should mention one detail:  I wasn’t Catholic.

Why was I so excited about this new Pope?  Why was my heart filled with new joy and warmth at the thought of this new Pope and the energy he’d be bringing to the Church?

I drove back to work, wondering for a minute what this all meant.  I quickly turned my thoughts to something else.  I switched my radio over to The Blend, and acted like nothing had happened.

As I drove home from work later that day, I switched back to 129 to hear more about the new Pope.

I let almost a year go by without taking any action, or telling anyone about my new-found favorite station.

It’s not like the news that I had suddenly felt a spiritual (religious?) connection to the Catholic Church would be unwelcome in my family.  My wife and daughters are Catholic.  My daughters both graduated college with theology and philosophy degrees.  My in-laws are Catholic.  Many of our friends are Catholic.  I’ve been an active volunteer at our Church for years.  I had always been connected to the Catholic Church, but never had a spiritual connection.  I never truly believed.

Now, for the first time in my life, I believed.  An emptiness I didn’t know I had was suddenly filled.

I remember going to a weekend camp when I was about eight years old.  Big David (who was a few years older than Little David, who also lived on our street) invited me to attend his camp in the mountains.  That sounded pretty great to me, and I’m sure my parents were happy to have a weekend break from one of their rambunctious sons.

I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a Bible camp.  This would be my first introduction to anything religious, since my family wasn’t religious.  We arrived and were assigned to our cabins and counselors.  I don’t remember my counselor’s name, but I do remember one of the first questions he asked me.  “Bobby, have you accepted Jesus into your heart?”

Who was Jesus?  What does he mean to accept Him?  Why was I the only one he asked?  What is this place?  I spent an awkward weekend, being a volunteer kitchen helper (each cabin was in charge of service for one meal), listening to lectures from the Bible, and being asked at least once a day if I was ready to accept Jesus into my heart.  Needless to say, my first introduction to Jesus didn’t go well.

I had a few more introductions over the years, and finally was introduced more formally by my (soon-to-be, at the time) wife, Janet.  I learned a lot about the Catholic Church as I prepared to be married in one.  And yet, I still didn’t know who Jesus was.  I kept having the same questions I had when I was eight.  Besides, I had things pretty well figured out, and going to church was a lot of commitment.

It’s interesting to me that the number forty comes up a lot in the Bible.  Jesus spent forty days in the desert, fasting, and praying (and being tempted by Satan) after he was baptized.  Only then was he fully ready to begin his public ministry.  The Israelites spent forty years in the desert before they could return home.  Noah’s Ark was put to use after it rained for forty days and nights.  Moses spent forty days and forty nights on the mountain with God.  Jesus was with his disciples for forty days after his resurrection.

From my first (messy) introduction to Jesus until this past weekend when I was baptized into the Catholic Church, I count forty years, almost to the day.  I’m sure it’s a coincidence.  Just like my random decision to switch over to channel 129 that day.  Or, the way my daughter added some Christian music to my iPod.  Those songs kept coming up over and over each time I went for a run.  I got to know those songs pretty well.  So well that I actually started thinking about their meaning, even before that day our new Pope was elected.

My baptism, confirmation, and first communion last Saturday night were the culmination of an almost year-long preparation process.  The process included classes every Sunday, after Mass.  It also included a ton of reading that I assigned to myself.  Books about the Rosary, the Saints, Saint Paul the Apostle (the Saint I chose as my Confirmation Saint), and the Holy Land.  I also did lots of reading from the Bible itself, as well as the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Funny thing is that throughout this process, I couldn’t wait for each Sunday to come.  I couldn’t wait to learn more about my faith, my Church’s history, and the love that Jesus has for each of us.  What was an unreasonable commitment to my younger self has become an integral part of who I am today.

After forty years, I’m coming to the end of the beginning of my relationship with God.

Looking back, I can see so many places where God was with me, even as I ignored Him, or spoke against Him.  He was patient.  He knew I’d eventually find Him right where He’s always been…beside me.

 

 

The Power of Elevated Thinking

Imagine the value of the person who looks for ways to help, instead of…

MarianneWilliamsonQuote

 

“The last IT guy had a diagram of the network, but since he left, I haven’t updated it to reflect the changes we’ve made.”

“The system was setup before I got here.  It’s not a good fit, but I’ve just been making do since I took it over.”

“This process ran pretty smoothly last year.  I don’t think the new guy has a clue about how it should work this year. This has failure written all over it.”

“I’ve seen it all in my time.  They’ve tried a bunch of new ideas to make things more efficient, but they never work.  I try to tell them they’re wasting their time, but nobody listens to me.”

“I wonder when the VP is going to notice how screwed-up this project is.  Everyone knows it’s a disaster, but him.”

“The more things change, the more they stay the same around here.”

How many times have you heard (or said) versions of these quotes?

It’s easy to point to problems with “the system.” It’s easy to blame the other guy, the other department, your boss, your employee, the customer(!).

Avoiding ownership is the easy way out.  It’s also the quickest way to ensure mediocrity and failure for yourself and your organization.

Imagine the possibilities if just one person in these hypothetical situations chose to elevate their thinking.  Imagine if they decided to own the search for the right solution.  What if they actively participated in making someone else’s solution a success?  Imagine the value of the person who looks for ways to help, instead of looking for ways to criticize.

There’s nothing stopping you from being that person…except maybe yourself.

 

By the way, have you read my book?  100’s have already (thank you!).  If you’re one of them, please do me a favor and tell your friends about it.  If not, it’s time to take ownership, and get yourself a copy!

All of my proceeds are going to two awesome groups who embraced the opportunity to take ownership of a problem:  Mothers Fighting for Others, and the Scleroderma Research Foundation.

 

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