Author Archives: William Rutten

The TIME of My Life

DSC_0756“You may delay, but time will not.” –Benjamin Franklin

Hello friend,

It is Birthday Week at my house! My son turned five a couple of days ago, and this week my daughter will turn seven. They are super-excited, of course. They have been talking about this week for months and months. “How old am I now, Daddy???” “You are four and one-fourth.” “How old am I NOW, Daddy???” “You are four and one-third.” On and on we go, all through the year. Because to them, a month is like a year, and a year is like FOREVER. They cannot wrap their beautiful little minds around having to wait a whole year for something. It sounds like torture! So, I started thinking the other day—you know, when my son was four and three hundred sixty-four three hundred sixty-fifths–how differently we view Time as we progress through it.

Kids have an amazing connection to the Now. If you never mentioned to them the idea of something occurring tomorrow or next year or when they are grown-up, they would never bother fretting about the future the way we adults do. They would just stay happily in the moment and flow with it. They stay totally connected with their current process, and then they shift gears immediately if someone suggests something more appealing. They don’t battle with Time like the adults around them. They live in the precious present. If you jar them with the prospect of doing something “later”—especially a whole year later—they cannot stand it.

We adults laugh at their anguish at the mere thought of holding out for a year, as we know how quickly Time marches on in our lives. We seem to blink and five years have passed. But think about it: relative to the total length of our lives, Time should be perceived differently. I have lived more than EIGHT TIMES as long as my son. One year is 20% of his life! Telling him he has to wait another year to go to the lake cabin with his cousins—his favorite event of the year—is the equivalent of telling me I have to wait 8 ½ years to go. That really is torture! I see now why they cannot fathom the idea of waiting until Christmas to get that forgotten item from the birthday list. That is FIVE MONTHS away after all, or 3 ½ years in my world. This new calculus for the perceived length of Time’s passage is totally enlightening to me. I am actually starting to feel pretty bad about not getting him that other birthday gift now!

I look at adults—myself included—and see how our time slips by. I don’t know if it is because of this calculus and the stretching of time as we age, or perhaps it is laziness and apathy, but whatever it is, we certainly have a tendency to watch it slide by. In some situations, the speed of Time passing is just what it is: it roars by even when we are savoring it to the fullest. In this vein, I think most specifically about raising kids. Every parent of older kids I have ever talked to tells me how unbelievably fast their children’s youth flew by. They say this whether they took it all in or not. I already feel that with my own kids. I like to think it is just a case of “Time flies when you are having fun.”

In other ways, though, I feel like we adults are guilty of letting our time slip by, of allowing the years to get away from us. I think particularly of people I know who are in jobs that are neither enjoyable nor fulfilling, and yet they have been doing the same job seemingly forever. Maybe the paycheck and security for the family seem more important than fulfillment. And hey, maybe those things are more important for a while. But then the kids are gone and nothing changes. They poke their head out one day and realize that they buried themselves years ago and have been going along unconsciously ever since. This seems more like, “Time flies when you numb yourself to the pain of boredom and emptiness.” I don’t want that for myself. I want to be engaged with my life.

I know Time is flying. I know it is. Still, I don’t want to be the guy who wakes up and says, “How in the world did I just turn 70??? I haven’t even done anything with my life yet! I didn’t follow my Bliss. I didn’t chase my dream. Now it seems too late.” I don’t ever want it to feel too late. I think I have started to do better with this in the last few years. I have to admit that the prospect of turning forty really scared me straight. It was around that time that I began gravitating more toward the idea of living my best, most authentic life, of making sure that my dreams were not being neglected. With this theme as my driving force, I began work on my personal labor of love: The Journal Project. Eventually, that led to the start of this little project in front of you called Journal of You. It also led to my Life Coach training and a much more focused schedule to maximize my efficiency and contribution to this world. Now every day is packed to the gills with things that are important to me, and I am becoming highly sensitive to activities that may be a waste of my time. I am determined that my time on this Earth will be meaningful and fulfilling, and I want to know, in the end, that I have been of service. I am on my way, one blessed day at a time.

How about you? What is your relationship with TIME? Open up your journal and take an honest look at the way your sands flow through the hourglass. How quickly is your life passing? Does it seem to pass more quickly each year, more slowly, or about the same? Do you ever feel like life is passing you by? Are you following your Bliss? Are you on a path toward the life of your dreams? If you are on that path, how long have you been on it? If you are off the path, how long have you been off? Do you seem to jump on and off frequently? Can you find your way back soon? Does it feel too late for you to be who you really want to be? How well do you stay in the Now? Do you know anyone who is on that unconscious slide through their years, just seeming to be paying the bills until it is time to die? Are you one of those people? When you leave the present, is your mind more likely to visit the past or the future? What do you think that says about you? Is that a good thing? When the day is over, how often do you feel like you have wasted it? When you get to the end of your days of Earth, do you think you will feel like it all went by too fast? Do you think you will be content with the way you lived? Would you like to go back and be a kid again? At what age do you feel like you were living your best life? What about it made that so? Can you capture that feeling today? Are you willing to do what it takes? Leave me a reply and let me know: How will you make TODAY the best Time of your life?

Lead with Love,

William

My Next President

DSC_0181“In politics, stupidity is not a handicap.” –Napoléon Bonaparte

Hello friend,

“IS THIS THE BEST WE CAN DO???” That is what I keep asking myself as I watch the 2016 Presidential candidates begin to emerge and strut their stuff for the voters. One day it is Donald Trump spouting racist comments that cause the PGA tour to cut ties with him. The next day I see Hillary Clinton’s extremely low poll numbers when it comes to honesty and trustworthiness. Then there is the prospect of Scott Walker, and I think of how many people from Wisconsin I have met who are totally mortified that he is their governor. And, oh my goodness, might Joe Biden, the butt of so many jokes, really run for President? Who will the Republicans and Democrats trot out next: Jeffrey Dahmer or your crazy Aunt Cleo? I am again left scratching my head and wondering, “Is this the best that we can do?”

I know, I know, we are not supposed to talk about religion and politics in polite company, and I am certainly going to offend most people with this post today. But we aren’t talking here. We are just here to get you to think about what makes you tick. When you write about this in your journal, you are writing to yourself, for yourself. Of course you can talk about it with others, but you do that at your own risk. When you journal, you risk nothing. You only gain. You gain clarity and perspective, and you get to hash out potentially unpopular ideas without the prospect of losing friends as a result. It is your Truth, not someone else’s. So yes, go ahead and talk politics. I dare you! But first, hear me out. Maybe I can ruffle your feathers enough to stir up a passionate journal entry or two.

These candidates are killing me! They really are. As a guy who almost never follows current events but has an odd fascination with Presidential politics, I have found myself wondering if I could be more unimpressed by this group. But, you know, it is not really the fault of the candidates themselves. After all, they are just folks who are ambitious enough to want to be President of the United States. That is pretty darn admirable of them, actually. I guess it is the political parties and us—yes, you and I—who are to blame. How did we allow it to get to this point where it is so extremely difficult to uncover a couple of wonderful candidates for the highest office in the land? We should have made it clear to most of these folks long ago that they just weren’t what we are looking for when it comes to our global ambassador. We failed, and now here they are, lined up at our door (or at least our TV sets).

I guess there are some basic things I am looking for out of my next President—some minimum qualifications—regardless of political affiliation. These are the things I want the candidates of the major parties to have so that we can have a fair fight. Let’s start with charisma. We are talking about the leader of the free world here, so this person needs to have that certain something that draws people in. Captivate me! I also want to think my President is both intelligent and wise. I want the person to be able to not only understand the daily security briefing but also be able to make good decisions based on it. I want my President to be likable. Easily likable, so I don’t have to scour through the crabby surface or used-car-salesman surface or arrogant surface or patronizing surface to find some semblance of likable. I also want the main candidates to be on the younger end, frankly. Preferably 40s or 50s, not so much 70s. I know that sounds horribly ageist—and it is—but I am actually not saying it for me. I am really talking about what I think the two big parties would ideally put out there to appeal to the greatest number of voters. Personally, I don’t mind if the President is 65, but I think the candidates have more mass appeal when they enter around the age of the most recent Presidents (Clinton, W Bush, and Obama) rather than the Reagan/HW Bush ages. In this age of celebrity and social media, I really believe that we will see more candidacies that emerge as a wildfire-style movement—I think Obama’s first election will, in the long run, be seen as the first version of this—which is why youth, charisma, and even celebrity may play an increasingly large role in Presidential politics going forward (you think George Clooney couldn’t win an election right now?).   I also think you cannot be seen as an extremist (though both sides like to paint each other as extremist, hopefully you and I can see the truth).

