Category Archives: Authenticity

If I Won The Lottery…..

DSC_0141“If you ask me what I came to do in this world, I, an artist, would answer you: I am here to live out loud.” –Emile Zola

Hello friend,

I have started to think that I am a hypocrite. Almost every week in this letter to you, I urge you to uncover your purpose—what makes your heart sing—and then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I ask you to align your actions with your dreams, to take steps along the path of your Truth. I beseech you to not settle for less than what you believe you arrived here on Earth to do. I challenge you to be wholly authentic and to disregard the mega-dose of fear that is inherent in the activities of being so boldly you.

After all, finding your Truth requires a lot of experimentation, a lot of trial-and-error. You have to try on different versions of You and see how well they fit. People can be creative in a number of different ways. There are many ways to educate, many ways to heal, and many ways to serve. In your quest for authenticity, you have to jump head-first into a pond you have never swum in before, knowing that you may either fail miserably at the jump or simply decide that it was the wrong pond for you after all. When you have been brave enough to admit that, you then have to be even more courageous to jump right into the next pond that you think could be the one for you. It is like the hopeless romantic, willing to lay her heart on the line for the prospect of true love, even after the last prospect just ripped that same heart out and stomped on it.

Inherent in any life change, in any risk—whether that is a new career, learning a new skill, sharing your feelings, or cutting someone out of your life—is the very real likelihood of failure. What I have come to realize more and more as I study successful people is that the characteristic that they seem to have most in common is their extreme willingness to fail. In many cases, they have literally failed their way to success. In their quest to find their one true thing, they have put themselves out there, repeatedly taking a chance on themselves. And “failing” often. Yet that is what I ask of you in these posts. Lay your heart on the line. Try out a new you. Make bold moves in the spirit of your Truth. The level of courage it takes to be truly authentic in this conformist world is nothing short of heroic.

I have tried, in sharing my experiences with you, to be a real-life example of someone trying to know himself better in the service of living an authentic life. I believe that through journaling, I can better know who I really am. I can know what my purpose is, and that can only help me in following my Bliss. Most days, I like to think that I am doing a good job of listening to that inner voice. I hope that I am staying true to my dreams and taking chances where I can. I want to think that I can walk it, not just talk it. I don’t want to be an empty voice. I want to be someone worth admiring.

So why, over these last couple of weeks, have I started to believe that I am a hypocrite? I have, after all, been working diligently at getting my new businesses started so that I can pursue my dreams and serve people more effectively and more in line with my purpose. I have, at least on the surface, been staying true to my message.

In all of my busy-ness of late, I had the occasion a couple of weeks ago to stop and ask myself if it was all worth it (see “The Storm Before the Calm? Does BUSY Ever End?”). In ruminating on that topic, I had one of those “Calgon, take me away!!!” moments, and I began fantasizing about winning the lottery. I pictured myself with all of those millions at my disposal, and I wondered how it would change the way I pass the day. Sure, it is always fun to think about what you would buy with all that money—perhaps a post for a different day—but what I was interested in was which of my current pursuits would I still be doing if I had all the money I wanted and no need to work. Would I still be writing these letters to you every week? Would I keep my regular job? How about the two new businesses in skin care consulting and life coaching? If I won the lottery, which of these would stick?

In my lottery-winning mind, I quickly dismissed my regular job. Next went the skin care. I gave the Life Coaching longer consideration, because it is important enough to me to be of help to people in living their best lives. I would find a way to keep doing it in some form—even very part-time–as I rolled around in my bed full of dollar bills. As obvious as it was to dismiss my day job, it was equally obvious that, no matter what happened or how many millions I won, I would never quit writing. Never. The book ideas that I have—especially The Journal Project—would absolutely press on. I would bask in the newfound time that winning the lottery would offer me, and I would use that time to write. I would keep writing Journal of You to you every week, and I would spend the rest of the free time (that was once work time) writing my other stuff. Of course I would!

This is where I first caught a glimpse of my hypocrisy, and it has been eating at me ever since. Here is the crux of it: if writing is so important to me that I would pursue it even if I didn’t need any money from it, then why is it the one thing I have never tried to pursue as a profession? I have never looked in the classifieds. Never researched the job market or read one of those “Jobs In Writing” kind of books. Never sent out a query letter to a magazine, publishing company, or agent. Never pitched anyone with a sample of my work. NEVER! I am getting more and more annoyed with myself as I write this paragraph. For one, how could I never have even looked into this? And two, what kind of a fraud am I to prod people to be true to themselves and their dreams, to live authentically, and to be brave enough to fail, all the while I have not even fully chased my own most important dream? That is shameful!

The power of FEAR is amazing to me. In reading through all of my old journal entries from the last twenty years, I was shocked to find how frequently I mentioned the desire to write. I don’t think I was ever fully conscious, for most of that time, that I wanted to be a writer. I had things I wanted to write about, but I was seemingly always in the midst of doing other things and planning other career moves. In my times of uncertainty—when one life path seemed to be fizzling out–it never crossed my mind to go into writing. I guess I thought it would be too difficult of a career or that I didn’t have the experience or training. At bottom, though, I can see that it was FEAR that was keeping the thought from becoming conscious.

I will accept that excuse for most of my years, right up until the last few. Since then, I have definitely been conscious of the dream. The desire to do The Journal Project was the first step. Actually reading through twenty years of journal entries was a huge reminder, as scattered throughout the years of entries were hints at my dream. The next thing that kicked in was the realization that I wanted to share my thoughts with you immediately, rather than wait years for a book to be written and published. That realization spawned Journal of You and these words you are now reading. It has been a tremendous hobby and very fulfilling for me, a wonderful reminder of what puts wind in my sails.

So why haven’t I pursued it as a real, paying career yet? Why have I distracted myself with other avenues that also are meaningful to me but don’t quite light my fire the way writing does? The only conclusion I can see is FEAR and INSECURITY. I haven’t dared to put it out there to be judged. I haven’t believed in myself enough to risk it. Sure, I publish this for you every week and hope that I can make a difference in your life, but you get to take it or leave it in silence and anonymity. If I actually submit something for acceptance or rejection by a publisher or agent, I face an entirely different degree of vulnerability. I could be told that my work is poorly written, not marketable, or, worse, that it cannot be helpful to anyone. Am I prepared for that? My actions would say that I am not. I find that completely shameful. And worse: HYPOCRITICAL. I am not walking my talk, and that realization leaves me feeling disgusted with myself. I need to do better. I need to take a chance on myself and my dreams. After all, if I am sure that I would do it even if I won the big jackpot tomorrow, it must be my thing. It is time to cash in my winning ticket.

How about you? What would you DO if money was not an issue? Open up your journal and consider your current life. What things would you keep doing if you had the money to choose? Are you passionate enough about your job that you would keep doing it even if you didn’t need the money? Most people I know would walk away from their job on the spot the moment their number was called. Is that you? What about your hobbies? Is there something that you do now that you would keep doing? Would you make any of your hobbies into full-time pursuits if money were not an issue? If so, does that make you think that you ought to be looking into that right now? How much of a risk would it be for you to pursue your passion? Is it a risk more about finances or about your ego? How much do you fear failure? Usually when I have these discussions in my head, the question that clarifies the issue is this one: Do the temporary discomforts of taking a risk and failing at something that speaks to your soul outweigh spending the rest of your life with the knowledge that you never took a chance on your dreams? That is the one that I can’t sit with. That one makes my decision for me. What about you? Is there something brewing in you—or something that you are already doing—that must be pursued in order for you to live out your days in peace? Leave me a reply and let me know: What would you do if you won the lottery?

Dream big and start chasing,

William

This is NOT a Dress Rehearsal!!!

DSC_1094“A ship is safe in harbor, but that’s not what ships are for.” –William G.T. Shedd

Hello friend,

At my Grandpa Mel’s funeral a few years ago, my siblings and I each took a turn at the microphone to talk about the wonderful memories we had of a wonderful man. There were tales of picking berries in his garden or building ships out of wood in his workshop. When my brother got up to speak, though, he told us about an occasion that was not from our idyllic childhood, but, rather, something that had just happened a month before. My brother had volunteered to drive Grandpa Mel into town from the lake cabin where we were all gathered for the weekend. Grandpa was in an assisted living facility at the time, and his mind was beginning to lose its grip on this world. Still, he had lucid moments, and the two of these admirable men shared one in the car that Summer day. They had gone to visit Grandma Jeanne’s grave at the cemetery where Grandpa Mel would soon join her. In a thoughtful moment, my brother asked him what, as he looked back on his long life, he would have done differently if he could do it all again. Grandpa said, “I wish I had taken more risks. I wish I would have branched out on my own in business sooner. I just wish I would have taken more chances.”

Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. I had been weeping through the entire evening, but now there was a whole new depth and message to the occasion. It wasn’t just about grieving and appreciating my Grandpa; there was a lesson, too. Don’t squander your days following the herd and playing it safe. Find what makes your heart sing and go after it! Take a risk and follow your dream. Take a chance on yourself!

Of course I had heard this lesson before. It is abound in books and movies. There is that emotional scene where the parent or grandparent teaches the lesson to the protagonist—either directly with their words or by dying and thereby making it clear that life is too short not to go after what you love—who is then spurred to glorious action. We’ve all seen it before. But this was different. This was no book. This was no movie, no fairy tale. This was Grandpa Mel. The guy who taught me how to hammer a nail as soon as I could walk and let me build a house with him before I was out of elementary school. The guy who took me golfing and played catch with me in the yard. My Grandpa.

He had always seemed like the perfectly contented family man. He managed a lumber yard until he retired, and then went on to take charge of building homes for Habitat for Humanity, building his local church, and leading his grandkids in the building of the lake house that continues to be the hub of our family gatherings. He loved these projects, and he was in his element leading the crews. He found something in retirement—after tending to the needs of my Mom and my uncle and then securing a comfortable nest-egg for he and my Grandma to retire with—that he had not dared to search for while in the workforce. He found his passion. He never talked about it. Never complained about his lot. Never was bitter toward his family that ensuring a comfortable life for them had kept him from opening up his own business. He was a good father, a good husband, a good man. It was a good life.

Still, there it was. At the end of his days—in his ninth decade on Earth—he was clear about one thing: “I just wish I had taken more chances.”

I have so many fond memories of my Grandpa, and I know that he has rubbed off on me in ways both clear and subtle. From his life, the lesson I learned was the supreme importance of family. I am so glad that he modeled that every day; it never needed to be spoken about. But it was the lesson I learned in his death that was more poignant than anything I ever learned in books or movies. Don’t wait until you are retired to do what you love. Take a risk in order to live your dreams. 

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.” –Helen Keller, The Open Door

Over the last few years since his death, I have distilled this lesson learned at my Grandpa’s funeral into a phrase that really resonates with me: This is NOT a dress rehearsal!!! You don’t get a “do-over” for all of this stuff. You don’t get to have that moment with the potential love of your life again, that chance to say what is in your heart. You don’t get a chance to raise your kids again: to go to their games and push them on the swings and kiss them goodnight. And you don’t get the chance at the end to find your passion and your purpose, and to live accordingly. This is not a dress rehearsal. This IS the show! You have to do it now!!!

I feel like that concept has been chasing me pretty hard the last couple of years. Perhaps “chasing” doesn’t adequately describe it; maybe “stalking” is better. “Haunting” is accurate. It permeates my every day: This is NOT a dress rehearsal!!! I have watched my mindset and my entire way of life change since this thought took hold of me. I had been of the attitude that, with my kids so young and me so busy, there was no way I could find the time or energy to pursue my other passions. I was sliding by, skating. I was certainly happy, but there was also something missing. That is when, a few years ago, the haunting started. My first move was to get going on The Journal Project, which was an enormous undertaking. As I worked into the wee hours of each night after the kids went to bed, I realized how important it was to me to get my voice out there. I didn’t want to wait years to get my book published. So, “Journal of You” was born. It has been a true labor of love to write to you every week. But even that was not enough to quell the inner chorus chanting “This is not a dress rehearsal!” So, I went back to school for Life Coaching to pursue another passion. And on and on it has gone: writing, school, coaching, consulting–constantly trying to tap into ways that I can be of service in the spirit of my Life Purpose.

I hear my Grandpa’s message trailing me every day, guiding me and motivating me to stay on the task of living a life filled with passion and fulfillment. I know that requires me to take some risks, to get out of my comfort zone, to stop sliding through life. It pushes me to my own greatness, though. It moves me to measure myself by the standard I want my future 90-year-old self to be proud of, to have no regrets about. I am pretty sure that no matter how bold and authentic that I choose to be from here on out, I will probably wish, at the end of my days, that I had done better. That is just how I am. Still, even though I am today nowhere near to having set up the lifestyle and schedule of my dreams, I take heart in the fact that I am working toward it every day. It is on the front burner. I am trying to become the very best version of me that I can be. I hear the voice of Robin Williams in “Dead Poets Society” reminding me: “Carpe diem. Make your lives extraordinary.” And I feel Grandpa Mel, too, his spirit reminding me that today is my day to claim myself and my dreams, once and for all. No day but today.

How about you? Have you taken enough risk to live the life of your dreams? Open up your journal and be honest with yourself. If you knew you were going to die tomorrow, how would you feel about the way you have lived your life? Do you have regrets about how safely you have played it? How closely have you followed the herd rather than your own inner voice? How willing have you been to step out on that limb and have that uncomfortable conversation? How often have you struck out on your own against the expectations of the people around you, simply because you were hearing a different drummer? How many times have you risked “failure” in the service of your dreams or of happiness? What are your excuses? Financial security? Family obligations? Fear of failure or rejection? I like the quote by Anais Nin: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” Do you think that by playing it safe now and not taking risks to pursue your passions, that you are actually risking a lot of regret and unhappiness later in life? Which risk is greater to you: the risk to follow your bliss now or the risk of regret later? Leave me a reply and let me know: What force is driving your life? 

Make your life extraordinarily yours,

William

The Storm Before the Calm? Does BUSY Ever End?

DSC_1155“Our life is made up of time; our days are measured in hours, our pay measured by those hours, our knowledge is measured by years. We grab a few quick minutes in our busy day to have a coffee break. We rush back to our desks, we watch the clock, we live by appointments. And yet your time eventually runs out and you wonder in your heart of hearts if those seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years and decades were being spent the best way they possibly could. In other words, if you could change anything, would you?” –Cecelia Ahern, Love, Rosie 

Hello friend,

Busy. I cannot stand that word. Busy. Everyone is busy. Whenever you ask someone how they have been or what they have been up to, the answer is the same: “I have been so busy!” I get it. I see how scheduled up everyone is. I see how the kids don’t just play much anymore the way I did when I was a kid. Instead, they go from one scheduled activity to the next. Adults keep working more and more. It is a busy world. Period.

I guess I just don’t like it when BUSY is the reason that important things in our world get left out. I like it when kids get to simply play. I like it when adults get to relax and connect with one another. I like it when extended families get together for long weekends to continue traditions. I like the concepts of leisure and self-reflection. These things take sacrifices, of course. People have to step out of their busy-ness—the stuff everyone calls essential–to carve out this quality time for one another and for themselves. Important things require sacrifice. Life balance is worth that sacrifice.

So, why have I been running around like an absolute madman lately? I have put enough on my plate to fill ten tables! So, I have to occasionally remind myself, as I am going around like the chicken with his head cut off, that I actually chose all of this stuff. Let’s face it: I already knew I have two young kids who I want to shower with attention. I already knew I have a job. I was already trying to squeeze in this weekly letter to you with the last bits of my time and energy. So I can see why my sanity would be questioned when I decided to also return to school to become a Life Coach. It was a huge undertaking and cramped my already suffocating schedule. Then I began to actually start to build the business of it, too. Constructing websites, business cards, bank accounts, government filings. Then, while beginning to go underwater with trying to fit all of that into the day—and stubbornly not wanting to give up anything else from my priority list—this other great business opportunity came along. Any sane person would have either passed on the chance due to lack of time or cut something else from the priority list to make room for this new gig. Not me! Like a man drowning with a load of bricks in my arms, instead of letting go of them and swimming up for air, I simply grabbed another brick on my way down. I am swamped!

My journal entries of late are littered with commentary on this latest run of overwhelm. Every day I use the journal to unload thoughts and baggage from the day. It relieves me of stresses and things that might otherwise linger to disturb my sleep. Journaling is my therapy. Lately the most frequent comments are about “chipping away at this enormous To-Do List,” “I am in such a rush,” and “This is exhausting, but I have to stay focused and be efficient to keep afloat.” And on and on and on. It is a daily challenge, and I need that journal entry to both unload my fears and to remind me of why I am doing it all.

In paging back through the last week of entries, besides seeing those themes run over and over, I struck upon a passage that really sums up what is becoming my main concern in all of this busy-ness. After writing out the million things I had done that day to advance my new businesses, and then relaying my fears and stresses about when it was all going to start working, I wrote:

I just really want to change my life for the better. I want to DESIGN the change. I will keep plugging away. It can’t be this challenging and anxiety-producing, can it? I want to break into something that feels like a clearing, without the slogging, grinding feeling. I want to come up for air. Sure, I could do that now by not taking on so many things, but I feel like I need to in order to break out of this mire. I want to be on my time and my purpose. So, I keep plugging away, grinding in order to become free of the grind. I suppose it is a parallel to the argument that in order to have peace, we must make war on the bad guys. Fight so you won’t have to always fight or be oppressed. That seems to be me now, slogging away at a handful of big rocks so that I can get to the spot where I only need a few. I don’t know if it is logical or wise, but it feels like my best bet right now. I will keep at it, trusting in the sunshine on the other side. 

That is me right now in a nutshell: hoping that this crazy busy-ness that I have chosen is just the storm I have to pass through in order to see the rainbow. I guess I just want some assurance that it is 1) just a passing phase—that it won’t always be this busy and stressful; and 2) that I really am going to reap the benefits of all of this effort. I want to see that glimpse of sunlight at the edge of this storm, to know that there is an end to it, and a lovely one. I want to believe that the Universe is going to acknowledge my commitment and my deeds, that I really am going to come out on the other end of this with the thing I am doing this for: a chance to pursue my passions on a full-time basis.

Of course, I know that there are no guarantees in life. I may work and work and work and still never make that breakthrough. I may fail to move people as a writer. I may never make the connections to get my two new businesses off the ground. For all of my efforts to improve people’s lives and make the world a happier, more connected place, I may end up broke and burnt out from driving myself too hard. Maybe being this busy is my new normal, that there is no rainbow in the form of a balanced life to look forward to. Maybe BUSY never ends.

I can’t buy that. Maybe I am being too optimistic—or even delusional–but I really believe that good times are on the way. I believe in paying your dues and earning your way, and I hope that is what I am doing now with the gas pedal continuously down and juggling all of these big rocks at once. This is my storm, and there is a rainbow coming. BUSY is a phase, not a lifestyle. So yeah, I am going to keep chipping away at the giant To-Do List and doing without television or down-time. I am going to test my limits. I have to. The reward means too much to me, and the alternative is an unfulfilling life. I want to play a bigger game. So, I am breaking out the storm gear. Rain on!

What about you? Are you busy designing the life of your dreams? Open up your journal and think about how much you are willing to endure to live the life you have imagined. How busy are you? Is it busy doing things that you are passionate about and that are improving you, or just busy to be busy (e.g. busy on Facebook, busy binge-watching television series)? How busy does your career keep you? How much of that is up to you? Could you spend less time and be equally effective? Do you work as long and hard as you do because you want to advance, because you are just trying to keep your job, or is there something else involved? How much does it exhaust you? Do you allow yourself some true leisure in your “spare time”, or are you more like me and just drive yourself continuously? Do you have the right balance in your life right now? Have you ever created a storm like my current situation, where you took on too many projects—“big rocks,” I like to call them—at once in the service of making a major life move? How long did the storm—the busy-ness—last? Did you find the rainbow at the end? Was all of the hard work and sacrifice worth it to you? When you consider your current schedule, what sort of changes would be beneficial for you to make to improve your life? Is it being more efficient, setting better boundaries, changing jobs, removing yourself from a storm, or perhaps jumping into a storm in the service of a greater long-term good? How busy are you willing to be? Leave me a reply and let me know: How do you distinguish between a healthy challenge and running yourself into the ground? 

Be the light you seek,

William

Shy, Humble, or Totally Afraid?

IMG_1811“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than fear.” –Ambrose Redmoon

Hello friend,

I am an introvert. I never realized this critical fact while I was a child, or even as a young adult. I had friends. I socialized. To be shy seemed like a thing for “nerds” and the otherwise socially impaired. It never occurred to me that I might be shy or introverted. Never. As with everything else up through those years, I saw myself as having the characteristics that everyone else expected me to have. Shy was not one of those characteristics.

As I got into my twenties, found my voice, and struck out on my own, I started spending time alone for the first time in my life. Whether it was camping out in the mountains or navigating the anonymity of big city living, I came to know what it was like to keep mostly my own company. Before I knew it, I had grown to like being alone. It wasn’t long before I preferred it, even. Finally, I started demanding it. I roadtripped solo up the coast, hiked the mountains of Montana, and wandered for months across Europe, hardly speaking to anyone along the way.

I felt myself growing and thriving more than I ever had in my more social years. I loved solitude. I craved it. I also recognized that it was in solitude that my battery was recharged. It was in solitude that I built up my reserve to “act normal” in social situations, something I had never been aware of or had to work at before. In this realization, I was claiming my natural introversion.

Most of the jobs I have worked in my life have involved being “on” in public and speaking with groups big and small. I have had to teach, inspire, console, and take entrée orders. I laugh now about this with the realization of my introverted nature. I guess I needed all the alone time outside of work to charge my battery for the stage of work!

The other part about my past jobs—or at least the way I played them—is that in all of their social-ness, I rarely had to really put myself out there. I didn’t talk about myself much, because, whether it was educating someone who came to be educated or serving someone who came to be served, the unspoken expectation was that I should make it about the student/customer/person paying my rent. I find that people who do best in service industries have a way of making the client feel as though you are friends even as the focus is almost exclusively the client’s wants and needs. The service provider has to be present and empathetic to the client’s concerns and their story, but the client doesn’t need to reciprocate. For me, this worked into my personality just fine. Some of it played into my introversion, but there was more to it than that. I liked to think of it as me just being humble, neither requiring the spotlight nor thinking my feelings and my story to be worthy of the client’s time and attention. I didn’t want to impose upon them.

This is also why I was never a good salesman of my services. For many, many years, it was my job—in theory—to sell tennis lessons. I can honestly say that I don’t think I ever tried to sell anyone a lesson in all of those years. I figured that the benefits would speak for themselves and that I didn’t need to impose my will on anyone else. I especially didn’t like the idea of putting someone in the awkward position of having to say, “No, I don’t want your services.” I know that for most people, it is difficult to say no to a direct offer, and I never wanted to make anyone uncomfortable. So, in my combination of self-professed shyness and humility, I never sold my services or my story. I never asked anyone to believe in me or how my product could benefit them.

Fast-forward to now and the two businesses I have just jumped into: Life Coaching and skin care consulting. From one perspective, both are right up my alley. They fit with my mission of helping people to gain more confidence and lead more fulfilling lives. I get to work with people individually and get to make a positive impact on them. I get to make a difference. Perfect! Oh wait, I forgot to mention the other perspective. Both involve extensive networking and self-promotion. I have to ask people to take some time and listen to me. I have to share with them how my services and products can be of great benefit to them. I have to put them on that spot that I have spent my whole life NOT putting people on: The Are-You-Interested-In-Me? Spot. Ugh!!!

So of course, I am in a bit of a panic. Network marketing and self-promotion seem completely antithetical to all that I am. I have spent years justifying myself by clinging to, “I’m an introvert” and “I’m humble.” But, as the reality of these two self-chosen businesses settles in, I am beginning to feel those two comfortable, sympathetic sentiments be bowled over by what may be my greater truth: I am scared.   Scared to put myself out there. Scared to not do it well enough. Scared of making people feel awkward. But mostly, I am scared of rejection and failure. What if no one wants my help? What if they tell me I am not worth their time and money? What if my calling is something that no one answers to? What if I have to reset my dreams again? What if I am not as great as I believe I am? What if I have been fooling myself? What if…..?