These basic standards of appeal seem so simple, obvious, and easy-to-meet, but look at the candidates emerging. Who meets them? You can answer for yourself. Does Hillary Clinton have likability or age on her side? Does Donald Trump have anything but celebrity—and perhaps charisma—on his? Vice President Biden is in his 70s, which is tough. Bernie Sanders seems too extreme to the left to attract enough people, and I think anyone Tea Party-related has the same problem but from the right. Who remains? The Democrats seem to be out of appealing options, unless Elizabeth Warren could be convinced to join the race. As for the Republicans, maybe the likes of Bobby Jindal, Chris Christie, or Jeb Bush fit the basic standards. I suppose even that answer somewhat depends upon your political leanings.

I definitely have my biases, too. I have told you in previous letters that I am very liberal. I have zero inclination to attach myself to any party, but I admit that the Republican candidates—especially the Tea Party folks—frighten me more than the Democratic candidates. I actually think that Clinton would do a fine job as President, but I also think that the likability factor doesn’t make her a good candidate when we go back to our basic list.

Maybe it is just not possible in this age to find a person that seems at least generally appealing to most people (political views aside). After all, I tend to think President Obama is charismatic, likable, and young enough to appeal to a broad audience. If you look at the levels of hate and vitriol sent in his direction, though, he is clearly not a universal favorite. Maybe W Bush was that way, too. By his second term, the very sound of his voice made my skin crawl—I was very against the wars—but maybe even his most level-headed supporters wondered by everyone didn’t think he was the coolest guy ever. It is quite possible that the low level of respect that we grant even our highest officers today—maybe I was shielded from it growing up in a Republican household in the Reagan/Bush years, but it felt like no one dared to disrespect the President in those days—makes it impossible for us to find some consensus on who would be a generally good leader (political views aside). Nothing is sacred in 2015, and no one is safe from the haters.

Still, I hold out hope that the 2016 election will offer us some candidates from both parties who meet the basic standards. I would love to arrive at Election Day and be excited about the final contenders. I have lived through the elections where neither player excited me—see Bush vs. Gore—or when I was petrified at what might happen if the President died while in office (“Hello, President Palin!”). I think I want what each party wants: to deliver a candidate and running mate who are charismatic, likable, smart, wise, and appealing to a wide range of people. And I really want to spend the months leading up to the election without shouting at CNN, “Is this the best we can do???”

How about you? What is your take on the possibilities for your next President? Open up your journal—the only safe place to talk politics—and make a Wish List. What are the minimum standards on your list? Are they similar to mine, or quite different? How well has your preferred party done at producing candidates that meet those minimum standards? How well do you think the other party has done? Are you ever embarrassed for either party? Do you like it when the other party nominates an obvious dud? Given that no matter who each party nominates, the election is bound to be a close one and could go either way: even though I feel like my side gains a slight edge if the other side’s candidate seems awful, it still always freaks me out that the awful candidate might very well win and I will be stuck with this person as my leader (a recurrence of my Sarah Palin nightmares). Do you think that is the case in this election, with Hillary Clinton as the presumptive nominee for the Democrats despite having some serious popularity and trust issues? Should the average Republican voter be loving this or terrified that, despite these issues, she might be the next President? How open-minded are you about which candidate you will ultimately vote for? Have you picked a favorite yet? Are you open to the idea of a female or Latino or Indian-American President? How much does gender, race, or religion play into your candidate preferences? How much difference do you think is really made by choosing a Republican rather than a Democrat for President, or vice versa? Do you always vote by party, or can a personal quality or an issue sway you? Do you know someone personally—maybe even you—who you think would be a good President? What is it about that person that makes you feel this way? Would you want the job? Why or why not? If you answered “NO” to the job, do you think this is why we have such a shortage of good candidates on both sides? What can we do about that? Leave me a reply and let me know, “Is this the best that we can do?” 

Demand the best,

William

A Front Row Seat to a Magic Show

IMG_2888“The miracle of children is that we just don’t know how they will change or who they will become.” –Eileen Kennedy-Moore

Hello friend,

Yesterday I went to my first track meet since I was a kid. It was quite a show! My soon-to-be-seven-year-old daughter was finishing her week of “Track Camp”, a serious-sounding name for a week of playing Tag and Ships Across The Ocean, mixed with a few laps around the track. Thus, I wasn’t exactly expecting her to be pole vaulting and throwing discus, but I actually did hold out some secret hopes for her running and jumping prowess. Of course I am heavily biased, but I have seen her go. She outruns me around the house, and she is sporting some pretty good muscles (you know, as six-year-olds go!). So I kind of thought the track meet might be a coming-out party for her, a discovery of something she would excel at and take confidence from.

Well, not so much. She wasn’t bad. She just wasn’t a hero. And the funny thing was this: it didn’t seem to matter at all to her whether she won or lost. Unlike her fairly competitive parents, she just isn’t very into that side of sports. As a result, she doesn’t seem to either gain or lose confidence from the results. As baffling and uncommon as that is, I find it totally refreshing. After all, isn’t that what the coaches and sports psychologists of professional athletes are trying to instill in them? A kind of independence from circumstance, not affected by luck or momentum.

It is how she is in school, too, according to her teachers. At conferences, they tell us she plays with every kid openly and patiently, even the boys who have just been totally obnoxious and rude. When I asked her this year if she knew why she went to the Gifted & Talented teacher’s room almost every day of the week, she had no idea other than “to work on math” or “to work on reading” or whatever. When I explained that she was blessed by being more intelligent than most kids, it didn’t phase her at all, and she never spoke of it again. She somehow just absorbs her situation and finds joy there, no matter who else is there. After the first day of Summer camp, our conversation went like this: “Did you meet any new friends?” “No.” “You didn’t talk to anyone?” “Nope.” “Was it fun?” “Yes!!!” Same thing the next day. On the third day, she met some new friends. “Fun?” “Yes!!!” It just doesn’t matter to her. She hasn’t had a bad day at camp all Summer. We should all be so lucky.

Her little brother, meanwhile, had his own fun at the track meet. Even though he was too young for camp—still four for a couple more weeks–and just a spectator, he was more busy than all of the competitors. He explored, as he always does, every nook and cranny of the new space with the specific intent of discovering all the ways he could turn it into a funhouse. He loves making his sister his partner in this adventure, as they are quite a pair in a new place. The novelty completely stirs them, and I am completely amazed by the variety of ways they can find to create fun and excitement out of thin air. I am so envious of their creativity and zest for amusement.

I am also envious of my son’s demand to be heard and be a part of the action. After all of the big kids finished their runs, he demanded a turn to run around the track. Captivated by his spirit, I, of course, conceded to his order. He coaxed my daughter into a 400 meter race—in his Crocs, no less—and joyously crossed the finish line in victory. Then, “I wanna do it again!” His spirit is relentless.

He seems to have staked a claim to his right to pursue Joy in whatever way he sees fit. So he goes after it with fervor, whatever it is. In one moment, he will demand that I play along with one of his jokes to make his Mom and sister laugh. In the next, he might order me away for a few minutes so he can have some time with his “imaginations”. But mostly, he is ordering me from one amusement to the next in his never-ending search to find and provide greater enjoyment in this wonderful game called LIFE. He is a born performer and makes friends wherever he goes. In most cases, you would say his confidence is through the roof. But then it’s not. I have to twist his arm to go to the child center at the gym or any new thing without his big sister. Suddenly, I have this uncertain little boy on my hands that needs lots of hugs and reassurance. Forty-five minutes later, when I come to pick him up, he practically owns the place. It is such a high-wire act. I so admire the way he conquers his insecurities and completely flourishes, never allowing his spirit to be held down.

What are they going to be when they grow up? Who knows! When my daughter first started day care at six months old, she brought us home some awful germs. On my very first day home alone with her, I was as sick as could be, totally vomiting and unable to get off the sofa when I was not in the bathroom. Amidst my misery, I was completely in awe of her as she just sat in her swing across the room, staring at me with the sweetest, most empathetic eyes. I swore right then that she was destined to become a healer of some sort. When she graduated pre-school, she said she wanted to be a teacher. I don’t know anymore. What I do know is that the world will be better for having her in it. As for my son, I have always guessed he would be some sort of entertainer. Even before he could speak, he would work hard to find ways to coax a laugh and a smile out of people, then give a look of satisfaction when it was achieved. No matter what he chooses, it seems clear that making people smile will come along with the package.