I have had a lot of these thoughts in recent days as I try to gather the courage to announce myself. It is why Redmoon’s quote at the top resonates with me. In my strongest moments, I can see clearly that the difference I can make in someone’s life is worth acting on. Despite my introversion. Despite my humility. And, most importantly, despite my fear. Helping someone live the life of their dreams through my Life Coaching practice, or helping someone like what they see in the mirror for the first time through my skin care products—these things are more important than my fear. I am going to do my best to remember that and to be courageous. Will it still be awkward for me? Absolutely! Will I still need to go home at the end of the day and be alone to recharge? Sure. And will I still be afraid of rejection and failure? Almost certainly. But I am going to choose to follow that fear, to face it and conquer it, buoyed by a courage borne of a belief in a greater good. I am ready!

How about you? How willing are you to tell your story and share your importance? Open up your journal and do a little self-psychoanalysis. Where do you land on the introversion-extroversion or shy-outgoing spectrum? Has your position changed as you have aged or stayed pretty steady? Do you like to talk about yourself? When something new happens in your world, how willing are you to share it? Are you comfortable sharing it face-to-face and over the phone, or do you only share things in the relative anonymity of Facebook or other social media? How humble are you? How much of a part does that humility play in your willingness to tell your story or advertise your value? Is humility in this case just a cover for insecurity and fear? How about that fear? When you think about sharing your new ventures with people, to what degree does fear take you over? Beyond just sharing, how fearful are you of selling your skills or products to others? Is it more or less scary to sell to strangers? How much does fear paralyze you? I think that for most people, the answer is “A ton!” So, don’t be afraid to admit it. It’s your journal, so honesty is the only rule. Finally, what is important enough to you to face your fear and find the courage to act, to put yourself out there, to take the risk of rejection and failure? What in your life is worth it? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are you courageous enough to share?

Do something that scares you today,

William

Racism in America: How Far Have We REALLY Come?

DSC_0061 2“Racism is still with us. But it is up to us to prepare our children for what they have to meet, and, hopefully, we shall overcome.”   –Rosa Parks

Hello friend,

Last weekend, there were two pretty amazing stories in the news. First, it was the 50th Anniversary of the Selma to Montgomery Voting Rights March in Alabama, which was a significant moment in the Civil Rights Movement. That event fifty years ago–and those days of Jim Crow and the blatant, overt forms of racism that were commonplace and accepted in so much of this country— usually feels like a million years ago to me. I am thankful for that.

When I hear the words and see the deeds of so many old, raised-to-be-racist folks, I often have the thought, “Not that I wish them ill, but just the same, it will probably be a good thing when this generation dies off.” I like to see my generation as significantly more progressive, open-minded, and inclusive. Then I see the current generation of kids—my nieces and nephews and other students of mine—and how much more they are exposed to in the media and via the Internet. It seems to be the norm for them to have knowledge of—even if they are not always close with—historically marginalized people. Whether that is White kids having more Black friends, or high schoolers finally being willing to come out as gay, it feels as though we are on a one-way track to equality and acceptance in the current generation of young people. I love it!

But then comes the second amazing news story of last weekend. This was the one out of the University of Oklahoma, where the members of a fraternity, in a party bus and dressed in formal attire with their dates, were filmed while gleefully chanting a song about never letting a Black person—their word choice was not as politically correct as mine—into their fraternity, including a line about lynching. And this is where our seeming express train to equality and social justice jumps the track. What the heck?!?!

I first saw the video last Sunday and was completely floored by it. Of course I was outraged, too, but I was just so totally stunned that this would be happening in a group of college students from the current generation. It disturbed me greatly in that moment, but I also happened to be very busy right then and thus moved my thoughts past it out of necessity. It was two days later, driving alone in my car, when the topic re-entered my life via a talk radio program. Suddenly, the scab that was forming over my initial reaction was violently ripped off. Out came the emotions that had gone dormant in my busy-ness. In an instant, I became so sickened at the thought of this incident and the vivid image of the merry, fist-pumping, tuxedo-clad leader of the hate-filled chant. My gag reflex kicked in hard as a wave of nausea swept over me, and I very nearly had to pull the car over. Then tears came to my eyes in the sheer sadness of the whole thing. I was truly devastated at the thought of young people still living this way. Then I was smacked again with the realization that other people have to exist in their world as the targets of such hateful and narrow-minded people. The final straw was the thought of my own children—each half-Black and half-White—becoming victims of such blatant ignorance. It is a terrible thing to have to consider, to put it mildly.

So, when something like this happens in my country—and yes, I know this is only one incident and that many examples from the headlines of recent months, from Ferguson to New York City, could have been chosen—and my rose-colored glasses are ripped from my eyes, I have to wonder, “How far have we really come?” Seriously. Despite all of the outward signs of progress and of living peacefully amidst difference, how far could we really have come if a bunch of White, educated, middle-and-upper-class, college-age people are chanting gleefully about excluding and lynching Black people?

Like I said, I normally go through the world with rose-colored glasses on. Sure, I am aware of so many of our societal shortcomings, but I also tend to see people as inherently good, and I tend to be naturally inclined toward looking for the ways we are collectively moving forward. I am an optimist and a believer in our greatness. So when something like this blatantly racist chant finds its way into my consciousness, it is a real gut-punch. As I said, it makes me physically (and psychologically) nauseous. And beyond that, it just really makes me sad. Then I start to question my optimism. It is a quick path to me feeling very disillusioned. Are all of my assumptions about people incorrect? Have I given us—especially the younger generations—too much credit? Are we still mostly a bunch of ignorant, closed-minded bigots?

In my moments of disillusionment, it may be hard to see, but I really do my best to grasp for a more forgiving, positive outlook. I have to cling to that outlook in order to keep going. I know that there are an increasing number of examples of inclusivity and social justice in our society today. I also know that, despite the fact that kids may be exposed to a few more things from the Internet and the media earlier than we would like, they are also getting to see a lot more examples of diversity than we were as children.

I guess I just have to be cognizant of the fact that the influence of those aforementioned old, raised-to-be-racist folks isn’t going to just magically disappear simply because Hollywood has become more progressive. Those old bigots had children and taught them what they knew, and now those children have children. And even though awareness in general has been raised and political correctness is a force, those things do not automatically demolish generations of racism passed down. Bigotry is a learned thing. That racist chant on the party bus did not sound like something those students just made up that night. They learned it the way generations before them learned it. I am reminded of the funny-but-wise comment by the comedian Denis Leary: “Racism isn’t born, folks. It’s taught. I have a two-year-old son. Know what he hates? Naps. End of list.”

Perhaps it is best to admit from the outset that what we see as America’s greatness was built on a foundation of racism. Our early and enduring relationship with the American Indians and the African people brought here as slaves set the tone for a difficult and obstacle-filled path to equality and social justice in this country. There are traces—and sometimes full-blown imitations that reveal themselves in viral videos—of those attitudes and injustices that remain today. It is not an easy skin to shed.

But despite these challenges passed down from our ancestors, I also see the signs of real progress. I see people who were raised to be racist but instead have chosen to walk the path of inclusion and respect. I see people who, for all their ancestors taught them, should be swimming in bigotry, but they have chosen to be accepting of difference. And I also see amazing teachers who are showing us all what it means to go beyond mere acceptance and move into celebration of difference. I go on my Facebook feed and see friends who daily share such wonderfully uplifting stories and educational articles on social justice from multiple viewpoints. These are our teachers! See them as such. And finally, I see myself in the mirror and know that every day, in every interaction, I have a chance to teach Love. If I can lead with Love, I believe that we will be a step closer to becoming the people I KNOW we can be. I am ready to take that walk together.

How about you? Where, in your opinion, are we as a country on this path out of our racist roots and toward a model of equality and social justice? Open up your journal and think about your relationship with the issue of race. Ignoring your true feelings and opinions, how were you actually raised to feel about and treat people of other races? What were you taught? Were you more influenced by your parents and family, or by society at large and the messages in school or the media? How big of a disparity was there between the message at home and the one from society? On a scale of one-to-ten, how racist were your parents? Was their racism directed mainly toward one particular group, or was it spread pretty evenly? On that same one-to-ten scale, how racist are you? This is probably something that doesn’t come up in regular conversation—or that you might not dare to admit the answer if it does—so your journal is the perfect confessional. Did you score yourself more favorably than your parents? If so, do you think that is because you had better influences in society as a whole, or did you simply not like what you saw in their attitudes and determined to do better for yourself? Would you say you are more or less racist, on the whole, than your siblings and friends? How about compared to the average American citizen? What is the most overtly racist thing you have ever done or said? How do you feel about that now? What is your reaction to something like the Oklahoma fraternity video? Do you think things like that are more commonplace in this country than we realize, or is that really an abberation? Leave me a reply and let me know: How far have we really come?

Teach Love today,

William

Start Before You Are Ready

DSC_0544“You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” —Eleanor Roosevelt

Hello friend,

Start before you are ready. I first heard those words about a year ago from some self-help guru. I loved the idea! It sounded so brave and bold. Don’t wait until you get all of your ducks in a row. Just throw caution to the wind and go for your dream! I figured that if I was ever given the chance, there was no doubt I would do it. Of course I would! Or would I?

As much as I like to think of myself as totally laid-back and easy, I have some serious perfectionist tendencies. For things I take an interest in, I want to do them exactly right. I like to score 100% on everything. In school, if I had a test with 100 regular questions plus five bonus questions, I was not satisfied simply with getting an “A” or even a 100%. I needed that 105. I had many classes in which I could easily have skipped assignments or tests at the end of the semester because I was so far into—or above–the “A” zone, but my mind could not allow it. Looking back, it caused a lot more stress and took me away from a lot more fun than I care to admit. Such is the curse of the perfectionist mind.

I also have an obsession with competence. Perhaps my least favorite feeling in the world is an awareness of my own incompetence. I hate not knowing the answer! I am extremely uncomfortable and stressed when I start a new job and don’t know the solution to every possible issue a customer might have. If I ask a supervisor or experienced co-worker for specific answers or protocol, I cannot stand to hear, “Oh, you’ll figure it out as you go.” I want the answers. The EXACT answers!

One of the unfortunate side effects of these mind traits on my personality is that, in general conversation, I have a hard time just saying, “I don’t know.” I can get defensive and be like, “Why would I know that?” or make excuses—or even attacks on the inquisitor. It really is an unattractive quality. So is its cousin quality: NEEDING TO BE RIGHT. In any disagreement, I rarely admit that I am wrong. I am not much of a compromiser, either. I like to think that this is because the knowledge and opinions that I hold are based on my thorough study of the issue, and thus, my COMPETENCE.

So, imagine the fireworks show going on inside me when faced with the prospect of making some major, life-changing moves into multiple new careers at the same time. Could a competence-obsessed perfectionist really survive such a deep dive into the new and unknown? Could my ego withstand such uncertainty? Well, we are about to find out!

I made official plunges into two new career paths IN THE LAST WEEK!!! Early in the week, I signed on to become a consultant with a premium skin care company. Then, at the end of the week, I filed my papers with the government to form my Life Coaching company. BOOM! Talk about a jolt to the system and an electrifying infusion of new energy (i.e., chaos) into my life.

And while it is all kinds of exciting to embark on these fabulous opportunities for service and fulfillment, it is also more than a little unsettling (ahem, terrifying). I have had more than one occasion in the last few days to stop and ask myself, “What are you doing to yourself? Why TWO THINGS at once? Why not just get comfortable—and competent—in one thing before considering another? What makes you think you are READY for this, when you are not even trained in one field and have no marketing or accounting skills in the other?”

I have to admit, that Voice of Doubt has some good points. It is a lot to take on, and my perfectionist mind will be scrambling to obtain a level of competence that I can be at peace with. And if you look at it objectively from the outside, you might conclude that, indeed, I am not ready. I don’t know much about skin care, and I don’t know if I have enough connections to really make it work in selling it. Heck, I don’t even know if I have the time to sell it. I have been putting many things on hold until my kids get older, figuring—hoping and praying, really—that more time may magically appear then. As for my Life Coaching business, at least I feel competent as a coach. The business part, however, has me quite nervous. I don’t have my website up and running. I don’t have business cards. I don’t know the first thing about accounting or owning my own business. I only know how to coach. So yeah, Voice of Doubt, you may be onto something. In a lot of ways, I am not ready.

But I hear another voice, too, trying to get a word in around the persistent chatter of that Voice of Doubt. This voice says, “Start before you are ready! If you wait until you feel comfortable and competent with every last skill and detail, you will be waiting forever, stuck in the same unsatisfying rut rather than alive in the hot pursuit of your dreams. Your best life is out there, just waiting for you to take a little risk. To reach the sweetest fruit, you have to go out on a limb. Go for it! (P.S. Besides, you ARE ready.)” That voice comes from a much deeper, more grounded place. It makes me nod my head and whisper things like “Yeah” and “I got this.” It feels different, too. It feels real and true to me—it resonates. It brings me a magical combination of peace and excitement that makes me feel certain that I am on the right path. That was the feeling I had in signing my papers this week to start my business, and the feeling I had while talking with my sister about the skin care company. I have come to know that this magical feeling is none other than my soul confirming that I am in my Truth. When my brain and my ego conspire to keep me down and convince me that I am not ready, I listen for that small, still voice inside me that knows better.

So, sure, in some sense—the perfectionist’s, the critic’s, and the ego’s sense—I will never be ready. So be it. I can see now that “Start before you are ready” is a motto for people who are stuck at the mercy of the perfectionist, the critic, and the ego (the combined Voice of Doubt). It is a valuable sentiment. In this moment of clarity, though, I also see that if you can tune your ears to that still, small voice—call it your soul, your intuition, your sixth sense, you name it—you will know with complete certainty that you are ready. I’m ready. I’m starting NOW!

How about you? What is it time for you to be starting? Open up your journal and listen for that still, small voice inside you. What does it whisper when you think about unpursued dreams and risks not taken? What move—big or small—is long overdue in your life? Is it career-related? Regarding relationships, do you need to take a risk by reaching out to someone to see if they belong in your circle, or do you need to cut a cord that someone else is strangling you with? Do you need to move on from something or someone, or perhaps just have a difficult conversation so you can move forward together? Do you think you would be satisfied with only a small shift, or is your soul aching for something major? How much do you try to tap into your intuition when making decisions? How does it speak to you—physical symptoms, emotions, obsessive thoughts, “gut” feelings? Do you trust it? What is the one thing that you make a million “I’m not ready” excuses about, that, deep down in your heart, you know you really must do? Leave me a reply and let me know: Are you going to start before you are “ready”? 

You ARE ready,

William

Kids Are The Best Teachers

DSC_1239“I wish friends held hands more often, like the children I see on the streets sometimes. I’m not sure why we have to grow up and get embarrassed about it.” –Stephanie Perkins, Anna and the French Kiss

Hello friend,

I just spent a weekend with my kids and their little cousins. A few times, while sitting in their midst as they played, I was able to sort of rise above the chaos and just take them in for the marvel that they all are, individually and collectively. I was completely tickled by it. Certain qualities stood out so clearly in their interactions with one another: excitement, playfulness, honesty, activity, generosity, forgiveness, and authenticity. It was quite amazing to sit back and take in these beautiful characteristics that these kids seem to employ so naturally, so effortlessly. The magic just seems to ooze from them.

In one of my appreciative moments, I was struck by a strange, intrusive thought: What would this gathering be like without the children??? It is really an unusual question coming from me, as I do basically everything with my kids. Still, there it was in my mind, this query begging for a response. Really, what qualities would a fly on the wall—or someone stepping outside of the moment like I did—notice distinctly from this hypothetical gathering of adults only? Let’s be clear: this is not just a random assortment of strangers. It was me, my sisters, and their husbands. I love these people. I even like them and admire them. So, how would the situation look to the objective viewer? What would stand out for them about us and our interactions? What is common to most friendly adult gatherings?

As with the kids and their interactions, I hope that the love would be clear, the enjoyment in each other’s company. I think you would see generosity. I am not sure what else would be clear, though. The activity would be absent. There would be very little play, less sharing, less forgiveness, and, perhaps most tragic in my eyes, less authenticity. Mostly, I think the adults-only gathering reveals just a dimmer expression of the joys of life and the range of human expression.

Adults, when denied the influence of children and left to their own devices, tend to play their interactions—and often the entire game of Life–so close to the vest, not wanting to ruffle any feathers or be uncool. Much gets repressed. The unfortunate result of this self-censorship is that it leads people to be inauthentic. They are not expressing their Truth. It is not done in an intentionally devious way, but still it is an assault on Truth. Whether it stems from wanting to fit in, wanting people to like you, or just not wanting to create a stir, this lack of authentic expression and interaction leads to a real dulling of the scene. The fullness of human spirit and emotional range is stifled. The adult-only landscape runs the risk of being both false and boring.