They take you on a ride, these kids. You simply don’t know which way they will turn their lives from one moment to the next. The only way to stay with them is to live in the moment. Living in the moment. It is just about the most important lesson any of us can learn in life, and kids teach it best. The other lesson they teach me so beautifully is to be authentic. Live your Truth. Just be yourself. Relentlessly yourself. Don’t bother with what the crowd is doing or what it means to someone else to be cool. Just do the thing that makes you feel like you. Following them around every day is the best education I have ever had. I feel so incredibly blessed that they take me along for the ride that is their lives. Whatever twists and turns they take, it never fails to feel beautiful and magical to me.

How about you? Who in your life brings you that sense of awe and amazement? Open up your journal and your heart. Are there children in your life? How much do they mean to you? Do they take you to that place of wonder and fascination? Why do we not allow our grown-up selves to be experienced this way? Can we take the edge off our jadedness and begin to see our peers as the amazing creatures that we all truly are, and can we let down our guards enough to let ourselves be seen as the unique, beautiful creatures that we have been since we were babies? Has the premium on fitting in caused us all to lose our shine in the hopes of not sticking out? Is the magic still there under all our self-censorship?   I hope it is. I hope we are not naturally less fascinating and less divine as we age. Even if I am my only audience, I want to still be magnificent and awe-inspiring. I want to be what my kids are to me. Do grandparents still see that in their adult children, or do they just rev it up again with their grandchildren only? How will I observe these two magicians when they are my current age? I guess I have to wait and see. I have a feeling it will be a fun wait, though. I am already grateful for all that is to come. Are you? Leave me a reply and let me know: Who keeps the magic and the moment in your life? 

Just be you,

William

Becoming Okay With BUSY

DSC_0235“I don’t envy ‘busy’. Busy means having a schedule, not living life. What I really covet is leisure and peace of mind. Those who have both, have it all.” –Donna Lynn Hope

Hello friend,

Being busy is becoming like being a slave to your smartphone and disconnected from real interactions with humans. These are supposedly the defining characteristics of we Westerners in the modern age. This is what the older generations shake their heads at us about. This is what yoga teachers, preachers, and bloggers try to cure us of. We are overscheduled, they say. We don’t take time to stop and smell the roses, much less to plant and tend them as they grow. They say we are buried in our screens and always on the go-go-go because we have lost the ability to make essential human connections, especially within ourselves. We go because, they say, we fear what we would find in the stillness of leisure and quietude. We are made to feel guilty for our busy lifestyles.

I admit it: I have bought into all of the guilt-mongering. I feel bad for how busy I am. I arrive at the end of each day and the end of each week feeling as though I have somehow failed in my duties as a human being because I didn’t build some leisure into the schedule, some time to completely shut off my brain and relax. I see all the posts on Facebook about the many great TV series that everyone else seems to be binge-watching. I hear about sitting around after work having a glass of wine. My brother-in-law takes long naps almost every day. When these tales of leisure arrive at my brain, it simply does not know how to process them. It is like a foreign language to me. Having that kind of time available to burn on casual pastimes just doesn’t compute. Idleness truly blows my mind.

It is not as though I feel any disdain for all of the people who are incorporating idle leisure into their daily routine—not at all—but rather that I am in awe of them. I am inevitably left asking myself, “How do you do that???” I just cannot comprehend how there is time available for that when I seem to be rushing from one task to the next from the moment I wake up in the morning to the moment I start drifting off at my desk and have to lug myself up the stairs to bed to prepare for the next day’s gauntlet. I suppose I am a bit jealous of the television watchers, wine drinkers, and nappers—leisure sounds quite lovely, actually—but I am more dumbfounded than anything else.

It is not just the question of, “Where does the time come from?” Even amidst people’s busy lives, for most it seems there are hours before or after work when the magic happens. I guess it is more about, “How does your conscience allow you to take that time for leisure, for idleness?” As I write that, I can see that this is truly the rub for me. The conscience. That little character on my shoulder—I can’t tell if he has a pitchfork or a halo—must have killed his counterpart, because I only seem to be receiving one impulse. That is, to keep plugging away. Do the next thing on the list. Become more efficient. Don’t waste time. Learn. Grow. Improve yourself. Do it. Do it! DO IT!!! The message is relentless. That little guy sure is persistent!

So I go, and I go, and I go some more. All day. Every day.

Don’t mistake me: I don’t want to make it seem as though it is a miserable slog to get through. It isn’t as though I am not doing things just for me or taking care of myself. I really am. I get some exercise. I write in my journal every day. I write this weekly letter to you. I spend a ton of time with my kids, whom I adore. And even though my occupation is not exactly my dream job—I am working on that, too, of course—it works great with my kids’ schedules and gives me the opportunity to fill the rest of my day with so many other things that are important to me. I am quite spoiled, frankly.

But still, each one of my many wonderful things must be done. I must get the exercise; it is non-negotiable. I must have all of that time with my kids until they fall asleep at night. And then, I must write in my journal. I must keep plugging away at starting my new businesses. I must get some pages read before I fall asleep. I must write this letter to you on time every week without fail. These things are all very difficult to squeeze into each day, and I inevitably fail and feel guilty for that failure. It is an endless cycle.

And then there is the long list of things I really, really want to get onto the Must-Do List. These are things that I truly believe are important enough that I should do every day—call it the Should-Do List–but that I cannot seem to make onto the Must-Do List, and because that list is already overfull, these items never seem to make it onto the day’s docket. Meditation, which I find to be extremely important, is on the Should list. There are a million books on this list, including the hundreds on my shelves. I have always longed to learn the guitar, and I even have the instrument and instruction manual in my office. That should be done, even just a few minutes a day. I should make much more time for Life Coaching sessions. I definitely should enroll in some new classes. I should hang out with my wife more. The list goes on and on. And, oh yeah, I should build in some time for leisure.

Ah, leisure. There it is again. As part of my Life Coach training, I had to receive coaching from my peers. The only topic that I could ever think of was, “How do I maintain my ambition for self-improvement but also build leisure into my schedule to achieve some sort of life balance?” The only allowance I ever seemed willing to grant myself was to carve out one night per week to hang out with my wife after the kids went to bed, to watch a movie or play a board game or whatever. I figured that would kill the two proverbial birds with one stone by combining the marriage time and the leisure time, thereby eliminating this built-up guilt from living an unbalanced life. It worked! For about two weeks. Then I drifted back into my usual busy-ness and imbalance. And then the guilt about the busy and imbalance.

What can I say? I think that what I am coming to, though, is letting go of the guilt for being busy. I mean, it is not as though my kids are overscheduled and going like crazy every day. And it’s not as though I am busy with useless things. I am busy doing the things that I love (minus the day job, maybe). I am in constant pursuit of my dreams and self-improvement. That can’t be the worst thing in the world, right? Yes, I know I have to do better about getting more of those Should-Dos—which includes some pretty leisurely things, like the guitar and the meditation—onto the Done list. I know I have to make that time with my wife. But I also have to make peace with the idea that I will never stop trying to learn, grow, and improve. I will be busy until the day I die in the feverish pursuit of my dreams. I realize more and more every day—with so much help from my journal—that I am just hooked up this way. I landed on this Earth hard-wired for ambition and personal growth; it is not something I can undo. So what if it keeps me feeling more busy than everybody else? I am learning to live with that. What I want is to feel authentic, true to myself and my purpose. I could try sitting around this evening drinking chardonnay and watching “Orange Is The New Black” or “Game of Thrones”, but I know that no matter how great those things are, I would find myself stressing about wasting my time and how many other things I am missing out on that are more important to me. In the end, I have to be me, even if Me is a guy whose daily To-Do List is longer than the day itself.

How about you? How busy are you? Open up your journal and think about the role of dreams and ambition in your life. How ambitious are you? Are you constantly striving to improve your life, or are you pretty content where you are now? Of your non-working “spare” time, how much of it do you spend on personal growth versus leisure activities? What are your favorite ways to pass the time? As someone who knows none of the current television shows or movies, do you have any recommendations to me that I could make my one guilty pleasure each week? How much do you wrestle with yourself about the way you spend your time? Are you ever bored or can’t think of anything to do? Of course, my first impulse is to ask “What is that like?” because I simply cannot imagine it. Even if you don’t have the same constant force nagging at you that I do, does it seem like it would be a blessing or a curse? I sometimes wonder. What is on your daily Must-Do List? How about your Should-Do List? How often do you get to your Shoulds? Does it annoy you that you don’t, or are you good at letting it go? I am terrible at letting it go. How driven are you to do more? Leave me a reply and let me know: Is what you do enough for you?

Be relentlessly YOU,

William

When I Am Proud of America

DSC_0061 2“Loyalty to country ALWAYS. Loyalty to government, when it deserves it.” –Mark Twain

Hello friend,

Every time I popped onto Facebook last weekend, I was more and more encouraged and uplifted. I had heard the news on Friday of the Supreme Court’s decision to legalize same-sex marriage in all fifty states. It took the whole course of that day for the reality of that decision to sink in. It felt like just last year when I was amazed and heartened by my own state, Minnesota, voting for marriage equality, and I never dreamed that something like Friday’s decision would happen any time soon. I figured it would take a couple more generations of bigoted folks to die off before there was a chance at getting nationwide marriage equality laws in place. After all, through all of the centuries of this country’s existence—and even through the Civil Rights Era and beyond—the gay community had seemingly made very few strides in terms of gaining mainstream acceptance and justice. But then Friday came, and BAM!!!! Just like that, this movement that felt like it had only just begun creeping its way forward suddenly took a quantum leap toward equality. As the ramifications of the Supreme Court decision gradually sunk in that day, I became increasingly grateful and emotional about it. It just felt so good that so many people who had been so long denied this institution that I, and so many others like me, take for granted in our heterosexual privilege, would finally be granted access to the club (or rather, that the “club” no longer existed). I was suddenly a big fan of the Supreme Court. And then the Facebook profile pictures started changing to include the rainbow overlay in support of the gay community. When I saw the first one, I was like, “Oh, that’s a cool image! I never knew YOU were an ally and a supporter of marriage equality. I like you better now!” And then they just kept on coming, one rainbow flag after another, from all corners of my Facebook community. Each one lifted my spirits a little more. Pretty soon, I was like, “Go, America!!!” It was one of those rare and awesome moments when I have been both proud of my country (for the decision) and proud of my countrymen and women (for the support of equality). We got it right!

I have always felt very proud to be an American. Growing up in the Cold War Era, patriotism and hatred of the “Evil (Soviet) Empire” went hand-in-hand. I grew up believing that we were definitely on the right side of that battle. My family was also crazy about the Olympic Games, so when the undermanned USA hockey team beat the mighty Soviets and won the gold medal at the 1980 Olympics in Lake Placid, it was a defining moment in my childhood and probably the first clear memory I have of being proud of America. I guess that at that age, I likened the hockey team’s victory to a giant knockdown punch of Good over Evil. America, my country, was something to brag about in that moment.

I also believed the history books I learned from in elementary school. I blindly accepted the idea that we were the undisputed King of the World in all matters of commerce, ideas, and diplomacy. So I was a regular patriot, proud to live in the best country in the world. That wasn’t one event, though, but just a general pride. It wasn’t until years later that I learned the cold truth about the way we built this reputation and ascended to such heights (by taking the lands of indigenous people, killing those people, and building our industry on the backs of enslaved peoples, with little regard for the way we treated other countries and lands along the way). My childhood pride was of America the Concept.

So, what were the events that made me feel proud of America the Country? My country. Not just the concept of America—we all love the idea of Freedom and Opportunity and the like—or what an American person or persons (like a hockey team or a scientist) did, but what the country did. Or, more specifically, what the American government did.

When I look back to my childhood, beyond the Olympic Games of every four years, I remember being proud of my country for the space program and, particularly, the space shuttle missions. Remember how big of a deal those were when the shuttle was new? Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch the launch on television. I was in awe of what they were doing, and the whole aura about it was cloaked in patriotism. America was, in my childish point-of-view, the only country in the world who did amazing things like this for the betterment of all humankind. We were the shepherd, and I loved being a part of that.

After childhood, I hate to admit that the moments of being proud of my government’s actions kind of dried up. With more of the veil lifted to my adult eyes regarding the reasons we really do what we do in the world—usually MONEY leading the way—it became more difficult to cheer for the good old USA in areas of diplomacy. No matter how hard the politicians tried to sell the many wars and “conflicts” we entered, I was disappointed in us for entering them. And I watched how we—as a people and in the three branches of government–were treating each other at home in terms of advancing our pillars of Liberty and Equality, and I was like the kid who grows up to see his hero wasn’t so heroic after all. I still loved and rooted for America the Concept, but the “We The People” America was seriously letting me down. As a sensitive idealist and optimist, I must admit that my feelings were being hurt the country that I loved so much.

I am happy to report, though, that the old Red, White, and Blue has begun to turn things around in my eyes in recent years. A story of redemption has begun to emerge out of all of the chapters of disappointment. It started with Presidential politics in recent elections. Yes, amidst that arena that is still basically a Gong Show to me and everyone else, my spirit has been lifted by the American people’s relative openness to candidates beyond just old, White guys. Whether or not I am a fan of theirs, I have been delighted to see the popularity of Sarah Palin and Hillary Clinton and their legitimate candidacies for our highest offices. The worm is turning, and I love that my six-year-old daughter has examples to look to in the biggest arenas of politics. I now believe that there will be legitimate female candidates on the ballot when it comes time for her to vote. Go, America!

The bigger source of pride for me in that arena, though, has been our—We the People’s—election of a Black man to the highest office in the land. Given where we have been in this country—and where we still are in a lot of ways—it was absolutely astonishing to me that we made that bold move as a country in 2008. Sure, I know that only half the country votes for the winner in these elections and that the other half often fiercely opposes, but the fact that we had a Black man right there in the arena (and that he actually won a majority of votes) speaks volumes about a collective shift that has begun to occur in the mind of America. Whether you agreed with his politics or not, I felt like America deserved a giant pat on the back on that election night in the name of racial progress. It was a big, big deal.

Then came last week and two Supreme Court decisions that really brought back some of that national pride from my youth. The first one confirmed the legality of the Affordable Care Act, which is our imperfect beginning to the journey toward assuring that all of our residents have access to health care. I know this issue is a polarizing one in our country—and, interestingly, also not on the radar at all for many people—but for me, it is an important one when it comes to national pride. With the rest of the world, at least conceptually, treating health care as the basic right that I think it should be, I have always been quite embarrassed that in America, health care was only for those who could pay for it. As someone who could not always do so, I remember the helplessness and desperation I felt when I was uninsured and mangled my thumb and wrecked my back. Though I know we are only at the beginning of this process, I am heartened by these first steps toward this basic decency. We can do it!

The other Supreme Court case, of course, was the same-sex marriage decision. In all ways, that just made me feel very good. Let LOVE rule, America!!! It struck me as a happy coincidence that it was the lead-in to Pride Weekend, an annual celebration of the LGBTQ community. My wife was marching in the Pride Parade through downtown, and my heart felt so full (and relieved) for the entire community and its allies. My country had finally done right by them. I was marching in my own Pride Parade. Pride in America. We the People.

How about you? What makes you feel proud of your country? Open up your journal and examine your relationship with your government and your people. Are you typically more proud of them or more disappointed? Think back to your childhood. When did you feel that national pride? Compare that to your adulthood. Did you become jaded like me and aware of our collective shortcomings? What moments or movements have made you feel proud to be one of us? Inevitably, discussions such as this one end up being politically driven. As the hyper-liberal that I am, I can think the legalization of same-sex marriage is one of our most proud moments, and the ultra-conservative next to me can write her article about this being one of our most shameful moments. Where do you fall on this topic? What about the others I mentioned: issues around gender, race, and economics/health care? What other issues move your needle in terms of national pride or disappointment? Are they mostly political issues, or are there others, like my Olympic fever or space shuttle awe? Leave me a reply and let me know: When are you proud of America?

Celebrate LIFE,

William

What I’ve Learned In 12 Years of Marriage

DSC_0230“It is not a lack of love, but a lack of friendship that makes unhappy marriages.” –Friedrich Nietzsche

Hello friend,

Today is my anniversary! Twelve years ago, in front of a small group of loved ones on a gorgeous Saturday, I vowed my friendship and love to an amazing woman. Near the end of the vows, I said, “It is my intention to be with you forever….” That’s everyone’s intention, right? So, why does it seem so rare that people actually pull off this trick of staying married forever? Beyond that, why is it even more rare to stay happily married forever, with the friendship and love still flowing? Well, I’ve only been at it for twelve years, so I can’t claim any great expertise or mastery on the topic of a lasting marriage. But, at least at this point, it feels like we are ready to press on to our Forever, walking the Road of Life hand-in-hand. I sure hope so.

Marriage is a challenge. Whoever tells you otherwise is a liar. For almost everyone I meet, I can, within a few minutes, tell you about a dozen reasons why I would not want to be married to them. It is simply a challenge to live cohesively with someone for any extended period. It is why, for most of us, we love it when our friends or relatives come for a visit, but we also secretly love it when they leave.