I admit it, though: I am heavily biased. I have always much preferred the company of children. Through every phase of my life, if I have been forced—and yes, I need to be forced—to attend a large social gathering, you can bet you will find me hanging out with the kids rather than the adults (I love that, now that I am a parent, I have an excuse to “just be in here to keep an eye on the kids” at such events.). Sure, some of it is just my natural introversion, but there is no doubt that I just prefer the way kids interact. I am drawn to their authenticity. I love how they tell their Truth. Not just verbally—though that can be absolutely hilarious—but with all of their being. As I said, it simply oozes from their pores. They come by their Truth naturally and haven’t been trained enough to filter it. It is pure and beautiful to me.

Kids not only display the whole range of human spirit and emotions; if you are deeply connected to them, they take you through it, too! But as taxing, frustrating, heartbreaking, and downright exhausting as that is, it is somehow one hundred times more exhilarating, uplifting, rewarding, joyous, and downright soul-stirring. 

I don’t know how to explain it. If you surveyed folks on individual factors such as stress, self-care, frustration, and exhaustion, I am certain that parents and caregivers would score highly on incidences of these negative factors, possibly much higher than non-kid people. They would probably also score high on the positive end of the spectrum, such as tender, loving moments, or moments that they feel immense pride. If you weigh out all of the factors on paper, it may look like the kid people come out only even at best, and perhaps much worse off than the non-kid crowd. But then ask just about any parent, teacher, coach, or caregiver if they would prefer to be without those stress-inducing kids. Heck no! That theory on paper goes right out the window.

Seriously, I remember so many nights at journal-writing time, when my little ones were just babies and I was totally wiped out from some string of parenting ordeals that day, and I caught myself writing how fantastic it was to spend the day with my angels and how wildly grateful I was feeling. I would try a reality check and ask myself, “Weren’t you the one who got up at four o’clock this morning and hasn’t been back to sleep; who has been peed on, pooped on, and vomited on; who almost went out of your mind because she wouldn’t stop crying; who got so mad when he threw his plate of food on the floor for the seventeenth time; who just about worried yourself to death when his temperature spiked; and who cried with her when she fell and hurt her head? You have NO CAUSE to think this day was so awesome or that you are so blessed to get to spend it here with them rather than at work! There is no logic in it!” Still, there it was. Logic and surveys cannot explain it. I wouldn’t trade any of those days for anything, and I still look back on that time as blissful. Insane, perhaps, but still blissful.

So, this afternoon, with this topic on my mind, I took my kids to the local YMCA for swimming lessons. I was in the process of thinking how narrow-minded I might sound by writing something like this letter I am writing to you now. After all, people who don’t have kids and don’t interact with kids are still happy and fulfilled and wonderful, too. I worried that I may end up writing something that made it sound like if you aren’t a parent, then your life just isn’t very full and worthwhile. So, I took a few minutes and, instead of watching my own kids in their lessons, I turned my eyes to the “play pool” and watched other people’s children. They were dragging each other around on pool noodles, splashing, sometimes fighting, most of the time giggling. They were just generally being silly, playful, dramatic, and completely authentic. It might have been more emotional watching my own kids do this stuff, but even watching complete strangers, I found it tremendously comical, fascinating, and thoroughly moving. It is raw LIFE on display. I highly recommend finding ways to get involved with it (even if people think you are that creepy guy at the playground or pool who just likes to watch the kids play!).

Kids—yours, mine, or someone else’s—are absolutely magical. They can be all four seasons in one day. But even as they take us on this rollercoaster ride, they teach us a million different lessons. My biggest takeaway from this weekend with children—my lesson learned—is to be myself.  To tell my Truth, no matter how many emotions that stirs. To just be me, boldly and unapologetically. And, oh yeah, to have a little fun along the way!

How about you? What do the children in your life teach you? Open up your journal and get real. How much are children a part of your everyday world? Do you wish that amount were more or less? How are you going to go about making the adjustment to your preferred amount? What do you like to do with children—teach them things, just chat, or play whatever they are playing? How different are your interactions with kids than with adults? How much more do you smile? How much more imagination do you use? How much more engaged are you? How different are the feelings you are left with afterwards? As I write those questions, I am picturing one of my best friend’s faces when he is with my kids—he is childless–and how it so totally seems to make his heart sing. This otherwise quiet, unassuming guy just completely lights up. Is that you, or don’t kids really do that much for you? Whether or not you have kids of your own, do you think that raising children generally leads to a more happy and fulfilling life than remaining childless and pursuing one’s other passions more fully? What is the single greatest lesson you can learn from being around children? Leave me a reply and let me know: What do kids teach you?

Be you,

William

Lessons From A Slave

DSC_0906“We often take for granted the very things that most deserve our gratitude.” –Cynthia Ozick

Hello friend,

I am guilty. Sometimes I get self-indulgent and actually start to believe that the world is being tough on me. I think I am too busy and working too hard. I wonder, “Why is life so difficult? What did I do to deserve this?” It doesn’t take much to trigger these grumbling moments:

  • Not getting enough sleep due to kids and other commitments, such as staying up late to write this letter to you.
  • My back is stiff from standing too long, especially on a hard floor at my job.
  • My muscles are sore from working out at the gym.
  • I have to miss a night of putting my kids to bed because of a special event at work. I HATE missing even a single bedtime with them; it pains my heart terribly.
  • My wife is leaning on me too hard about what to do with my time or with our money.
  • My palate is bored because I have had Cheerios for breakfast four times this week, and I make the same half-dozen different meals for supper each week.
  • It feels like I am losing track of my siblings because I only spend a few long weekends per year with them, which feels woefully inadequate.
  • Other than visiting my hometown for Christmas and taking a couple of long weekends at the family lake cabin in the Summer, we haven’t been on a “real vacation” in several years.

And on and on and on. You get the picture. There are so many opportunities to grumble, so many temptations to cast the verdict that Life Is Difficult.

Thankfully, though, once in a while, a reality check comes along and smacks me upside the head, knocking some sense into me. This past week, I have been getting a daily dose of that smacking. At her request, I bought my wife a DVD copy of the film “12 Years A Slave” for Christmas, as we have never seen it. Knowing the weight of the topic, we have been waiting for just the right time to watch it. From all indications, it is the kind of movie that requires some processing afterwards. So, it has been looming out there for a couple of months now, a haunting-but-magnetic abyss, just waiting to be plunged into.

I think the Universe knows about this stuff, though, and it has a way of making you face the things you need to face if you want to remain at peace. So, when I finished my book last week and went to my library’s online shelves for a new one, what should jump right off the screen at me but 12 Years A Slave, by Solomon Northrup, the true story that inspired the award-winning movie. Call it what you like—fate, destiny, synchronicity, the Law of Attraction—but the Universe was knocking on my door that day. I answered.

I am only just past the halfway point in the story now, and it undoubtedly has many more lessons for me to learn, but its effect has certainly been felt already. Before I go further, though, perhaps a short synopsis would help. Solomon Northrup was an African-American, born free in New York in the early 1700s. He grew up there, married, and had children. With the promise of good pay for some temporary work, he was led away from his family to Washington, DC, where he was kidnapped and sold into slavery in Louisiana. He remained there for twelve years. I am not yet to the part of the book where he returns to freedom, but it was upon his return in the mid-1700s that he wrote his story. It is clear that he is both well-educated and humble, and the tale seems to be completely unembellished.

What the book does well, however, is detail the daily life of a slave on a cotton plantation, and, in this case, one with a particularly vicious master. It is devastating, truly, and so difficult to comprehend how these people kept themselves going from one day to the next, one sorrowful year after another, with nothing more to look forward to in their lives than returning to the dust from which they came. It has certainly made me do a double-take on the life that I am sometimes tempted to grumble about.