And I am the worst. There is no way I could be married to me. I am spoiled. I hold everyone to very high standards. I am opinionated. I am stubborn. I am sure that I am always right. And, possibly most challenging in a marriage, I am hypersensitive; I take everything to heart. All of that makes for a combustible mix of “Difficult to Live With”. I would not wish me upon anyone. My wife, needless to say, is a saint.

I never thought I would marry. Before I met my wife, I was too blissful in my singlehood to think of marriage as an option. I just liked being alone and devoting my life to personal improvement: learning and growing spiritually and intellectually. I guess I thought marriage would stifle that learning and development. As it turns out, marriage has taught me a few things that no amount of book-learning or meditation ever could. For a guy who naturally prefers solitude, twelve years in a marriage—and nearly seven as a father—come with lessons that are only understood intellectually but never mastered, that must be re-learned and practiced every single day.

The first lesson that I practice—and fail at—every day is the importance of continuing to act like my partner’s best friend and biggest fan. I think so much of this lesson that when I was asked to officiate at my sister’s wedding a few years ago, I chose it as the main focus of my sermon. It is easy in the euphoric beginning to be the biggest fan and the best friend. The “in love” part is still in full effect, and the personality and behavioral idiosyncrasies—as well as their contrasting viewpoints on what cleanliness looks like, how much time with in-laws is enough, how to spend your money, what to watch on television, how frequently to have date night (and “date night”), where do your shoes go when you come inside, and how to raise children, to name a few—have not been in your face EVERY SINGLE DAY without pause. The challenge is to be able to pull off the “How would the biggest fan act?” and “How would a best friend act?” every day, even while swimming in the pool of all these potential triggers. The lesson I am learning—and trying to remind myself every day—is to ask those questions and be sure that I can answer with my head held high. It is a challenge.

Another daily challenge of a lesson for me in my super-sensitivity is to not take umbrage at every seeming slight or unfairness—“Why do I have to cook so often?” or “Why don’t you acknowledge me for all I do?” or “That comment was passive-aggressive”—because letting all of that stuff stick only makes you bitter and more thin-skinned the next time, as though you are always building a case against your partner. Building a case against them—just like “keeping score” on the dishes or the cleaning or the gifts—is a recipe for disaster. It only makes you more resentful, and only makes them more defensive and distrusting, seeing your love as conditional. I am all for communicating your needs and letting your partner know when they have hurt you—I need to work on that one rather than writing it in my journal—but I have definitely come to see what a terrible waste of energy it is to hold onto every little grievance, or even to take them seriously. Choosing every one makes you a constant victim and makes your partner feel like they can’t do anything right. Neither of those roles is fun to play.

One role that is good to play is Yourself. I am learning—and trying to put into practice—the lesson to let your partner be who they are, even the stuff you would rather change. Challenge them, sure, and help them see if they are being destructive, but sometimes you just have to understand that they aren’t there for you to mold them. Just love them and accept them. Affirm that you love unconditionally. Feed whatever parts work for you while still accepting the rest.

Probably the greater lesson that binds these other lessons together—and actually bonds each of our individual lives together—is the supreme importance of CHOICE in all of this. You have to CHOOSE the right attitude, CHOOSE to be forgiving, CHOOSE to be a fan, CHOOSE to not be petty or snarky. It seems way easier to let a marriage drift into unloving, spiteful oblivion—which I believe it would do if left to its own devices—than it is to CHOOSE to do the daily work of cooperating, forgiving, and supporting. But what do you want? You have to do the things—CHOOSE the things—that get you what you want. If you want marriage to work, CHOOSE to do the things that make it work. Of course, it still requires your partner choosing to do the same, but start with yourself. You have control of that much.

Yes, as a grizzled veteran of twelve years in the marriage game—were those the easy dozen or the difficult dozen???—my takeaways seem to come down to some really simple concepts: appreciation, forgiveness, acceptance, and the absolute necessity of choosing the right attitude. Hey, those sound like my takeaways from LIFE! Oh, what a tangled web we weave. In the end, good principles transcend all institutions and never go out of style. I can only hope that I have the fortitude to keep these lessons front and center for all of my days to come. If I can do that, I can earn my “happily ever after”.

How about you? What lessons do you take from your most intimate relationship? Open up your journal and dive deep into what makes it go and what makes it stall out. How equal is your partnership? If you had to name a percentage, how much of the load do you feel like you are carrying when it comes to keeping the relationship going? How much of the physical load (e.g., keeping up the house, taking care of kids, etc.)? How about the emotional load? Financial? Is one of you clearly the rock, or does that role get passed back and forth depending on the situation? How long have you been in this relationship? If you had to guess, is it going to last until death do you part? How confident are you in that guess, and what dictates that level of confidence? How good of a job do you do at being your partner’s biggest fan? How about their best friend? Are you doing better or worse at it now than you used to? If worse, why do you think it turned? What can you do to better act like the biggest fan and best friend? How sensitive are you to perceived slights by your partner? How much do you feel like you are keeping score against them and building a case? Does that serve you in any positive ways? How well do you do at allowing your partner to be themselves? How consistent are you in the attitude you choose for the day? Do you usually go more positive and forgiving, or do you tend toward the negative and unforgiving side? What principles guide your relationship? How is that working out for you? If you could choose other principles—(hint: you can!)—what would they be? Do you think it’s up to you how long and strong your relationship goes? What’s your prediction? Beyond just lasting, what have you learned about how to make it happy? Leave me a reply and let me know: What have you learned, and how far is that going to take you? 

Go and love,

William

A Father’s Humanity

IMG_1209“Of all the titles that I’ve been privileged to have, the title of ‘dad’ has always been the best.” –Ken Norton

Hello friend,

I think my Dad probably gets a bad rap in these posts. I recently wrote about how much of a momma’s boy I am (see “A Mother’s Son”), and how so many of my most favorite memories involve my Mom. Along the way, I have mentioned how different my Dad and I are from each other in our willingness to show emotions and how I have never really gained access to that wonderful circle of friendship and common interests that he shares with my older brothers. These things are true, but they also perhaps lead the reader to believe that my old man is cold and heartless, more of a robot than a man. This is simply not true.

I think most kids tend to see their father as something of a superhero. Dads are strong, always carrying the kids around on their shoulders and lifting them up to see things. Dads are smart, fixing broken toys or knowing the answers to homework questions. Dads are powerful, coming home from work—where they were surely in charge of something–with the power to buy pizza and ice cream, or the power to punish bad behavior, because “Wait until your father gets home!” preceded him. Dads are tough, always doing brave things like getting up in the dark to go out and kill animals with guns or shoveling all of that snow from the blizzard. And Dads never cry. They keep their feelings at a distance so they won’t ever look weak. With all of this, how could we NOT see our fathers as superheroes? That is pretty much the way I saw mine.

But superheroes, as mythical and awe-inspiring as they are, are hard to get to know. Their invincibility—the very thing that makes them super—is what makes it hard for anyone to really touch them. Keeping their feelings at a distance keeps them super, of course, but it also keeps people at a distance, too. It is, quite simply, one of the hazards of the job.

My poor father! Between his innate aversion to emotional closeness and sharing, and his natural charisma and talents that made him so much the superhero to all kids, he had to go and have a son like me! As I have mentioned to you many times in other posts, I like my relationships deep and open. My innate aversion is the opposite of my old man’s: it is small-talk and all things guarded. I want to live out loud and explore the range and complexity of the human condition, one deep encounter at a time. My Dad? Well, not as much.

So, could these seemingly star-crossed souls co-exist in adulthood—after all of my childhood’s starry-eyed hero worship had settled–to either one’s satisfaction? From my end, at least, it turned out that I found what I needed in my Dad’s most difficult hours.

Twenty Summers ago, I got in my car and took an epic roadtrip from Los Angeles up the Pacific Coast Highway, checked out the mountains of Oregon and Washington, wandered through Glacier country, and arrived back in my childhood home in the wee hours of what would be my Mom’s fiftieth birthday. Later that night, my Dad had a massive heart attack and nearly died. I remember driving to the hospital later with my sisters and, just before we arrived, my dam burst. I started sobbing uncontrollably. It happened again later in the day, after talking with the nurse about my Dad’s status. I went out alone into the hallway, just out of the ICU, and just crumbled onto the floor and sobbed like a baby. At that age, still 22, I wouldn’t have called our relationship a close one. On top of that was the fact that less than two years earlier, I had made my big announcement that I was quitting pre-Med, leaving school, and heading off to become a star. I knew it was a huge shock and disappointment to nearly every person in my life. But most of all, I was completely certain that it was my Dad who harbored the greatest disappointment. It seemed, from my view at least, to be much more than just disappointment, though. It felt like embarrassment.

So it was that I found myself passing the night by his side in his curtained-off “room” in the ICU the night after his surgery. I had volunteered for the job of sitting by him and feeding him little ice chips in the brief and random moments when he would awaken from the drugs, a million tubes running out of him, to ease the extreme cottonmouth that is part of the process. In the semi-dark room, his eyes would pop open in alarm. With him unable to speak, I would look calmly into his eyes and ask if he wanted some ice. Invariably his eyes would tell me that he did, and so I would spoon him the tiny chips, as I had been instructed by the nurse. Then he would drift quickly back into oblivion, only to have the same thing happen a few moments later. Over and over through the long night. In the longer unconscious spells, I would talk to him about Notre Dame football and other random stuff, hopeful that a familiar voice might help him make it through. I am certain he has no recollection of that night, but it is one I will never forget. It gave me—the black sheep and disgrace of his wonderful brood—a chance to actually be of service to this superhero in his one moment of vulnerability. I am sure I needed it more than he did.

Fast forward many years into the more recent past. My Dad had battled and re-battled alcoholism for long stretches of my adulthood. If you have ever been around alcoholism, you know it is no facilitator for deeper, more meaningful relationships. It slowly dulls the drinker and, on its best days, dulls all relationships in the vicinity. Still, even in that subhuman state, my Dad had the wherewithal to take on the challenge of treatment to pull himself out of the abyss that is that terrible disease (I am still really proud of him for that).

It was in that setting of a treatment facility that I had my other poignant moment with my Dad that will remain etched in my memory for life. I hadn’t seen him since the intervention, which is, of course, a heart-wrenching experience for everyone involved. I drove out to the facility with my sister on a beautiful Sunday afternoon near the end of his treatment, both a little nervous about what we would find. And there he was: a superhero with a brand new supersuit and gadgets. He was so fresh and spry and sharp and all things alive. It completely floored me; I guess I had forgotten who he really was in all of those dulled-over years. I marveled at his confidence, charm, and charisma as he toured us around the facility like it was his own. He introduced us to all the guys—he even seemed proud as he did—and they all revered him as their leader and a great man. I loved that. But the moment that has stuck with me the most came after we had met everyone and toured all the buildings. We found a trail along the woods to wander and eventually sat down on a bench for a break in the quiet beauty of the day. My sister was between us, so I studied him secretly as he told stories about the guys and their families and all of the crazy drama that had brought them to the facility. He looked mostly ahead into the greenery and occasionally to my sister, and I just stared at his eyes as he spoke. They were so astoundingly alive and sharp. So vibrant. He seemed completely new. Revitalized. I had my Dad back, and that was everything. I will never forget that look in his eyes. Never.

In the end, those two little moments that my Dad wasn’t even aware of are the ones that draw us together in my mind, helping me to feel closer to a man who never made that easy. What I have learned in this ongoing process is that maybe you don’t have to be “close” to someone to still have a special relationship. I don’t expect my Dad to suddenly become all emotionally gushy at this point, and I don’t want him to pretend to be more proud of me than he really is. I still think the world of him, and he still affects me profoundly every day. I cherish the times we have together, and I appreciate that my kids have gotten to know him and love him, too. I will take him just as he is. And hey, maybe we will get one more memory before his story is all said and done, a last moment when my superhero’s vulnerability grabs hold of me in a way that speaks the language of my heart. Maybe. If not, I am okay with that, too. He will always be my old man. That is enough for me. More than enough.

How about you? What is the dynamic between you and your father? Open up your journal and take yourself through your relationship. You can do this whether your father is dead or alive, a huge part of your everyday life or hardly involved at all. How close are you? Are you closer now than you were before, or drifting further apart? How has that closeness changed through the years? What do you attribute that to? How similar are you to your Dad? Does that make things easier or harder for the relationship? What memories most define your relationship with your father? Are they big events, or subtle things that he may not even be aware of? What makes those memories stick for you? Whether or not he is alive, what would you most like your father to know? Are those words that you have the courage to say? How about today? Rather than leaving me a reply this time, use your words to tell a father that you love and appreciate him. Happy Father’s Day!

Love across difference,

William

A Precious Memory

DSC_0497“Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson, Self-Reliance

I was shaken this week by a note from one of my dear friends. I have since been unable to let go of the demons it released in me. The note simply said that my friend—who is in her mid-50s—has been experiencing memory loss, both short-term and long-term. It has been going on for a couple of years but increasing to an alarming degree recently. She can do every step in a procedure if it is written down, but if you ask her a few minutes later if she did the thing or how, she hasn’t the foggiest idea. Memories from her past are being lost as well. She is losing contact with the path from which she came.

If you know me at all, you know that the very thought of this completely freaks me out. Of course, my very first reaction to the note was to feel absolutely awful for my friend. I cannot even begin to imagine the sort of terror that must strike her when an episode occurs–when her connection to the past is cut–much less how she has come to live with the reality of that disconnection in her daily existence. And that is exactly what freaks me out.

My brain and the life of my mind have always meant so much to me. Perhaps too much, even. I have always felt extremely grateful to be relatively intelligent, as I have seen the ways it has given me advantages in the world. I have definitely had my moments when I have been an intellectual snob, somewhat looking down my smarty-pants nose when dealing with people who don’t seem to me to be understanding the situation very well, especially if they are arguing against me. I have a way of using the science of Logic to win any argument, even if I am the only one using my scoring system. I am sure it is mostly annoying to the people around me.   I try to not make it about my ego, but I also get some satisfaction in my ability to pick any issue apart in my mind and see it rationally. And because I am over-sensitive, I have played every argument I have ever had over and over in my head a thousand times (so I know who was right!).

The other reason—aside from simple intelligence—that I have so valued the life of my mind is that I have spent so much time there, my mind as my best friend. I think of all the years I lived in cities far away from home, where I hardly knew anyone at all. Then I think of the months I spent wandering around Europe alone, both not knowing anyone and often not speaking the same language as anyone. I also think of the years I spent living in a way that others described “as a hermit,” basically holed up with my books and journals. My primary company was myself, and I relied upon my mind to sustain me. I am so grateful that those years of solitude were indescribably blissful for me. I have always thanked the power of the mind for that.

This is exactly why my friend’s note threw me for a loop. Although I have spent a lot of thought on cancer and its potential devastation on my family, the disease that truly frightens me the most is Alzheimer’s. I simply cannot bear the prospect of being betrayed by my precious mind. Basically every aspect of the disease sounds like my worst nightmare: memory loss, disorientation, misinterpreting spatial relationships, having trouble finding the right words in speaking and writing, difficulty with concentration and reasoning, poor judgment and decision-making skills, struggling with the routine of basic activities, and personality changes. All of those seem absolutely dreadful to me, but the first and most obvious Alzheimer’s symptom—memory loss—really strikes fear deep into my heart. I could not bear to lose the memories that seem to make up the substance of my beautiful life.

I am a personal historian by nature. I love to chronicle my life and that of my family. It would be a dream come true for me to have my parents and all of my aunts and uncles come together and allow me to film them in group and individual interviews about their lives growing up and what they know of my ancestors. In lieu of that, I chronicle my own life. I take thousands of photos every year and keep them well-sorted. And of course, I journal. Although I have never thought that the reason why I journal is to have accurate memories of my life—I do it to maintain clarity about who I am—I must admit that it is a wonderful treat to be able to look back on the 50 or so volumes I have filled to see what I have been doing all these years. Reading through them for “The Journal Project,” I had so many moments when I laughed and said to myself, “I totally forgot about that!” It is fun to have a record of it all to jog my memory.

Now the memories I am trying to create—and document—are of my kids. I try to spend every possible moment with them. I seriously do not want to miss a single thing. I cherish them all, from the giggly moments wrestling on the playroom floor, to the quietly appreciative ones, when I just sit back at a distance on my hammock and watch them spin each other around in the swing in the backyard. In those quiet moments, I am fully aware of just how blessed I am to share a life with them, and I try to burn those memories deeply into my brain so I can hearken back to them as they grow up and I grow old. When the moment allows it, I try to capture them with the lens of my camera, as I do love to sit at my computer and watch slideshows of them from our favorite days. However, I am beginning to see that the best way to fully take them into my heart is to engage with them. To put down that camera and jump into the fray while they still want me to. The magic is in the connection with them, a connection that can only be made when I am fully engaged, fully present.