  • Not getting enough sleep? The slaves slept lightly due to hypervigilance, knowing that if they were not in the fields working when the sun came up, they would be whipped mercilessly. They worked past dark in the field, then had to return and do all of the regular chores before they were allowed to make their own supper and go to their brief sleep—on the ground or a piece of wood, no mattress or pillows. Every day of the year.
  • My back a little stiff from standing at my part-time job? The slaves worked at a breakneck pace to keep up and get their daily quota of pounds of cotton, being whipped if they dared pause for even a moment, and then being thoroughly brutalized with the whip at the end of the day if they didn’t hit their number. No matter how sick or injured, the drill was the same: work every moment and produce well, or face the wrath of the master.
  • Sore from the gym? I won’t even bother addressing this one.
  • Missing a night of putting my kids to bed? Slaves and their children were regularly sold away from each other without regard, leaving both sides devastated and the parents to live with only the hope that their child’s master would be one of the more humane ones. Nothing more. Not the chance to put them to bed, to watch them grow up, or to even know if they had become grandparents. Nothing.
  • Time and money pressures? The slaves never had a choice about what to do with their time. They couldn’t pursue their passions or take a personal day, couldn’t even decide in which order to do their own chores. There was no money to be concerned with at all. Their bodies were bought and sold by others instead.
  • Bored with a limited menu? The slaves of Louisiana were given a small amount of bacon and corn meal each week, enough for two small meals per day. Never anything different or more, even if the bacon spoiled or became infested with bugs that week.
  • Losing track of siblings? Just as with children, it was a rare case that a slave was on the same plantation as any other member of her family. The concept of family basically ceased to exist.
  • Haven’t had a “real vacation”? This may seem silly to even address, but it is a good review of the rest. As I mentioned, the slaves worked every single day, had no money to go anywhere with, and had neither family nor family home to visit. If they were caught trying to go to a good place, they would likely have paid with their lives, or at the very least 500 lashes with the whip, “well-laid on,” as was the lingo. Perhaps death would be preferable.

Slavery is, for me, simply an unimaginable existence. Even with a good master, it is still bondage. And, as Northrup says, that is NEVER better than even the worst days of freedom. I think that most days, I am extremely grateful for my existence and well aware of my blessings. But after this perfectly unpleasant reminder called 12 Years A Slave, it is clear to me that it would be nothing short of a disgrace to complain about my circumstances (or almost any circumstances above poverty or incarceration). So, when I become self-indulgent and feeling oppressed by lack of income or busy-ness or missing my kids’ bedtime, I think of the slaves. They had it a billion times worse than I do, and through no fault of their own and no great deed of mine.

My life is darn good by any measure, but when I think about those slaves and the complete absence of opportunity to live their dreams—or even to think that the concept of having dreams was pertinent to them—my heart just breaks, and I know how, on the wide spectrum of human experiences across history, mine is at the far, far end to the positive. I am a truly blessed being. I thank my lucky stars for that.

How about you? How aware of your blessings are you? Get out your journal and consider your existence. What are your biggest gripes? Who or what seems to be oppressing you? Is it certain people? Your financial situation? Your health? How bad is it? Go ahead and indulge yourself for a moment: name what is weighing you down, and just how much it weighs. Now consider a comparison. If slavery doesn’t do it for you—maybe you want something that feels more contemporary to you—imagine the people living today under oppressive regimes, without the freedom express themselves or live as they choose. Or pick someone from a Third World country, where economic conditions keep the people from moving beyond addressing their most basic survival needs. What do your woes look like in comparison? Does it make you feel embarrassed to complain? The goal here is not to make you wrong for having gripes, but rather to make you more aware of, perhaps, how well you have it in the grand scheme of things. So, on a scale of 0-100, with zero being completely stifled by your circumstances and 100 being completely blessed and unoppressed, where do you stand? Leave me a reply and let me know, What lessons do a slave’s life teach you? 

Gratitude is beautiful,

William

20 Toys For Kids That Adults Should Be Playing With

DSC_0880 2“If you obey all of the rules, you miss all of the fun.” –Katharine Hepburn

Hello friend,

Yesterday, after prying my kids away from the television and wrestling with them for a while, I announced that it was “quiet play time”, which means that Daddy wants some time with his books in the midst of the madness. While my son went for his cars and dinosaurs, my daughter grabbed the old-school Etch-A-Sketch and sat down beside me. Every minute or two, she had a new, red-framed design created by those two magic knobs. She nudged me every time and said, “See, Daddy!” Pretty soon her brother wanted a turn with the knobs, and he skillfully whipped up a four-year-old’s rendition of a dragon, school bus, or Ironman every 20 seconds or so. Back and forth they went, demanding their turns more and more impatiently. I was captivated by their creativity and their simple joy in playing, and pretty soon I wanted a turn on the Etch-A-Sketch, too. I haven’t played on one since I was a kid, and as fun as it looked to me thirty-some years later, I couldn’t help but wonder why I stopped.

What is it that happens to us as adults that we stop thinking it is acceptable to play and create? I suppose it starts around middle school, when it becomes devastatingly uncool to try things that you might not be good at. As we pass through adolescence and young adulthood, it seems we are trying so hard to be cool and smooth that we hardly dare to be silly. Then we have kids and are supposed to feel bad if we take a turn on the pogo stick or the Etch-A-Sketch. I watch parents at the sledding hill all the time, standing at the top of the hill for an hour as their kids gleefully take ride after ride. As the guy who seeks out any chance to do “childish” things and is definitely flying down that sledding hill as joyfully as any kid out there, I cannot understand these standing people called “grown-ups”.

I think we—all of us, at every age—need to find reasons to be playful, creative, and silly. We need to be “childlike”. The other day I was brainstorming with some classmates about different ways to “plerk,” that is, to play at work. It can be tough, as most of our workplaces don’t encourage joy and creative expression, much less play. Let’s face it, some days it can take a creative mind just to find the good parts of our jobs. So, if we aren’t getting that outlet at work, and we are either too tired, too guilty, or too cool to get on that sled with the kids, we are just not hitting our quota for creativity and play. We are getting old before our time.

I have written to you before about keeping playful activities in your life (see “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?”). But what hit me yesterday, as I was itching for a turn with that Etch-A-Sketch, is that we adults need more than just to hang around kids more often (it does help, though, trust me). After all, we don’t all have that option. What we need most of all are the tools of fun that kids have at their disposal. WE NEED TOYS!!! And I don’t mean iPads, RVs, and speedboats, though those are fun, too. I am talking about simple, inexpensive toys that draw out our creativity and our joy. Sure, they are marketed to kids, but I am telling you, any adult would be well-served to include these delights in his or her life.

So, when you head out shopping next time, I recommend adding a few things to your list:

  1. Play-Doh—Seriously, how much creative fun did you have with Play-Doh as a kid? It is still here, as simple and fabulous as ever.
  2. Magna-Doodle—What a stress reliever it is to doodle! And then, the pure joy of sliding that magic bar across the bottom to erase the entire board, ready for another magnetic masterpiece. Genius!
  3. Etch-A-Sketch—Need I say more?
  4. Harmonica—Endless enjoyment, the challenge of learning something new, and it is smaller than your smartphone. I love harmonicas!
  5. Rip-Stik—I got one of these things a couple of years ago, and my neighbors thought I was crazy as I tried to learn it, like “What is the old man doing on that thing?” But let me tell you, it is so fun! And I felt pretty cool when the 10-year-old down the street came over this Fall and asked me to teach her how to ride. I am a big fan of any riding toy, so consider the Rip-Stik the representative of scooters, sleds, in-line skates, and bikes. I have all of these things, but my dream is an adult-size Big Wheel. If I ever get to Heaven, I trust that one will be waiting for me at the pearly gates.
  6. Frisbee—There are few simple pleasures in my world better than a game of Catch, whether that is with a Frisbee, a baseball, or a football. It is deeply nostalgic and a wonderful way to connect with someone.
  7. Finger paints—It is good for the soul to dip your fingers into that paint and just let yourself go. The dollar-store paints with the brush are fun, too, but, with perfection not an option, finger paints take the pressure off immediately.
  8. Pogo Stick—It’s exercise, it’s nostalgia, it’s great fun. For more bouncing fun, grab a Hopper (picture an exercise ball with a squishy handle—it’s hilarious). If you don’t like bouncing, go with a Hula Hoop.
  9. Hot Wheels cars and race track—I got one for my son last Christmas, and as soon as we set up the track with the loops and jumps, the adults started wandering over for a try. It is a wonderful escape of the imagination and delivers a bonus adrenaline rush.
  10. Sidewalk chalk—Release your inner artist and cover the most boring part of your yard—the driveway—with color. Or, just make a hopscotch board and start hopping.
  11. Window Crayons—I just learned of these delightful things this year, and now my children have filled each pane of my large picture window in the living room. Creative and fun, and you can change your home décor as often as you like.
  12. Coloring books—As silly as this one sounds, there is something highly therapeutic about coloring in a simple design with some old-fashioned Crayolas. No pressure to create something fabulous, as the drawing is done for you. Just pick some colors and go. It’s like a meditation.
  13. Twister—Sure, it is tougher for adults than kids, but that only makes it more funny for participants and audience alike. Adult beverages recommended (sold separately).
  14. Basketball hoop—Even though I love a driveway game on a regulation hoop, I am talking about indoor hoops here. I actually have two standing hoops in my house about five or six feet each (for the kids, of course!). Old-school Nerf hoops that hang on doors are priceless, too. H-O-R-S-E, anyone?
  15. Rubik’s Cube—Classic.
  16. Inflatable punching toy—Remember these guys with the sand-filled bottom, who pop back up after you hit them? We need stress relievers more than kids do, right?
  17. Remote-controlled cars—Just fun.
  18. Squirt guns—My only warning: know your audience. Otherwise, fire away!
  19. Balloons—A few minutes of Keep-It-Up makes any heart lighter. Beach balls work, too.
  20. Slip-n-Slide—Plastic bliss. It may break in less than an hour, but do not deny yourself this delight at least once before you die.