In fact, what I am learning now is that it isn’t the memories that make up the substance of this life. It is the present moment. This is what we have! This is the only tense where we get to exercise any sort of control. This eternal moment of NOW is where we get to decide, in every moment, who we are going to be. NOW is where we feel Joy. Now is where Peace exists. NOW is when we forgive. NOW is the time we get to choose our attitude and our actions. NOW is when we connect with those we love. The world will always deliver us into new circumstances—with or without money, near or far from loved ones, cursed or applauded, sharp as a tack or being betrayed by your brain with Alzheimer’s—and all we can control is our attitude in the present moment. The precious present.

This is my lesson from this week of fret and concern about losing my mind and my memories. When I look at the other things that have haunted me in recent years—fears of cancer, of losing my parents, of my wife dying young—it seems that the remedy is exactly the same. Stay in the moment, and make the most of every one. If my parents or my wife dies–or if my body gets eaten by cancer or my mind by Alzheimer’s—the only thing that will save me from regret is if I know I gave myself completely when we were together, that we made the most of our time. And that we were present. Completely present in this most precious tense. This is the one silver lining I see for my dear friend who is losing her memory: at least she has the present. She can still find Joy and Peace and Love in every moment, even if she doesn’t remember the specifics of it later. Maybe that is enough. I hope it is.

How about you? What ailments or afflictions do you dread the most? Open up your journal and explore the possibilities. What makes your stomach turn when you think of the possibility of getting it? Is it an injury, perhaps something that does not allow you to be mobile or athletic anymore? I know it would drive me crazy not to be able to exercise or chase my kids around. What about paralysis or infirmity, where you require someone’s help to do even the basics of life, like eating or using the toilet? Do you fear that type of dependence? How about cancer? That one scares the daylights out of me, because I have seen it ravage both the body and the mind. What have you witnessed, and what effect has that had on your fears and on your appreciation for life and for living in the present? On a scale of one to ten, how badly do you dread the prospect of Alzheimer’s or another disease of the mind? Does it make you want to take more photos or videos, or journal more? Or rather, does it just make you want to be better at soaking up each moment you have? Is presence the best answer? Leave me a reply and let me know: How do you make peace with your biggest fears?

Be your best right now,

William

I Love SUMMER!!!

DSC_1060“Summer….and sun….and all things hot….” –Olaf, Frozen 

Hello friend,

Today is the day that excites me more than all the others on the calendar. Honestly, the only thing that could make it better would be presents. I am giddy with anticipation! For what, you ask? Well, today was the last day of school. And while that is cool on its own—pride, relief, accomplishment, and that sort of thing—its primary appeal to me is something totally different. What the last day of school means to me is that I can finally enter my element. My comfort zone. My season. My beloved SUMMER.

I love Summer! I could shout it from the rooftops and the hilltops. Love LOVE love it! It fills my heart with such Joy and my mind with such Peace. It truly settles into my soul and creates a different person for these few precious months each year. I am a new man. It grounds me, even as it reinvigorates me like a magic elixir. I am completely enchanted by it. It is my home.

It has always been this way for me. I remember the giddiness of the last day of school every year, so excited for freedom. When I look back on the long history of my time on this Earth, it seems that nearly every single memory comes from Summer. As a kid, I think of all of those classic, cross-country roadtrips we took in the family van, all of us packed in there for every meal and every night of sleep. I think of spending weekends at my cousins’ old lake cabin, swinging from the rafters and listening to REO Speedwagon on the record player (“Take it on the run, baby….”) as we stayed up way too late on the sugar rush of Tangy Taffy and Ring Pops. I think of my carefree neighborhood that seemed to center around my yard, where all the kids gathered daily to play Capture The Flag (“Flag Game” to us) by day and Kick The Can by night. I think of walking over to the tennis courts in the morning with my brothers and neighbors, playing until lunch, then returning for more in the afternoon and evening. I think of making a bike track—replete with water jumps and berms–around the empty lot next door to my house, where we were BMX champions, if only in our minds. I think of building the family cabin and wild death rides on the tube behind the boat at my beloved Pelican Lake, where my kids now make their favorite memories every Summer. I think of every tennis tournament I ever played. My entire childhood lives in my mind as one hot, gorgeous Summer day.

Even my adult memories, though, seem to share the same setting. I remember in my college years, every night of Summer was about hanging with my buddies, asking each other endlessly, “What should we do?” as we laughed away the hours making fun of each other (because there was nothing else to do). I remember rollerblading along Lake Michigan at sunset in my Chicago Summer, and all over Washington, DC and Los Angeles other years. I remember my indescribable joy while surfing the Pacific Ocean, so sure was I that nothing could ever top that feeling. I remember my many camping trips to Glacier National Park and the Bliss that I found there. I remember all of my other solo voyages across the land, pitching my tent on a dry lake bed in the desert, on a cliff above the ocean, and along countless streams and forests in between. I remember golfing The Grove on quiet Friday nights with my Mom, enchanted by the complete serenity of the walk in that amazing light. I think of the many nights I spent writing my journals in my hammock in the screen porch of my parents’ house—my favorite room in any house I have ever been in—my heart and mind exploding in self-discovery and complete happiness. I remember teaching Summer Camp in New York and then roadtripping with my Mom when camp was over. I remember my amazing wedding weekend. I remember the births of my kids. I remember running through the sprinkler, Slip-n-Slides, and all of their birthday parties. I love those memories. They are the highlights of my life. Every last one of them occurred in Summer. It is completely my Season. 

If every day of my life could occur in Summer, I would surely make it so. And while I can understand why some people claim Autumn or Spring as their favorite seasons—let’s be clear: you will never get me to understand the appeal of Winter—I would still take Summer a hundred days out of a hundred. Why can’t it last all year? I can honestly say that I have always felt displaced as a Northerner, as though I somehow landed in the wrong part of the world at birth and have been compelled to remain here. Every year I have a few days when I seriously contemplate moving away from this land of four seasons, most of which feel like Winter to me. I try to make a list of possible destinations with the right combination of warmth, size, safety, and proximity to the ocean or the mountains. No matter how tantalizing the choices seem in the moment, my efforts are futile. The exercise is a pointless one. I am not going anywhere.

There is one and only one reason that I remain in this land of pond-hockey and ice fishing. That reason is called FAMILY. My parents and siblings—and most of my wife’s—are spread across this four-state-wide frozen belt between Montana and Wisconsin, roughly centered around the Western Minnesota lake country where we gather every year (in Summer, of course) to do all the things that make families the most unique and magical human groupings ever assembled.  There is just no substitute. I cannot bring myself to leave them and the possibility of drive-there-in-a-day proximity. I love it when my sisters or my parents pass through town on their way somewhere, giving my kids a chance to see their cousins or grandparents. It truly is the case that all of the highlights of their year are the times with family gathered. I cannot surrender that simply because I want to wear shorts all year.

So, I suppose I have to admit it. I always thought that what defined me best was my bond with Summer, unwavering and unconditional. As it turns out, even Summer loses out to my love of family. What can I say? Alright, but I do have a bone to pick as long as we are talking about family (for the record, I have never had a bone to pick with Summer—well, other than its length). Here is my beef: What the heck were my ancestors thinking when they settled in this frozen tundra, where we get only three months of Summer per year???? Seriously, they could have made my life so much less conflicted if only they had dropped their bags and their tired, poor, huddled (m)asses somewhere much warmer and less topographically-challenged than this. What could possibly have possessed them to put down roots here as opposed to, say, San Diego? But family forgives anything, right? So, I am going to give my ancestors my most forgiving take on this so I don’t have to go on cursing them and the land to which I call home. The only possible explanation for such madness: they arrived in Summer!

How about you? Which season belongs to you? Open up your journal and your memory bank. Make a list of your memories from each season of the year. Does one list stand out to you? Is it the sheer number of memories from that season, or is it the quality of those memories, your fondness for them? What are your favorite memories of Summer? For me, my Summer memories from childhood all seem to be draped in a feeling of freedom, which I suppose comes mostly from the absence of school, but also likely from the warm weather and the liberation from shelter or excess clothing that comes with it. Are your Summer memories that way, draped with an entirely different air about them? Even relationships—namely, a different eagerness to get a “Summer girlfriend”—were different for me in Summer. Was it that way for you? When I was growing up in the ‘70s and ‘80s, parents seemed to give kids very long leashes compared to parents of today. How do you think your Summers would be different if you were growing up with your family today? How has climate affected your lifestyle and where you have chosen to settle? Has it trumped family? Where do you wish your family had settled? Rank your favorite seasons in order. If you could have all of the characteristics of your favorite season all year long—e.g. endless Summer—would you do it? Leave me a reply and let me know: Which season captures your heart and soul the way Summer does mine? 

Be happy,

William

Which Dreams Are The Real Ones?

IMG_2405“Dare to live the life you have dreamed for yourself. Go forward and make your dreams come true.” –Ralph Waldo Emerson

Hello friend,

At 42 years of age, I can now say that I have been following my dreams for half of my life. Oh sure, when I was little, I wanted to play wide receiver for the Pittsburgh Steelers and be the lead singer for Loverboy. And then I wanted to play on the pro tennis tour. But really, I always knew I was going to be a doctor. Not because I dreamed about it, but because that is what I was told and what I believed. “You are smart. You should be a doctor.” Doctors were the only “rich people” we knew about as kids. They had money and status, so it was the best thing to become if you had the brains for it. I did, so that was what I was going to be when I grew up. It wasn’t a dream; it was a fact. It was my destiny. I never questioned it. Never thought twice about it.

Until I did. Yes, one day in my twenty-first year, as I was working my way through Pre-Med classes, I began to awaken to the idea that other options existed. It was a slow awakening, with each new day finding me feeling more like a stranger in my own skin. It struck me that I was living someone else’s life. I had taken on faith what everyone had told me all along, and I reflected it right back to them, to the point that I really believed it was my dream to be a doctor. Maybe you could say it was society’s dream. Maybe it was my parents’ dream. Maybe it was the dream of the compliant, uncontroversial son and citizen that I had always been. What I woke up to realize was that it wasn’t my dream at all. It was just my plan.

My twenty-first birthday was my last one spent as a full-time planner. After that, I started dreaming. On my twenty-second birthday, I was performing a monologue in an acting class in New York City, after which my Oscar-nominated teacher announced to the class that I was going to be a big star. I finally had a dream, and I was definitely living it! It wasn’t approved by anyone I knew—not my parents, not the culture that I came from, not my old, safe self—but it was completely me. I had taught myself to dream and convinced myself of the absolute necessity of following my dream if I was ever to feel alive and at peace with myself. Following my dreams was my way of being true to myself for the first time. And as frightening as it was, and as much as I felt alone and outcast, I had also never felt more free.

I never stopped dreaming of being an actor (or a big star). I just started dreaming of other things. Eventually, it felt more authentic to me to leave that life. I dreamed of seeing the world, of learning every skill or subject that caught my fancy, of becoming a professor, and of reconnecting with Tennis, my first love. It was a lot of dreaming, a lot of trying to stay true to what stirred my soul.

And then I had my first child. Suddenly, I had no more dreams for myself, but only for her. What I was doing mattered only insomuch as it made things better for her. That only increased when my son was born. My most passionate pursuit was spending every possible moment with them. If I had to be away from them, it was only so I could provide for them. A personal agenda—and dreams, as I knew them—seemed to no longer exist. I disappeared into my kids, and happily so.

A few years later, though, a part of me began to reawaken. Maybe it was the imminence of my 40th birthday, or maybe it was just time to reclaim myself, but suddenly I felt a bit of a panic about making something out of my life. I wanted to feel that stir of excitement in my soul again. I wanted to feel passionate about more than just my children. I wanted to dream. I began to learn more about living my purpose and following my Bliss. I was hooked!

As I searched my soul, the thing that kept coming to me was The Journal Project, something of an autobiography told through my daily journal entries. It spoke to me on many different levels. I was undaunted by the fact that it would take several years to complete. Something inside me knew that I needed to share my unique voice. It was my new dream. I plugged away at it in my very limited “spare time” for over a year, making slow but certain progress and feeling alive inside from feeding the beast.

It wasn’t long, though, before I became impatient to get my voice out there. I could see myself working on my project with great passion and purpose for years, but I wanted to help people immediately. A new dream was born, and it was named “Journal of You.” As instantly gratifying as Journal of You became, its unfortunate side effect was diminished time for The Journal Project, which was definitely still a big dream. I felt as though I was betraying it, and I began to feel torn. I eventually rationalized my dissonance away by determining to make a book out of these posts that would serve as a companion piece to The Journal Project. All of my writing would become part of the bigger dream. I liked that.

Meanwhile, all of this pursuit of my dreams was having a ripple effect across my life. I decided that my “day job” must become more fulfilling and fit into my life purpose and my dreams. To that end, I began my Life Coaching courses, determined to change lives more directly and deeply. It was wonderful and right up my alley, but the unfortunate side effect reappeared: I had to put The Journal Project on hold altogether to fit my course work in along with the blog posts and the rest of life. Bummer!

Then, as if I wasn’t busy and torn enough, I added my skin care consulting business to the mix. Admittedly, I have never harbored a skin care dream—though it actually fulfills me to help other people feel better about themselves–but rather the dream of one day being my own boss. This is where the hard line between a dream and a plan becomes a little murky. I definitely dream of one day becoming self-employed. It suits my personality perfectly. But self-employment is a concept. To get there, I need a plan. It has been clear to me from the start that this is where my skin care consulting fits in. It is the means to the end that is my dream of being self-employed.

Until this week, I didn’t realize that my Life Coaching business might also fit into the same category. I love coaching people. It excites me to partner with people in the pursuit of their dreams and to help them create their version of a more fulfilling life. Sounds kind of like a dream job, right? I thought so.

Then this week, I had a rare window of time after my kids went to sleep, and I spotted my notebooks and journal from The Journal Project gathering dust in the corner of my desk. It had been ages since I had last worked on it, those notebooks losing their spot in favor of homework assignments and other tasks. My soul and curiosity were stirred. I opened them up and read a few pages. Excitement brewed. I popped open my computer and started to type. I was transported back in time to the days when writing—specifically The Journal Project–was my dream du jour. Intoxicated by the work, I pounded away at the keys at a feverish pace. When bedtime came, my adrenaline was still pumping. It was a real treat. The next night, when I had a few minutes to spare, I ran down to my desk and sneaked a few more passages in, my heart beating like I was getting away with something. It lit me up inside. It was clearly the calling of my soul. My whole system was reinvigorated by it. In that moment, it was obvious to me what was, amongst all of these other pursuits, my real dream.

A couple of years ago, when my mind was coming back to life and reminding me of the need to pursue my passions, I subscribed to a blog by Mastin Kipp called “The Daily Love.” One day, as part of a promotion, he issued a video in which he was the subject of an interview. At the end, the interviewer asked him, “If you could leave your readers just one thing, what would it be?” He turned from the interviewer and looked directly into the camera and said something to the effect of, “SCREW PLAN B! Go all-in on Plan A! Life is too short to do anything but follow your Bliss. Live your dream!” Every hair on my body stood on end. He was speaking directly to me, and it resonated deeply. That memory returned to me this week after working on my Journal Project. Coincidence? I think not!

So, I suppose I have to admit that my skin care business—and yes, even my Life Coaching business—are in the Plan B category. They are just that: plans. They are ways to make enough money (while being self-employed) so I can spend more time writing. Writing is Plan A, also known as “my dream.” I understand that everything is not going to be given to me just because I am passionate about it. I also understand that I will have to earn the time by being more successful at my Plan Bs. Finally, I understand that I haven’t worked hard enough or long enough at my dream to make any demands upon the gods. My head understands all of that. My heart and soul, on the other hand, just don’t get it. It pains me deeply that I am not allowed to work full-time at Plan A. It is my calling, after all. Don’t The Fates understand? Can Destiny not see the injustice in denying me this? Apparently not. This is why artists have patrons. Because they cannot stomach denying themselves their passions and having to work at the tasks that everyone else does. Ah well. I understand that I must earn my way to my full-time dream job by slogging away at the Plan Bs for a while. My consolation is that I love my Plan Bs. Sure, they don’t stir the passions of my soul as much as writing does, but they are still meaningful and fulfilling in their own ways. Onward I go, dreaming every step of the way.

How about you? How have your dreams panned out? Open up your journal and uncover the depth of the dreams from the many phases of your life? What did you dream about when you were a little kid? Were you just pretending, or did you really believe you would become those things? At what age did you let them go? Was it gradually or instantly? How about your dreams from college or early adulthood? Were you making plans or dreams still at that age? If you were dreaming, how long did the dreams last? Do you still have the same dreams? How many have come true? If you know those dreams are still there but you squashed them in favor of more practical things, do you recall the moment when you decided to settle for less, or was it a slow and imperceptible slide? When was the last time you had a new dream? How did it make you feel? How passionately did you pursue it? How do you feel when you write about your old dreams and things you have settled for? It brings up a lot of shame and disappointment in me, which I am trying to use as motivation to stay focused and more true to myself going forward. How far off is your current career from your dream job? Is your job more of a plan or a dream? How acceptable is it to you to work your plan for a while to set yourself up for your dream? What percentage of people actually get to the dream part? Are you going to be one of them? Leave me a reply and let me know: Which dreams are you following?

Dare to be amazing,

William