There you go: your twenty little tickets to Playland. Other than the remote-controlled cars, none of them require batteries, cords, screens, or downloads. Just check your ego and your skepticism at the door—those are useless adult inventions—and play. I am in!

How about you? Do you still have PLAY in your life? Open up your journal and think about how often you allow yourself to create and be silly. Is it often enough? What are your favorite escapes from the binds of adulthood? Do you feel “childish” when you do them? How self-conscious are you about that? Do you only do them alone or in the privacy of your own home, or are you willing to go public with your playing? How ashamed are you not just of playing, but of being silly? What are your most creative activities? Do you enjoy using your imagination? Do you own any “kid toys”? Do you lean more toward creative toys (Etch-A-Sketch, Play Doh, Finger Paints) or active toys (Pogo Stick, Frisbee, Slip-n-Slide)? What else belongs on my list? Leave me a reply and let me know: What toys keep you young?

Your soul is ageless, so act accordingly,

William

A Mother’s Legacy

IMG_1325“The things you do for yourself are gone when you are gone, but the things you do for others remain as your legacy.” –Kalu Ndukwe Kalu

Hello friend,

“I have nothing fabulous to leave the world……..except for you guys.” That was my Mom’s response yesterday when I asked what she felt her legacy would be. I have been thinking so much lately about my own life purpose and the mark that I want to leave on the world when I am gone (see “Why Are You Here?” and “Re-Writing Your Story”), so I figured it was time to ask the woman who has made the biggest impact on me. That woman is definitely my mother.

Either not wanting to dive any deeper into the topic, or really thinking that was all there was to say, she moved on to a lighter subject. It left me wondering, though. Does she really have, as she said, “nothing fabulous to leave the world”? I suppose that in a conventional way of thinking, people’s legacies might be discussed in terms of groundbreaking feats or high-minded causes, or maybe even building a business that survives you. That is why we usually only talk about lasting legacies when it comes to people who are now on postage stamps or statues. But let’s face it: not everyone can cure polio or lead the Civil Rights Movement. That doesn’t mean, however, that regular folks like you and me don’t leave our fingerprints on the world, even if it is just our little corner of it. My Mom certainly has.

When I think about my Mom’s legacy, the first thing that comes to my mind is the way she grandparents her 14 grandkids. She has this beautiful way of completely getting down to their level and really interacting with them, forming deep bonds of friendship and love. It is a perfect mix of giggles and cuddles, playmate and caregiver. She has succeeded in becoming this uniquely special someone in every single one of her grandkids’ lives, which is completely astonishing to me even as I think about it now. She’s like the Pied Piper to them. I just think that whether or not these kids (and young adults) can put all of that into words right now, they will go on to be—or at least strive to be—that kind of grandparents when they get to that spot in their lives. For myself, I absolutely am studying her ways, trying to uncover her tips and secrets as to how she pulls off this magic trick, because I would give anything to have relationships like hers with my own future grandkids. Now, that is leaving an impression on the world!

I also think about the type of family atmosphere that she fostered and how that has trickled down to my generation and now my children’s generation. When I consider my siblings, I well up inside with the best kind of feelings. I just think so highly of them. It is an amazing family, and I couldn’t be more grateful to be a part of it. I see, too, how my Mom has shepherded us all to a wonderful love, respect, and admiration for each other—I truly admire each of them—as well as a real enjoyment in being in one another’s company. I love being together with my family—all of them. How many people are lucky enough to say that? I don’t take that lightly. And what is even sweeter to me is to watch how it has trickled down to the next generation, that of my two kids and their cousins. The best days of my son and daughter’s whole year are spent at one of Nana’s houses with their cousins, either outside at the lake cabin or cooped up in the house at Christmas. They are thrilled either way. I marvel at how they all get along, and how the old ones, who could be excused for dismissing the little pest that my son can be, are so caring and inclusive. They are family, and they get it. They have learned from the best. The matriarch. My Mom. I can hardly think of a more worthy legacy than that.

And what about the one possible legacy that she considered even worth a mention? When she said, “except for you guys”, she was touching on the one thing that I think many of us find to be, by leaps and bounds, both our life purpose and our greatest legacy: our children. Before I had kids, I had no idea of just how proud one person can be of another. Sure, I had seen parents cheer for their kids and feel bad about their losses, but the sheer sense of pride—the “I made that kid” kind of pride—was something on a totally different level than I had ever imagined. It isn’t even that you feel like it was any of your doing that caused your kids to turn out so smart or creative or athletic (well, you sometimes do!); it is more just that “I created that; that is part of me; that is my heart living outside my body” feeling. Because it is our heart out there on that stage or in that cafeteria or on the court hoping to get picked instead of picked-on, we want to both protect that heart from all harm and also see it grow and thrive and be happy. So yeah, it breaks our heart when our kid loses, but we also feel proud of him or her every single day, win or lose. As parents, that comes with the territory.

So, does it seem rational that parents believe their children are their greatest legacy? Perhaps not, because maybe people are mostly going to turn out the way their soul steers them, no matter what we do. But, just because it is not rational does not mean that it is not completely fair and true. The “that is part of me” is stronger than any rational theory out there. Even if you just provided the sperm or the egg, you have done something amazing and Divine. And you have earned something of a legacy. When you have actually parented—been up all night with a sick baby, or run alongside that bicycle on the frightening first ride, or consoled the loss of a first love—then that legacy feels even more earned and authentic. So, when my Mom says, “I have nothing fabulous to leave the world……except for you guys,” it may come from a humble place, but it is pretty darn proud, too. Five happy adult children who are raising 14 happy grandchildren is no small legacy. I would dare to call it fabulous. We could all be so lucky to leave such an impact. For my part, I feel incredibly lucky to be that impact.

What about you? What is the legacy of your parents? Break out your journal and walk the ground of your mother and father. What kind of marks have they made on this Earth? Were they big or small impressions? If you polled 100 people who knew them, what would they say? Mostly positive, negative, or quite a mix? If it was a consensus that they were well-liked, do you think that would be a satisfactory legacy for them? What more would they want? How much does it matter whether or not they were well-liked, as long as they made a positive impact on the world? Is there a dark side of their legacy, something they (or you) would rather die with them? Are you—and your siblings—the most important part of their legacy? How does that make you feel? Is that an honor? A responsibility? A disappointment? Have you ever asked them about their legacy? Do you think they have asked themselves? How important do you think it is to think about legacy, either theirs or yours? In the end, how much different do you think your mark on the world will be than theirs? Are you okay with the idea that it might be very similar? Is one parent’s mark very different from the other’s, or do they mostly overlap? Are you glad to be a part of it? Is there pressure to live up to it? In your eyes, have they lived lives to be proud of? Leave me a reply and let me know: What are your parents leaving behind? 

Share your light today,

William